Page 80 of Past Tents

And maybe Lucy was right. I had stood up for myself and my romantic aspirations, even if they wouldn’t end up coming to fruition with Clay. I was a dreamer, a romantic. I wanted the fairy tale, and dammit, I was going to keep believing in it.

“How do I do that?”

“You do more things that fuel your own happiness,” Witty said, producing a white bakery bag seemingly out of thin air and opening it. The scent of a freshly baked almond croissant hit my nose and reminded me that I’d barely eaten in a week.

He took one from the bag and handed it to me, then offered the bag to Lucy.

I took a big bite of the almond pastry and let it dissolve on my tongue. Normally, eating one of Donner Bakery’s specialties was something that fueled my happiness. But today it tasted less than good, just like everything felt.

“I’m not sure what those things even are.”

Witty chimed in, “You go to work. Engage with your students. Make the carnival the best Green Valley High has ever seen. And you wait for your dumbass boyfriend to come to his senses. Ask me how I know he will.” Witty bounced his eyebrows and waited for me to ask him about this newest piece of gossip.

“Not interested, Witty. Not today,” Lucy told him. “This is about Ally being Ally. Not self-sufficient Ally or girlfriend Ally. Just Ally—whoever she wants to be.”

No one had put it that way before, but upon hearing Lucy say it, I knew she was right. I wanted to be that person, whoever she was, without being guided by her mom’s fears or her own self-doubt. “I want to go to Donner Bakery and eat my weight in cake. Then I want to paint signs for the carnival,” I said. “So let’s revive these dummies and get going.”

“Deal,” Lucy said. “The cake is my treat.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

ALLY

Green Valley High had put on great carnivals in the past, but this year’s was the best yet, even if my heart wasn’t fully in it. I wondered who would be working the kissing booth next to me, since I didn’t have faith it would be Clay.

Despite my brother’s insinuation that Clay would come around, the entire week had gone by, and now it was Sunday. I still hadn’t heard from Clay, which told me he hadn’t yet come to his senses.

He also hadn’t been at school, so I couldn’t see for myself whether he was miserable or flourishing. Meanwhile, I was there every day, sulking with my crappy school coffee.

And the longer he went without talking to me, the less I believed he ever would. I didn’t blame myself for it, not at all. I still believed in the fairy-tale stories of romance novels, even as I began to accept that Clay wouldn’t be my prince. Someone would.

My art students had gone all out, making vintage-looking wooden signs for every game booth, painting the booths in multicolor with vivid images on each one.

The dunk tank had a cartoon of someone who looked an awful lot like Principal Pindich in pineapple shorts riding on a surfboard over the cliff of a wave.

On the kissing booth, they’d painted swans with intertwined necks, beaks together forming a heart. Game booths with bottles and basketballs were similarly painted, and everything looked fresh and festive. Thanks to the big fundraising push the Parent-Teacher Association gave—some of us suspected they were making amends after the chicken salad incident—we had sold more tickets and raised more money for the school than ever before.

I’d spent the past two days working nearly around the clock with the art students, getting everything finished and hung, and I could barely stand up. Not to mention the past week when my thoughts kept returning to the look on Clay’s face when he told me he couldn’t be a better man.

He hadn’t reached out, and I’d given him the space he asked for. I’d hoped he’d hear my words, even if it took him a week. It was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do because I hated to leave someone who was hurting alone.

But the longer he went without a word, the sadder I got. I remembered what he’d said to me:The point isn’t to be so self-sufficient that you don’t need anyone else. The point is to be vulnerable around the right person. To need that person enough to feel something.

To need that person enough to feel something.

Like a heart breaking.

Crushed into pieces so tiny it can’t possibly be restored.

Vulnerable and utterly defenseless.

He’d gotten me here, and now all I could do was feel.

And somehow I had to put on clothes and come help the seniors fundraise for all their end-of-year festivities. I’d made them a promise and I couldn’t let them down.

I had to go work the goddamn kissing booth.

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