Potentially You and Me (Two Truths and a Lie)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: BRING TO A BOIL

"Zack."

He stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

"How'd you even . . ." I trail off. My thumb still hovering over my phone.

Zack just flicks his thumb over his shoulder. "Cowbell."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He sways a little on his feet.

My eyebrows furrow. "Are you okay?"

He looks up, looks back down at my feet, and then looks up again as a ghost of a smile traces his lips. It's that ghost of a smile that finally looks the most normal on him. Not that sagged, stiff posture and plain white vans.

"You're really asking me . . . if I'm the one that's okay."

My body stills again. "Let's not do this." I reach for the door.

"No, please." He steps forward. "I know it's not my place—"

"You're right, it's not."

"I know, but Lacie."

We lock eyes. His are warm, middle of a sunflower brown, like my sister's. His shoulders sag again as he steps back once more.

"I know it's not my place, but I just . . . I've known the guy for ten years."

"I know, but—"

"I know." He looks back up at me. "I know he messed up. I know he's not five, and I can't fix it, but I just need you to know that he cares about you—a lot. A lot, a lot, and I don't know why he said what he said, I mean, I do, actually. He's got an ego as big and square as his head."

"Yeah." I huff even though my mind pictures that big square head of his and a big ball of tears—no, I'm sick of crying—emotion settles in my throat.

"I know I can't apologize for him. I just—I don't know. I guess I really . . . I just came to check on you that's all."

One side of my mouth quirks up for a split second. "Thanks, Zack."

He nods as he takes another step back. We lock eyes again and he sends me a similar split second smile that also doesn't reach his eyes.

"You know." He rocks back on his heels once more. "I should have called dibs."

"You what?" My heart jumps into my ears.

He just shakes his head as a smile traces his lips once more. "I'll see you around, okay?" He goes to walk.

I go to close the door, but find my head poking out into the hallway instead. "You technically did though . . ."

He freezes mid-stride, his left foot leaned forward with his heel still in the air, as he looks over his shoulder.

"You're the one that hit me."

His eyes hit the floor first before flicking back up to mine. "Yeah, but it's not the same." He blinks at the ground one more time before his lips curve up to one side. "Plus, I've still got Stephanie to impress."

My lips curve up once more, bigger this time. "I definitely think you're growing on her."

"Good." He nods. We trade smiles before he sends me a wave, turns, and ducks his head as he trots back down the hallway.

I close the door and find the room looks different than when I came in a few minutes ago, and it's not just because of the few things I threw around, like my comforter and my desk chair, rather another wave washes over me. The reverse of the calm before the storm. I was the storm. I've been storming the last few days, but now everything's calm—too calm—so calm that I'm out of anger and frustration and confusion. I've got nothing roaring in my ears and pounding in my chest. All I've got left is this lingering weight in my heart and sting in my eyes.

My thumb finally presses down on my phone before I finally bring it to my ear. My lungs stutter with each inhale as the phone rings and rings.

"Hello?"

The tears are warm as they stream down my cheeks. "Mom?"

****

"Thank you for coming." I slam the passenger side door shut behind me.

"Always."

I can feel my mom's eyes. I've felt them since I opened the back door and chucked in my duffle bag and a few other things I was planning on taking home during spring break. I only had a few more days, and yet my mom's eyes are on me because I just couldn't wait.

She doesn't say anything else though. Instead, she just puts the car in drive. The radio is on low, but the silence between us is palpable. It turns my head into a dryer as all the stupid meaningless things begin circling around and around. And . . . flop. And . . . flop. And . . . flop.

I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. "It's so stupid."

"What?" my mom coos. "What's wrong?"

It takes an hour and a little more than thirty minutes out of the four-hour car ride home for the topic of Trent to finally become exhausted. Tears, snot, and reassurance all in an hour and thirty-seven minutes if I watched the clock correctly.

My face is still red but has been dry of tears since the hour mark. However, I feel the red-hot sting resurfacing because seven months of my life only took less than two hours to be summed up.

Seven months of my life shattered by two sentences.

****

"But why?" my sister's whine travels up the stairs.

"You know why," my mom hisses after hearing the same kind of whine spill from my sister's lips for the last few days.

"Can we at least get a cat?"

"No."

"Please," my sister drags out the word as if she was five again and not thirteen.

"Enough!" my dad's the one to bellow this time, and I almost laugh, but it's my sister's dramatic sigh that really makes my stomach jiggle.

"Fine," she huffs even though my parents already turned the volume back up on the television. The actor's voices muffle Layla's heavy stomps up the wooden stairs. It's not long before her sock covered feet scrape against the carpet in our shared room as she shuffles in. "Ugh." She sighs again when she flops down on the bed beside me.

I turn my head, noting the way the long thin blonde strands of her hair blend in with some of the flowers in my comforter. She attempts to blow her bangs out of her face, but after two failed attempts, she finally wipes them aside.

The slow up and down movement of our chests count the seconds. I guess in a way they always do.

I cast my gaze back on the ceiling. It doesn't take long for me to spot the two tiny glow in the dark stars resting in the corner above the door. I've been home for days just staring at those two little stars. I've always used those stars as my own personal wishing well, but lately I don't even know what to wish for.

"What an a**hole."

"Dad?" I choke on my salvia, both in shock and amusement.

"No." Layla gently whacks my arm.

My body stills again. "Oh."

The silence doesn't officially come back because my sister starts grumbling again, only this time about the air in the room. The mattress dips as she abandons me before she comes back and drapes a knit blanket over us both. The material is scratchy, but warm.

Layla doesn't say anything else, but just continues to lay beside me. The silence is almost strange on her end, but still welcome.

"You know you have sixty-two freckles on the side of your face?"

My lips curve up to the side as I pass her a sideways glance.

"No wait!" her hands whip out of the blanket. "Don't move." She uses her pointer finger to count as she quietly mouths the numbers. "It's sixty-seven—no! I forgot your forehead!"

I slap her hand down before we both laugh. The smile almost feels foreign to my cheek, but it also feels good. It feels like home.