Page 36 of Dating and Dragons
“I’m good to stay,” Sloane says.
“I gotta go, but definitely next time,” Mark says.
“Me too,” Logan says. “Dad wants me back to help with some chores at home.”
We all walk upstairs together, partially to see Mark and Logan out and partially because we want to raid the kitchen for more snacks. Kashvi’s parents are saints to let so many teenagers into their house every weekend. The others get caughtup debating whether to make butter or cheddar popcorn, and I notice Logan hovering in the hall by the front door. I need to leave him alone, but that’s harder than it should be.
“Sorry your dad is making you work this afternoon.”
He glances down at his shoes and then back up at me with a rueful smile. “Don’t tell the others, but I made that up. Though I’m sure he’ll find something for me to do around the farm when I get home.”
“You made it up?” I ask with a frown. “Why?”
“Well, you know, the rules. Even if sometimes I slip and don’t follow them.”
I shake my head, at a loss for words. He’s making up excuses to stay away from me?
“You don’t need to do that. These are your friends—you can stay and hang out with them if you want.”
He takes a step back from me. “It’s really okay, Quinn. Don’t worry about it. I see them every day at school, and you don’t.”
“But—”
“It’s just an afternoon.” He reaches for one of the dice bracelets I’m wearing from this afternoon, his fingers grazing the skin on the inside of my wrist as he does. I suck in a breath, and he pulls his hand away. “The bracelets are a goodidea.”
Then he turns and walks out the door.
Chapter Thirteen
I’m in my room Tuesday evening, half-heartedly trying to review my pre-calc notes for an exam tomorrow, when Mom knocks on my door.
“Hey, I was unpacking a box of clothes and found something of yours. I swear we tried to keep things separate, but I keep finding the craziest stuff in these boxes.”
I’m not surprised—toward the end we were throwing stuff into any box with space. I close my laptop and turn to Mom. She drops a pink sweatshirt on my bed with a shrug.
“I don’t recognize it, but I know it isn’t mine since it’s cropped.” She laughs. “Dinner’s ready in a few minutes.”
She leaves but my eyes stay glued to the sweatshirt. Bright pink cropped sweatshirts aren’t exactly my aesthetic either—that was always Paige. I’ve seen her wear this sweatshirt on countless occasions, and I’m not proud of the bitter pleasure I feel knowing she’s never getting it back. But more than that,an overwhelming wave of sadness falls on me, like a weighted blanket that’s smothering me.
So many memories are attached to that one item of clothing—us laughing over smoothies and trying on clothes and learning TikTok dances in my living room. Mostly what I remember is laughing. And I hate that it’s all gone because of a boy who doesn’t deserve either of us. Sometimes I imagine what I would say to her if I saw her again.He doesn’t deserve you and you never deserved me.Or maybe I’d only ask,Was it worth it?
But I’m not ready for that answer.
I steel myself, then pick up the sweatshirt and throw it on top of the tote that holds all the other memories I don’t want to deal with. It’s full of pictures and mementos I can’t look at, but also can’t bring myself to throw away. It feels like throwing away years of my own life. But then, losing her feels a lot like that too.
I know Mom will come back up if I don’t go downstairs for dinner, so I make myself go even though I don’t feel like talking to anyone right now. I help myself to lasagna and salad and sit down.
“I think the house is coming along pretty well,” Dad says cheerfully as he comes to the table. He holds up his plate to the rest of us. “We can eat off actual plates and we know where to put them once they’re clean.”
Mom puts a hand on her hip and looks around. “I’d say it’s a work in progress.”
It’s true that there are fewer boxes than last week. But framed art and pictures still lean against the walls because we haven’t had time to hang them, and there are piles ofmiscellaneous things in each room when we give up on organizing.
“So, tell me what you’ve been up to at school,” Dad says to me and Andrew. Ugh, he’s in one of his overly attentive moods.
As usual, Andrew shrugs one shoulder and keeps chewing. “Nothing much. It’s school.”
“Do you like your teachers?” Dad persists.