Page 136 of Sporty Girls Don't Fall For Loners

My mouth snaps shut. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s private.”

“But you’re here now and I can’t read it by myself. If not now, I don’t think I’ll ever have the guts to read it.”

I puff out some air. I don’t think Lexi would like me invading her privacy, but I also know how much she desperately wants Brock to read the letter. If I don’t read it with him, we might lose the only chance we’ll ever have. And maybe with my help and encouragement, he can finally respond to her, something she’s wanted for a long, long time.

“If you’re sure about it,” I tell him, “I’ll read it with you.”

“No, not with me,” he says as he plays with the envelope. “Read it out loud.”

“Brock,” I sigh.

“Come on, Zoey. Please?”

His eyes are huge with pleading. There’s so much pain and heartache and loss, but also hope. He’s putting me in a difficult position, but as his older sister, I want to help him as much as I can and take away all that pain. So, hoping Lexi will forgive me, I nod and hold out my hand for the envelope.

“Thanks so much. You’re really the best.”

He stretches his arm to hand me the envelope, then turns around on my bed and faces his back to me. Carefully, I open the envelope and slip out the letter. I thought it would be typed up, but Lexi actually wrote it out. Which makes me think that this is very personal to her.

Brock’s shoulders heave, as though he’s dreading what the letter might say. I unfold it and read out loud:

Dear Brock,

Hi! How are you? I’m doing okay. I miss you so much. Nothing’s been the same since you left. Will you come home soon? I know I said things that hurt you and I’m really, really sorry. I keep trying to call you, but I guess you’re not ready to forgive me. And that’s okay. I mean, it hurts, but I don’t want to make this about me.

The guys miss you, too. I hope we can one day talk face to face, or at least on the phone. Please respond to this letter. I really hope we can be friends again.

Your still-best-friend who misses you like crazy,

Lexi West

The room is dead silent. Brock’s shoulders still heave, and his breathing is labored. I don’t say anything. I don’t want to be the first one to break the silence, giving him the opportunity to talk first. But Brock is quiet.

After a few minutes, I ask, “Do you want me to read it again? Or do you want to read it?” I hold it out to him.

He shakes his head, and…was that a sniff? Is he crying?

I stand. “Brock—”

He spins around and snatches the letter from me, then he bolts out of my room. The envelope floats to the floor at my feet.

I run my hand through my hair. I shouldn’t have pushed. Ugh. Why did I push? The more I try to help him, the more I hurt him.

I decide to give him twenty minutes to himself before heading to his room. I knock and turn the knob to walk in, but the door is locked. “Brock?” I call softly. “Can I come in?”

There’s no response.

“I’m really sorry, Brock. I didn’t mean to push—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” his muffled voice says.

“You can be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Can you open the door?” I ask.

I hear him shuffling, and then the door opens. When I walk in, he falls back on his bed with the shark documentary we were watching before my parents came home.

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