The Way Back To You

Part 12

By the time we finally left the beach, the sun had dipped low enough that the ride home didn't feel like we were pedaling through a furnace. My skin still stung a little, tight from the salt and heat, but the air was cooler now, rushing against my face as we biked the long stretch of road back into town.

We rode in silence most of the way, worn out from the day but buzzing with the promise of tonight. A party. Jake Weston's party, of all things. The kind people would be talking about when school started back up.

When I got home, I called a quick goodbye over my shoulder to Lando before heading inside. I showered, washed the beach from my hair, and then pulled out my straightener. I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the mirror, tugging section after section through the heat, watching steam curl faintly in the reflection.

Lando showed up before I was even halfway done. Typical. He always got ready in about ten minutes flat. He collapsed onto my bed with his usual lack of grace, bouncing once before sprawling out, shoes still on.

"You're going to wrinkle the blanket," I warned, tugging another strand straight.

He smirked. "You sound like my mum."

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet clack of the straightener plates. Then he said, almost too casually, "So... would you really pick Charles over me?"

I paused mid-stroke, the heat hovering close to my cheek. Slowly, I looked up at him through the mirror reflection. He was watching me, but not with his usual grin. His eyes were serious, his voice quieter than usual.

I laughed lightly, trying to brush it off. "Oh, come on. That? I only said it to shut them up. You know what those girls are like."

"Still," he muttered, fiddling with a thread on the blanket. "You could've said me."

"Or I could've said neither," I reminded him, focusing back on my hair.

He was quiet for a beat. Then, "Would it really ruin everything though? If it was one of us?"

The straightener clamped down harder than I meant it to, tugging at my scalp. "What do you mean?"

Lando sat up a little, resting his elbows on his knees. "I mean... maybe you were right when you said no one's good enough for us. Maybe that's because it's supposed to be one of us. Like... me. Or Charles."

My heart thudded, uncomfortable in my chest. I tried to keep my tone light. "I don't know, Lando. I haven't really thought about it."

"I have," he said.

That shut me up. I turned slightly, straightener dangling loose in my hand. "You have?"

He nodded. "My parents asked me once, if I felt anything for you. I told them no." His lips twisted. "But maybe part of me was lying. Because... I don't know. You've always been my best friend. And that's how it usually goes, right? You end up with your best friend."

The words hung in the air between us, thick and heavy.

I swallowed, unsure what to say. "Lando...."

He shook his head quickly, running a hand through his hair. "Forget it. I'm being stupid. Too much sun today, that's all."

I wanted to press him, but the way he was already shutting down told me not to. So I finished my hair in silence, the straightener's quiet hum the only sound.

When I was done, I pulled on a black bodysuit and my favorite jeans. Lando leaned back on the bed, watching, and when I turned to grab my bag, he said softly, "You look beautiful, Nel."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "Thanks."

Downstairs, Dad was fiddling with the TV remote, Mum in the kitchen. Dad popped his head in as we were about to leave. "Hey. if you need a ride later, call me. I'll pick you up."