Page 71 of Searching for Beautiful
And I’ll be betraying her trust if I tell anyone.
How am I supposed to handle that? What do I do? He can’t hurt her if she doesn’t see him. She said she won’t see him again. And she’s strong. I’ve seen that, so I should believe her. That’s what friends do. My friends didn’t believe me and I was telling the truth. I would hate to betray her trust if there’s not any chance of her seeing him again.
He was outside today…
But she didn’t know. She didn’t want him there, which should count for something. All I wanted was for my friends to believe me. If I don’t do the same for Emery, I’m hanging her out to dry.
My cell beeps, making me jump. “Oh my God. I’m losing it. ”
I pick it up to see a text from Christian.
Im now a stalker. Jumped your fence. In the pottery room.
My lips beg me to smile, but the nausea churning in my stomach makes it impossible. My fingers move to tell Christian I can’t. That I need to be alone. But I feel this little pull to him, too. The urge to watch him play and share gummy bears with him. Spending time with him is starting to feel like my new normal, and though I want nothing more than to be excited about that, I can’t fully muster it up right now.
I also can’t tell him no.
Dropping my backpack inside the foyer, I go through the house and right out the back. When I open the door to the room, I see Christian sitting on the small couch with his guitar next to him.
“I thought you could try to make something again if you want. Or I could give you another lesson— Hey, what’s wrong?” Christian pushes his hair behind his ear so it doesn’t hang in his face.
I want to tell him. To tell someone. I don’t know what to do.
“I…” Owe Emery. But do I owe her by telling or not? Right and wrong are all mixed up and blurred inside me.
“Sit down. We’ll play. That always helps. ”
I sit next to him, so grateful I have someone here. That I have him here. I don’t know if Emery is going to want anything to do with me after everything that’s happened and that makes my chest ache.
“What’s wrong?” Christian asks again. “And don’t say nothing. You can say ‘I don’t want to tell you,’ but I know it’s something. ”
Leave it to him to cut right to it. “I got into a fight with Emery. ”
He nods but doesn’t go any further. I wish he would. That he would just ask me or poke and prod until I let the words come out. Maybe it will be okay if someone forces me. Because I think I want to tell him, or I should tell someone.
“She…” I begin, but stop the words there. Emery is my friend and she asked me to trust her. I should, I think. All I wanted was for someone to trust me before. “Never mind. ”
He turns sideways on the couch so he’s looking at me. His guitar is in his lap and he’s absently letting his fingers stroke the chords.
“You can tell me, you know?”
“It’s not mine to tell. ”
Christian nods as if he understands before he starts playing again. It’s a good twenty minutes before either of us speaks again.
“This probably isn’t the best time to ask you this,” he says, “but, hell, who knows. Maybe it is. I’m going to be gone most of Christmas break so I’m going to do this now. ”
Curiosity fights to be the primary emotion pushing to the surface. “What?”
There’s no pause. No preparation. Christian just blurts out, “I want you to go to the dance with me. ”
I actually feel my face pale. My skin gets itchy. My mind rushes through all my memories. Memories of Mom smiling when she told me the story about her and Dad from their dance. About how she fell in love with him there. The way I felt with Christian at our dance in the seventh grade. How happy it
made me, and how connected I felt to Mom and Dad’s romance because of it. Dances are connected to so many happy memories for me.
Until the dance that caused my stupid fight with Mom.
That night was the beginning of now. The now that is nothing like before. That led me to Jason, who taught me the opposite of everything Mom thought love should be. Sometimes it’s ugly and it hurts. Sometimes it’s a lie.
