Page 16 of You Again

Fran’s gasp is shrill and jarring, and the sound has me jolting in place. “That lousy⁠—”

“Hey,” I say, stopping her before she says something so very unFran-like. “He was nice.”

She glares at me. “Ask me anything else.”

“Fran,” I moan. “I want to know. For the first time since my accident, I want to know more. I ran into Robert, and my body didn’t revolt on me. It’s made me curious. I want more. You said you’d help me whenever I asked.”

“This isn’t helping.” She shakes her head, her tone so very serious.

“I know that I can rattle.” That’s putting it lightly. “And that it’s less than fun. But I think I can handle this. I won’t freak out. Promise.”

“Freak out?” she says, her voice shrill. “You’ve been having major panic attacks. You stop breathing. You break out in hives. You⁠—”

“Fran,” I whine.

“And you think the worst time of your life isn’t going to make you freak out?”

“I know it’s been scary. But I want to know,” I whisper.

“Why can’t I tell you all the good things? Why this?”

Sliding up next to her, I wrap one arm around her back. I lean my head on my best friend’s shoulder. “I’m ready for you to answer this one question. Right now.”

“The last thing I ever wanted is for you to relive this.”

“It’ll be different this time,” I tell her.

We make our way back into the living room and settle onto Fran’s plush couch. I cross my legs like a grade schooler during story time and sit facing my friend. I need to see her for this. I need to understand how we feel about this. Because my own feelings are blind and oblivious.

With both my hands in hers, she begins. “You student taught at that prestigious school in South Reno—Clark Elementary.” She says this like I should know. With the exception of Sierra View, I don’t know any of the elementary schools in Reno. “Margo was your mentor teacher.” She exhales a trembling breath. “The two of you hit it off from the get-go. You loved her. You said you wanted to teach just like her.”

“We were friends.” The word “were” is a given. We clearly aren’t friends now.

I was friends with Robert’s wife. Weird.

“You were. You guys even went out a few times. Robert told you that you shouldn’t be hanging out with your mentor teacher. That it was unprofessional⁠—”

“He might have been right. That’s kind of like socializing with your boss.”

“She wasn’t your boss,” she protests. “She was a mentor, and you were very professional.”

“Okay… Then what?”

Her jaw clenches. “Then she met Robert.”

“Oh.” I blink. I had just assumed that she and Robert got together long after he and I were done. But then Fran had used words to describe our breakup like messy and if murder were morally acceptable, Robert Pattinson would be a dead man. So—I should have seen this coming. Truly, I should have. And yet somehow, I didn’t.

“Yeah. But it was bad, Rose. Like, Robert didn’t just cheat on you, he lied and lied and lied. He left you believing you could never trust your instincts again. He pushed all his bad behavior to the side and made you believe that if you’d been different, if you’d been better, that the two of you would still be together.”

“Ouch,” I say, rubbing the space over my chest where my heart must reside. Because the idea of Robert behaving so badly hurts. Physically.

“Then—”

Oh, there’s more. Great.

“Margo had told people about them being a thing. Your whole school knew they were together. Your students knew. All while you were in the dark. While you were still with Robert.” She cringes and blows out a tired breath. “We found out later she let people believe that Robert had broken things off with you and you were being hostile about it all. When really, you had no idea he was seeing someone on the side.”

The pinching pain in my chest grows. “I don’t know Margo. But that doesn’t sound like Robert.”