Page 14 of Where the Darkness Goes

I groan. I couldn’t care less about what stupid Aaron Harper gets in trouble for, but whatever. “Fine.” I drop my phone back onto the table and flop down on the bed. “But get out of my room. You guys stink like gym socks.”

They mumble in agreement, shoving each other on their way out of my room. A few minutes after the door shuts, unexpected tears sting my eyes. I don’t know why I’m crying. Amber and I weren’t friends. We weren’t?—

My door opens again, and I turn my head, trying to hide the evidence that I’m crying. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” The voice isn’t the one I expected.

I sit up to find Garrett lingering in the doorway, his messy, dark curls pillowing around his head. One corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying to decide what to say. “Will said you and Amber aren’t, er,weren’tfriends, but I’ve seen you two at school talking, and well, I just wanted to…you know.”

“Thanks.” I dry my eyes quickly with the backs of my hands. “I’m okay. It’s just…sad.” It’s pathetic really. That’s the best word I can come up with at this moment. Sad. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“I know.” He runs the toe of his sneaker over the powder-blue carpet. “Nothing ever happens here. Not like this.”

“Exactly. The closest thing we have to actual danger is, like, that time Jimmy Saltz got arrested for punching Dallas Green over a parking spot he was aiming for.”

A corner of his mouth twitches again, this time with a hint of a smile. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I promise him. Still, he lingers in the doorway. I feel like there’s something else he wants to tell me, but I have no idea what. What could be worse than this?

It’s always like this with Garrett, though. He has one of those faces that always feels as if he’s waiting to say or do something else, like he’s brimming with it. The way he looks at me, full of fascination and expectation, you’d think I often randomly burst into song to entertain him or something.

“Do you have plans Friday?”

“Plans? Friday? Next Friday?” I practically squawk, my voice so loud and pitchy it grates on my own nerves.No plans here except talking to Britney on the phone, eating buckets of popcorn, and digging into the latest Sarah Dessen novel.

He nods.

“Not yet.” I trail a finger across the threads of pattern in my comforter. “Britney and I might do something.”

“Yeah?” He scratches the back of his neck.

“Why do you ask? Do you have anyfun plans?” I tease.

“Nah, not really.” He seems to think, twisting his lips, then adds, “Actually, I’m having a party.”

“A party?”

A laugh escapes his lips on a breath. “Are you a parrot? What’s with the repeating?”

I grab a pillow from behind me and chuck it at him, narrowly missing as he ducks. Laughing, he picks it up, but instead of giving it back right away, he holds onto it. “I, um, it’s my birthday party.”

My stomach twists itself into a zillion knots. That’s right. His birthday. “Sweet eighteen,” I muse. My cheeks must be the color of the wine my mother allows herself a single glass of once a week.

He nods, and to my surprise, his own cheeks give mine a run for their money. “Somethin’ like that. Anyway, I thought if you didn’t have anything to do…it’d be alright with me if you came.” His gaze zips across the wall and over the ceiling, like he’s preparing to paint in here, before falling back to me. “And invite Britney, too. If you want. Or…whoever.”

“I could invite anyone?” I jump off my bed, crossing the room and snatching the pillow back from him. “Like my boyfriend?”

Once tomato red, his skin has quickly returned to its usual tan. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”

I shrug one shoulder, and his gaze falls to it, then jerks back up. He swallows. “Since now.”

“Who?” he demands.

“Why do you care?” With a fist shoved into my hip, I push the pillow into his chest, but he catches it with both hands, tugging it and me forward until we’re toe to toe. Refusing to let go of the pillow, my knuckles rest against his chest.

Anticipation builds like an inflating balloon. His dark eyes zip back and forth between mine like he’s interrogating me, and I can’t quite think straight.

Guilt takes hold of my insides when I realize what I just said to him. I don’t know why I lied. It was just a joke, really.

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