Page 130 of Oh, Flutz!

“I’ll do it,” he says.Like it’s a death sentence.

Lian nods. “That’s all I needed to hear.” With that, she waves a hand, and we file out of her office.

The door shuts behind me, and the four of us stand there. I’m trying to look at anything but him. He’s making it difficult.

“I have a lesson now,” Nina murmurs, and disappears.

We keep staring at each other.

“So how was the—"

“I’m really sorry about—“

My face burns, and Oliver, to his credit, actually manages to laugh. “Jinx.”

I smile, even though it probably comes out as a grimace. “I’m sorry about the surprise. I should’ve called.”

Oliver waves a hand. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

Bryan finally looks me in the eyes, and that’s when I notice that they’re completely flat. “I disagree.”

He turns and leaves.

Ollie turns to me, a wicked grin splitting his face as he pulls me into a hug. “The bitch is back.”

“She’s glad to be back.” I want to laugh, I do, but I’m watching the back of Bryan’s head as he walks, practically runs, further and further away from me, and I feel my heart aching in my chest like it’s slowly being drained out of it.

Oliver catches me looking as he pulls away, and the grin fades into a sigh as he claps a hand on my shoulder. “Listen…don’t worry about him. He’ll come around. You just have to give him time.”

“I don’t think he will,” I whisper.

He doesn’t correct me.

I said I wanted to go home. And now I have. But home isn’t just a place—it’s never been a place. But what are you supposed to do, when home’s locked you out? Where else are you supposed to go?

Chapter Forty-Five

BRYAN

I’m sitting on thekitchen counter at my parents’, staring at the space on the living room wall above the black screen of the TV and holding an empty bowl in my hands.

It’s strange, you know. Somehow, it doesn’t even feel that much emptier than it used to. Everything looks the same. All of their stuff is still here, unless you look in Mom’s closet. It really doesn’t feel any different.

How utterly depressing. Although not nearly as depressing as the fact that my life has, once again, screwed me with my pants on.

“Whoever’s in there, I have a weapon!”

“What the—" I scramble for footing on the counter, nearly dropping the bowl, and then when I see who it is, I nearly toss it at her head. “Alex! What is wrong with you?”

My sister puts down her so-called “weapon”—a gigantic foam pencil she must’ve gotten at her school’s book fair a million years ago—and plants her hands on her hips. “Me? You’re the one who broke in and busted out the cereal without calling me, creep.”

“I thought you were—isn’t there a hockey practice or something you’re supposed to be at right now? And since when do I need permission to come into my own house?” I grumble, picking up the Honey Nut Cheerios and finally shaking them into the bowl.

“Since you have your own apartment?” Alex questions, and I pretend not to hear her. I have, in fact, been staying in my old room since the funeral. I didn’t want her to be alone.

She’s still a kid. She shouldn’t have to be on her own like I was at her age.

“Sorry,” she says quietly, realizing, and I wave her off.

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