“What?” Lena demands. “Nothing to say to that?”
The elevator reaches the bottom floor and then the doors open. Without another word – purposefully not responding to Lena, it seems like – Preston strides out of the elevator and into the lobby.
Lena takes a few steps forward, as though she’s going to chase after him. She pauses when he picks up his pace and walks out onto the street.
Juliana and I exchange another glance. Juliana looks like a kid in school, trying to hold back her laughter, her lips pressed together tightly as though she can hardly contain it. But I can’t find any humor in the situation.
Lena spins on us, looking straight at me. She seems to decide I look the acceptable level of serious, and then she glares at Juliana. “Is something funny?”
Juliana shakes her head vigorously. “Not at all.”
“Good.”
Lena turns and walks away quickly, stalking out of the building.
I let out a breath between my teeth, my hands trembling, my thoughts clashing. My mind is flooded with images of Preston, with the way he looked looming over me in the elevator, his body looking like it was carved from stone, his soul singing to mine.
“Are you okay?” Juliana asks, touching my arm softly.
I swallow and then force a smile to my face. “Yeah, fine. Why do you ask?”
She tilts her head, appraising. “Because you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Don’t worry. She can’t get us into trouble for standing in an elevator.”
I nod. It’s better that Juliana thinks that’s what’s worrying me, the prospect of Lena dishing out some of her signature punishment, rather than the truth that I can’t stop thinking about the man I’ve never even spoken to.
“See you tomorrow,” she says when we reach the exit. She’s heading in the opposite direction. “And don’t stress about Lena.”
After saying goodbye, I walk down the street toward my bus stop.
My heart doesn’t feel like it’s only beating in my chest. It feels like it’s ricocheting through my entire body, sparking up my nerves, making every inch of me throb as Preston’s silver-streaked hair and severe expression take my thoughts captive.
Lena was so angry with him, I reflect as I sit down at the bus stop. She looked like she wanted to slap him.
I remember how my first instinct was to come to his defense. But that could be wrong.
What if Lena has a good reason for being angry with him? What if he was a crappy boyfriend?
The instant the thought occurs to me, a tidal wave of rejection drowns the notion.
For reasons that make no sense, I’m certain Preston – my Preston – would never treat his girlfriend poorly. I’m certain he’d never do anything cruel or mean-spirited to a woman, or to anybody.
Lena looked livid when she sarcastically commented that Preston was a charitable man, clearly thinking the opposite, implying he’d done something uncharitable during their time together.
Wringing my hands, I remind myself that this is none of my business. If Preston was a good boyfriend or a bad one, it makes no difference to me.
He’s a stranger. He’s nobody to me.
But I can’t accept that.
Already, I’m spinning back time, reflecting on how that could’ve gone differently. If Lena had never stepped into the elevator, I could’ve fallen into his arms, simply collapsed against him so he was forced to embrace me. With his arms wrapped around me, I could have leaned in close, feeling how firm and reassuring his arms are.
How safe.
He’d never let anything happen to me.
On the bus, I lay my forehead against the glass and sigh softly. I need to stop this. I’ve never felt anything like this before, this gut-punch domineering emotion, warping my thinking to the point where I feel like collapsing against a stranger would be a good idea.
“You okay, sis?” Casey asks when I walk into our two bedroom apartment.
My big sister sits on our couch, her knees tucked to her chest, looking across the small room to our tiny television set. She reminds me so much of our dad, with her dark eyes and even darker hair, with the shape of her smile. People say I take after my mom – not that I ever knew her very well – but Casey is pure dad.
“Fine,” I mutter, dropping down next to her.
She glances at me. “The blog giving you trouble?”
Normally, my sister would be right. I’ve thrown myself into Tell Me Everything with so much enthusiasm everything else is secondary.
Perhaps it’s a way to deal with our current circumstances, in our rundown apartment, with the faded carpet and the damp-speckled walls, and the knowledge that we’re not going to be able to leave anytime soon.
Casey is twenty-seven and just beginning to make some headway in her call-center position, aiming for the job of manager. But this city is expensive, and it’ll be a long time before we can move somewhere nicer.