This girl had no limits. She openly talked about napping with her deceased mother and now fooling around with some boy.
“Are you always this forthcoming with personal stuff?”
She ducked to pluck a dandelion from the grass. “Not really.” Holding out the orange weed to me, she said softly, “I find you easy to talk to. You’re my friend. My only friend. And if you’re my friend, that means you immediately qualify to hear stuff other people don’t. I can joke with you about inappropriate things. I can tell you secrets. I can be honest…more honest than I’ve ever been with anyone.”
I didn’t take the proffered dandelion.
“No, you can’t.” Pushing her hand away until it fell to her side, I shook my head. “Friend isn’t a word I’d use to describe me. I’ve told you that before.”
“Why not?” She dropped the weed into the grass, her face gloomier than before. “What would you call this then?”
“An inconvenience.”
She sucked in a breath before fire mingled with the green of her gaze, making them burn. “You know what? You’re just as mean as you were when you were fourteen.” Temper painted her cheeks a bright red. “Just because I make you uncomfortable doesn’t mean you have to be cruel to me.”
“Who said anything about you making me uncomfortable?”
She laughed icily. “Oh, come on. I see you. I understand you. I’m not asking for anything more than you can give, Jacob. I’m not asking you to go out with me or expecting you to kiss me or even believing you’ll eventually tell me your secrets in return for mine. All I’m asking for—”
She cut herself off, pacing away with jerky steps. “Ugh, it doesn’t matter. I’ll go.” Spinning in place, she stomped in the direction of Mom’s house.
I watched her for a few seconds. I didn’t move as her hair bounced and her stupid pink and white striped pyjamas made her look as young as when we’d first met.
I’d successfully gotten my wish. No more weird attempts at joking, no more awkward interactions, and no more bizarre chats at midnight when adults believed we were in bed.
I turned to go.
The wind picked up.
The guilt I always tried to outrun found me.
The prickle of disappointing the one person I missed more than life itself ghosted down my spine.
I groaned, looking at the galaxies above. “Really?”
Another gust of air.
“You’re really gonna make me feel like shit over this, Dad?” I hissed into the night.
The breeze died away, leaving the air stagnant and stifling.
I knew the wind was just nature and nothing supernatural surrounded me, but I’d long since turned to a figment of my imagination for guidance. It’d become a habit. A crutch. Something I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.
I’d told Hope that I felt my father’s praise and judgment.
I felt it now, and I wanted to tell him to back off. To yell at the phantom to leave me the hell alone. I was allowed to put a girl who meant nothing to me in her place. I was permitted to be honest about not wanting her friendship.
But even as I shouted silent thoughts into the sky, a wash of shame was my reply.
Thick, terrible shame because I knew why Hope was here. Her dad had sent her to us because she was lonely. And I’d just made it worse by not offering her sanctuary in the one place she hoped she was welcome.
“Wait!” I called, my voice slicing through the darkness and lashing a lasso around her waist.
She slammed to a stop, turning to face me as I jogged toward her. “What? What did I do now?”
“You didn’t do anything.” I pulled to a halt, raking fingers through my hair. “It was me. I’m…I’m sorry.”
“You are?”
“Don’t push it. You were right. I was cruel. That’s all I’m apologising for.”
She linked her fingers together in front of her. “Thank you.”
“You’re not welcome.” I wanted to stay mad, but a half-smile curled against my control.
She grinned back. “You really are hard work. You know that, right?”
I brushed past her, my linen pants growing damp from dewy grass. “So I’ve been told.”
She trotted to keep up, falling into pace with me. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Act all pissy to keep people at a distance?”
I didn’t look at her, fighting my temper to answer politely instead of commanding her to get on a plane and fly far, far away. “Why do you think it’s an act?”
“Because no one wants to be alone—even those who go out of their way to scare everyone into hating them.”
I ignored her, focusing on walking to the boundary fence in the distance.
Hope’s breathing picked up with the exercise, but she didn’t lag behind. After a couple of strained seconds, she muttered, “How about we make a deal?”
“What deal?” I flicked her a look, surprised she kept up with me. She kept breaking into a jog to cover the distance I did in one step.