Trailing Stars (Trailing Stars #1)

Chapter 14

Morgan: Doing what? You don't do anything.

Me: I'm doing things.

Morgan: Like?

Me: Like not telling you what I'm busy doing.

Morgan: Should I come home?

Me: Not at home.

Morgan: Can you tell me where you are?

Me: Do you mind closing the door?

Morgan: What?

Me: Nothing. Just hang out with the others. I'm sure they're waiting for you to get off the phone.

Morgan: I expect full answers later.

Me: I expect you'll forget later.

I plug my phone into an outlet and bury myself beneath the covers. I can't remember what I was doing that day. If I had to guess, I was probably just avoiding Kassie, Leah, and Jason. By that point, they were all mad at me. Kassie and Leah for rejecting them for Morgan and Jason for the lake incident.

But I do remember Morgan did ask me later what was wrong when he got home. I didn't tell him I didn't want to hang out with his friends—and they always really were his friends, not ours—anymore because of everything that's happened. It didn't stop him from telling me we should go ice skating together, though. That always put us both in a good mood.

I turned him down.

I shut my eyes tight, trying to push the memory out of my head and all the what-ifs that come with it. But they seep through the cracks in the walls.

What if I said yes to ice skating?

What if I sucked it up and went to hang out with Morgan and his friends?

What if I mentioned how I felt about them and how they felt about me sooner?

What if Morgan knew and—?

No. Not that last one. If he knew, he wouldn't have just let it all happen.

Unless it was his fault—

I sit up in bed, rubbing my face. My throat closes, and my breathing becomes ragged. It feels like there are pins and needles all over my body, and when I rub my arms, it's like they shatter into more pieces and cover even more of my skin. I stare ahead, hoping if I hyperfocus on something, it'll make the feelings and the thoughts stop.

It doesn't.

I need to skate, but I'm not stupid enough to sneak out of the house again. But I need to do something, so I can stop fidgeting. I look around my room until my eyes land on the journal on my bedside table, the star winking at me. I reach for it and dig a pen out of my bedside table's drawer. I don't know if I want to see my thoughts on paper, but better that than feeling restless.

I open the journal to the first page, and I pause when I notice writing. I squint. It looks like Nathan's handwriting, but there are notes in the margins. The general tone is a dead giveaway for Clara.

Hey, Mona. I'm glad you decided to write something. If not, then the journal is either collecting dust (I told him this was a dumb gift) or Clara didn't give it to you (such little faith in his best friend). The latter isn't likely (obviously), but she could have torn out this note and written something else in its place (like how dumb the original note was). Something along the lines of how this is a stupid gift and she's sorry that you have to deal with me as a friend (he knows me so well).