Happenstance 3 (Happenstance #3)(17)
Author: Jamie McGuire

She hesitated. “I…don’t know, honey. I couldn’t begin to imagine what is going through his head.”

“But you have an idea,” I said.

Julianne swallowed, already regretting her next words. “Maybe feeling strongly about you is…difficult when he doesn’t know where you stand.”

“But he knows how I feel about him. I don’t know how else to make him feel better, except for making him promises I can’t keep.”

“He’s worried about what will happen after the fall semester starts. Boys are just as emotional as girls. They just don’t always feel things as intensely as we do. And when they do…well, they just don’t know how to handle it.”

“Clearly,” I said, standing.

“I put your backpack by the door last night.”

“Thank you.” I waved to her before walking down the hall.

Grabbing my bag, I swung the straps over my shoulders and then walked to Weston’s truck. He was standing next to the open passenger door, looking down at his phone while he tapped on it with his thumbs.

I climbed into my seat, but my quiet thank-you didn’t get a response.

When Weston sat behind the steering wheel, he reached over for my hand. When I didn’t take his hand, he looked up at me.

“Talk to me,” I said.

He reached for my hand again. I expectantly watched him.

He sighed. “Talk to you about what?”

“Your mood last night. Your polar opposite mood this morning. Your mood now. What you’re thinking. What you’re worried about. Everything you’re not saying, I want you to put it out there.”

“That will take longer than we have before class.”

“Then, we’ll be late.”

Weston thought for a moment, and then he shifted the gear into drive, pulling away from the curb without another word. Even though I lived inside my head most of the time and didn’t quite understand how particularly chatty people always seemed to have something to say, the silence was suffocating.

After we reached an open parking spot in the high school lot, Weston got out and then helped me to the pavement. He began to walk into the building, but I didn’t move. He turned around and held out his hands long enough to let them slap to his thighs.

“Come on, babe. We’re gonna be late.”

“Why won’t you talk to me about this?” I asked.

“Because it’s a long conversation, and we have classes.”

“You could have talked to me last night.”

“It was late.”

“So, you’re just waiting for the right time?”

“Yes.”

“So, it’s important.”

“Yes.” Then, he shook his head. “No. I don’t know. You want to talk about it, so I guess we’re talking about it.”

My eyes narrowed. “Just tell me why you were so happy this morning and what changed.”

“It doesn’t matter. It was a stupid idea, and I just realized that it won’t matter.”

“What won’t matter?”

The bell rang, and Weston sighed. “C’mon, Erin. We can talk about it later.”

A loud conversation erupted in my mind. The words wait, patience, and now came up the most.

Weston held out his hand. Part of me wanted to roll myself up in his arms, and the other wanted to slap his hand away. Then, I realized that my thoughts and emotions were just as jarring as his behavior, so I couldn’t fault him for whatever was going on in his head.

“Promise?” I asked.

“Promise,” he said, jutting his hand out for me.

We walked together through the double doors and then down the hall toward my locker. Weston gave me a quick peck before jogging down B Hall for his class, and I hurried to Bio.

Brady was in his seat, scribbling in his notebook. He barely noticed me come in. The swelling had gone down in his eyes, but it was still obvious that Weston had gotten in more than one good hit.

Mrs. Merit shot me a look, but she continued passing out the study guide for the final. “This is a fifth of your grade, ladies and gentlemen. If you intend on walking in Saturday’s graduation ceremony, I suggest making time to study this sheet.”

I held the paper in front of me, seeing all the questions to the test, accompanied by the correct answers. Mrs. Merit’s study guides were always the test and answers in order, and I wondered if the final would be any different. Regardless, just memorizing what answer went with what question would be enough.

“Did you get the punch out of your dress?” Sara asked.

My eyebrows pulled in as I processed her question.

“Your prom dress. I heard Brady spilled his punch on you—well, tossed is more like it.”

I nodded.

“Did he really pour it over your head?”

Brady’s face came into focus just over Sara’s shoulder. He was staring at me with the only eye that wasn’t too swollen to see. I focused back on Sara and then back down to the paper.

“If it’s true, he deserved those shiners. And if it’s not, he probably deserved it anyway.”

“Nobody deserves that,” I said quietly.

Sara seemed shocked, but she didn’t speak. She glanced over her shoulder to Brady, who looked away. “From now on, I bet he’ll keep his drinks away from you—and anyone else he might have wanted to pull that with.”

I pressed my lips together and continued reading down the line of questions, pretending to study them, while Mrs. Merit’s voice droned on in the background. It was hard to concentrate while so many thoughts were swirling inside my head.

The rest of the day seemed to take forever, yet before I knew it, Weston and I were picking up art supplies next to the mural downtown. Mrs. Cup watched us all like hawks. If it seemed we didn’t have complete control of our paintbrushes, she would make sure we remembered her threat to fail us if we used the paint for anything but the mural.

After we were done, Weston held open the passenger door, and I climbed in. He stared up at me, a storm brewing in his eyes. He had been quiet all day, and I wasn’t sure when he would decide to talk about what was bothering him.

He made me wait until we were in his basement.

“Do you have homework?” he asked.

“I have to study for finals.”

“Me, too,” he said, picking at the sole of his shoe. He was quiet for several moments, and then he heaved a heavy sigh. “What if I…” He frowned.

“What if you what?” I said, pressing him.