In Waves | ✔️

57 | bloom

When I've simmered through algebra, agonizing about how many people have been whispering about the anticipated sexual escapades of Matt and Lia in New York, I'm at a full rolling boil by the time I find him sitting on the bleachers behind the gym. I'm so livid I have to keep myself from tearing into him. One limb at a time.

"Matt, can I speak to you?" I grind out, ignoring Carter's watch on me. Ignoring the rest of their friends, pushing aside the thought that they might have all just been talking about me.

Matt jogs down the steps, his smile faltering when I pull him onto the field out of earshot.

"I can't believe you," I say.

"What?"

"You told your friends I'm coming to New York with you." My eyes are stinging, veins on fire. "You told Carter."

He shakes his head, holding up a finger. "Okay, no, I told Jay I hope you're coming with me. I didn't say it was a done deal."

"A deal?" I scoff. "Is that what you're calling it?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that, I just mean I told him it wasn't set in stone."

"Well he's telling everyone it is!"

"And why is that such a bad thing anyway?"

"Because people make assumptions, Matt!" I refrain from stomping my foot like a child. "People are talking about us. Our relationship. It's none of their business!"

"People are going to talk about us no matter what, Lia. It comes with the territory of dating me, and I'm sorry that I can't get them not to talk. It's going to happen." He holds my shoulders, looking me dead in the eye. "And considering we've been together for months, the assumptions are way nicer than what they'd be if we were only hooking up. They'd be calling you a slut. I hate it even being a hypothetical, but it's true. Being my girlfriend is saving you from those kinds of assumptions. Can't you see the bigger picture here?"

His tongue could be a spatula, frying up my brain into scrambled eggs. I press my hands to his chest to move away, but he draws me closer, sighing my name like I'm overreacting. Like he's tired of talking about a topic we've barely grazed.

"I'll tell Jay you're not coming with me," he assures. "Anyone who asks, I'll tell them. It can't stop them from talking about us, but it'll stop them from talking about us in New York. That's all I can do."

"Fine, but I... I haven't made a decision yet. And I can't right now. I'm too annoyed to think clearly. I'm sorry."

"I know." Matt smiles, his hands sliding down my arms. "And I'll quit asking, but I'll need an answer by the end of the week. My parents need to know if you're coming."

I nod and let him pull me into a hug, but my anger doesn't dissolve with it. I see his friends watching us, and the anger only blooms, because he's right. They're always going to be talking. Everyone will. Our most private moments will be speculated about. The status of my virginity will be speculated about, and it makes my stomach turn.

I sense more eyes on us, but not from the bleachers. From the wall where Nate hangs out. He's sitting there with Rob and Ollie and Clara, and we make eye contact over Matt's shoulder, but he doesn't turn away. He swipes the cigarette from his lips and he pointedly looks at my leg. Right through my jeans to the bruise I know he can see clear in his mind.

My heart softens when Nate's face hardens, my anger wilting. His blooming.

〰️〰️〰️

Walking home from my shift at the restaurant doesn't do anything to clear my head. Walking usually helps, but playing the piano is the only thing that does the trick for me. I'll make my session count tonight. I'll play until my fingers hurt and my brain stops hurting. No matter how long that takes.

Well, I wish. I'd keep everyone awake all night if I did that. That's when I'll turn to listening to piano music instead. Sleep with it flowing in my ears, dream with it. And I'll wake up disappointed, because as much as I love the piano, it isn't the magic answer I want. I don't know what I want anymore.

I pick a white daisy from a crack in the sidewalk outside my house, twirling it around for a moment. A bent petal catches my eye and I pluck it off.

"He loves me..." I pluck another. "He loves me not."

Again and again. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. 

"Hey." A husky voice makes me look up just as I pluck the last petal, locking eyes with Nate strolling down the sidewalk. He's slows to a stop, a smile emerging. "Fancy running into you here."

I toss the flower stem into a bush. "Outside my house? Unheard of."

He nods to the bush. "So does he love you?"

"Huh? I wasn't doing—that's so childish—" I cough, nodding to the gym bag slung across his chest in turn. "What's that?"

He lingers on the petals strewn around my shoes, giving his strap a tug. "Oh, this? It's pretty cool. They call it a 'bag'. Real advanced technology. See you can open the zipper, and then like, stuff goes inside. Neat, yeah?"

I step closer and give him a little shove. "What are you doing with a bag at my house, smartass?"

A grin stretches across his face. "See another cool thing about bags is that you can put clothes in them, and then take them places. Like, to other peoples houses when you stay the night."

I blink, my stomach flooding with whirling wings. "You're sleeping over?"

"Miller!" We both look at Rob standing on the porch, whistling like he's calling a dog.

Nate gives him the middle finger as he turns back to me. "I'm sleeping over."

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a/n: fun fact - the last time these two spent the night under the same roof, it was a pool house roof  👀

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