Page 159 of Between the Lines

She says it quietly. I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever used the words “quiet” and “Zoey” in the same sentence.

Stopped at a stop sign, I look to my little sister. Headphones out, in the front seat of my car, getting to just be my sister for once. I reach over and ruffle her hair, then reach into the backseat and squeeze Harper’s hand.

“Me too.”

sixty-three

claire

I can’t believeI’m back here.

It has been almost a month since my last day at River Valley Middle School. And yet, here I am. Back on their payroll. Because I signed up to chaperone the stupid dance back when Nathan had asked me to.

I would have forfeited my position, but Penelopeinsistedthat they had no one else to help out. She also insisted that I dress the part. When I refused, she dragged me to my closet to assemble my current outfit: the same green satin piece I’d worn to Halloween. The one with the tear in it. The one that, as soon as I slipped it on, brought pesky tears to my eyes.

I haven’t seen Nathan in almost as much time, and it still stings. He put the ball in my court, and I hate him for it. If he was a man, he’d be knocking down Penelope’s front door and begging for me to take him back, wouldn’t he?

No. That would make him a book boyfriend. And I’ve learned that they only exist between the pages. Not in real life. No, real life men stew and then regret their decisions when the one theyhadbecomes the one thatgot away.

I step into the gym and take direction from Sam, who tells me I’ll be on the south side of the gym.

“Just make sure they leave room for Jesus and keep their hands above the butt,” he says.

I lift my brow and shake my head, laughing all the way to my post.

For the most part, this is the easiest hundred bucks I’ve ever made. The kids are mostly respectful, the music is decent, and I’ve gotten free punch all night long, brought to me by Rocco Thatcher himself. I decline a dance with him, but hedoesmanage to convince someone his own age to cuddle up during a slow song. I sip my punch as my mind wanders.

Maybe Nathan and I were meant to be in each other’s lives for a reason. He pushed me to leave the cage of my parents’ house. I pushed him to the freedom he denied himself. That doesn’t necessarily mean we get to have each other forever. Maybe we were only ever meant to be chapters in each other’s books, not the rest of the story.

And yet, my mind still holds onto him.

Penelope has been casually dropping hints about him at home. When she mentioned that he took a sick day last week, I almost took a day off from my class to check in on him. Is it him, or is something wrong with Cal? He shouldn’t be going through any of this alone. If he’s still sick over me…

As if that thought alone were a spell, his cedar and vanilla scent wraps around me. I close my eyes, allowing one moment of peace with those memories before I peel them open, and there he is, standing before me.

He looks lighter. Less high strung. Less afraid.

I wonder what I’ve missed in the last month. Wonder if he’s moved on without me.

I offer him a small, pinched smile, and he extends his hand, bowing slightly.

“Ibelieve I promised you a dance.”

My breath catches, but my heart is in the driver’s seat as my hand slips into his. Before he can drag me any further out onto the gym floor, I hesitate. He stops with me.

“Won’t it look bad if you and I dance together? In front of your staff?”

He nods curtly, then says, “It’s not going to look any different than Sam and Juliet over there, or Lucy and Aaron ten minutes ago. And besides, you aren’t my staff anymore.”

That insinuation sits heavily in my stomach, and I let him drag me out onto the gym floor.

We’re stiff for the first verse and refrain of the song, dancing as awkwardly as the teenagers are with his hand on my waist and the other clutched in mine. I don’t know what to do, what to say. Not when the only thing I actuallywantis to give into the urges that my heart is screaming feel like home.

“I messed this up, Claire. This is on me. This is my fault.”

Short, sweet, and to the point.

His voice is low and raspy, pressed to my ear now as he leans down to speak.

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