Page 54 of The Crafting Con

“It’s not that. I mean, okay. It actually kind of is, but not for the reasons you’re implying.” I turn my head and stare out the window. “He’s just…” I sigh. “He’s too much like my dad.”

“Bull.”

I blink, thrown by the sharp edge in Stasia’s voice. When I look over, I find her frowning back at me.

“No offense”—she arches a brow—“but your dad is a narcissist who thinks he’s God’s gift to nerds. I barely know Declan, but even I can tell he is nothing like him.”

Well, when she puts it like that. “Personality-wise, you have a point. But you can’t deny they have a lot in common when it comes to crafting and the whole convention scene.”

“So they share a few hobbies,” Stasia scoffs. “Who cares?"

I think of Mom’s face every time she found something of Dad’s—a stray comic book, an old convention badge. The way the color would leach from her skin, her shaking hands. That first year was like walking through a field of landmines, and all I could do was scramble to deactivate as many as possible. I stripped his memory from our lives as best I could. Changed my entire image so that Mom wouldn’t have to think of him every time she looked at me. Declan might as well be the poster boy for everything I gave up.

“I’m not sure Mom could handle it,” I admit, mumbling into my backpack which is now pressed all the way up to my chin. As angry as she’s been making me lately, she’s still the most important person in my life. The thought of hurting her is no small thing.

Stasia makes a tsk-ing sound. “Ava, your mom is a grown woman who’s had five years to get her crap together. I promise you, she can handle it.”

I bite my lip, recalling the way Mom looked this morning. “What if she can’t, though?”

“Ava.” Stasia’s voice is somehow both gentle and frustrated at the same time. “Your mom loves you. She’d want you to be happy.”

I don’t answer as she turns into the school’s parking lot. The car is silent when we pull into an open spot, and she cuts the engine. A beat passes, and she sighs. “You should talk to her. Declan or no Declan, it’s time you stop living for someone else, and be honest about how you feel. If she loves you half as much as I know she does, she’ll want to hear it. Trust me.”

When she says it, it sounds so simple. So easy. But she wasn’t there five years ago. She doesn’t know the depth of my fear. The nausea-inducing worry that things will revert to the way they were if I’m not careful. And yet she’s not wrong.

Something has to give.

“Okay. I’ll try.”

Her face lights up. “Yeah?”

I nod.

She pulls me into the tightest hug our still-fastened seat belts allow. “Good girl.” When she lets me go, there’s a mischievous sparkle dancing in her eyes. “And Declan? You’ll talk to him too? Or better yet, skip the talking, and go straight to the kissing. I hear drummers are amazing to make out with.”

“Stop!” I bop her over the head with my book bag—she’s lucky there aren’t any textbooks in there—and slide out the passenger door. Meanwhile my stomach is dancing the conga at the mere idea of kissing Declan. Five years ago, I could barely look at him without feeling heartbroken about my dad, but now—now my heart chimes in with a burst of confetti, cheering the idea on.

I want to.

I really, really want to.

But I have something I need to do before I can even consider putting myself out there. Too many things have been left unsaid as it is. Tyler deserves to know where I stand. So, even though all I can think about is finding Declan, it’s Tyler’s locker I head for.

He spots me almost immediately, his face breaking into a wide grin as he waves past his usual posse of lacrosse bros and doe-eyed admirers. And it’s such a genuine, easy smile that I can’t help but hesitate, wondering if I’m making the right choice. Does seeing him make my heart flutter the way it does when I’m around Declan? No. But maybe it could if I gave him a proper chance. It would make Mom so happy…

Fingers flick my ear, and I let out a surprised yelp, turning to see Stasia’s face next to mine. “I know that look,” she whispers. “No backsliding, no second-guessing. You’re choosing you for once, damn it. Not your mom.”

It’s legit scary how well she can read me.

But she’s right.

I need to do this.

I push through the crowd and face Tyler head-on. “Hey.” I glance around at the sea of onlookers. Yeah, definitely not the ideal place for a heart-to-heart. I lower my voice so only those closest can hear. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Um, in private?”

Despite my efforts to keep my voice down, there’s a chorus of oohs and eyebrow wagging. I roll my eyes while Stasia shoos them away. Tyler laughs good-naturedly, slapping shoulders while they disperse. When we’re as alone as we can be in the middle of the hall, he leans against the wall of lockers and folds his arms over his chest.

“What’s up?” A tiny wrinkle forms between his brows, a flicker of worry dimming his ever-present smile. “Is this about prom? Did something come up?”