Page 60 of Something in Between

Royce steps toward me. “I wanted to see you. You haven’t returned any of my texts or called me back since Sunday night. I would have come over earlier but with my tutoring schedule for finals I couldn’t get away until now. Why are you ignoring me?”

“Well, you’ve seen me,” I say, choking on the words and taking a step away from him. “Feel better?” I know I’m being cruel to him, but it’s better this way. I can’t be with someone like him and he shouldn’t be with someone like me. I’m practically doing him a favor.

“Come on, Jasmine. What’s going on? What did I do to piss you off?”

“You didn’t do anything to piss me off. I’m just moving on,” I say, shrugging as if I’m so bored of this conversation.

His face turns red. “Movingon? What’s that supposed to mean? Everything was going fine and then you just disappear? What the—Why? You owe me an explanation at least.”

“I don’t owe you anything. Not everyone owes you something, Royce,” I snap, even though it hurts me to hurt him like this. The jagged twist in my stomach makes me feel so nauseous, I could vomit. But I don’t see how we can work things out. Whether Royce believes in what his father does or not doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too dangerous for me to be with him.

He runs his fingers through his hair. “Look, if you hate my guts that’s fine. But it’s not like you to not say what’s on your mind. You’re not that kind of person. I know it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve never known who I really am,” I say.And whose fault is that?A million thoughts race across my mind. I should have told him. Or once I knew who his dad was and what he believed in, I should’ve stayed far, far away from him. I should have never gone to meet him after the dinner. I shouldn’t have let him kiss me.

“Why are you saying this? I know you, Jasmine. You know me. Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, looking as stricken as I feel.

But I have to do this. It’s better this way. Safer for me, and easier for him. He’ll forget about me, find someone else to read his favorite passages from the books he likes to, some other girl to lend quotes to.

“Look, I’m going to be late for practice. I have to go,” I say, my voice deliberately cold.

“Your friend just said she’d tell your coach you’d be late.”

“Like you know who my friends are. You’ve never met any of them!” I yell, which makes me realize I’ve never seen his school, never met any ofhisfriends either. Our entire world is made up only of each other. I never noticed before, because we never needed anyone else. I just wanted to be with him, and he with me. But now it bothers me. Was he hiding me or something?

“I’d love to meet your friends. But you’ve never introduced me to any,” he says. He’s right. I haven’t, even when he spends the weekend hanging out with me in the Valley.

“Well, I haven’t met any of your friends either!” I scowl.

“That’s because I don’t have friends.”

“Oh please.” My arms are crossed now and I’m fuming. He has tons of friends, and so many followers on Snapchat (six hundred and two to be exact).

“I mean, yeah, I know a lot of guys, but we’re not close. I don’t have any close friends, okay? Satisfied?” His jaw is a stern line.

“But you know everybody in D.C....all those kids...Carrie’s crew...” I’m convinced I’m right about this.

“Yeah, I mightknowa lot of people, but that’s not the same as havingfriends. Jesus, do I have to go into detail as to how big a loser I am?”

“You’re not a loser,” I say, because I hate when he puts himself down.

“And you’re not just my girlfriend, Jasmine. You’re my best friend. The first real friend I’ve had. When you stopped talking to me, I just, I can’t...” He growls in annoyance and stuffs his hands back in in pockets. “Whatever! Forget it! Forget I said anything!” He pivots away, obviously embarrassed.

Now he’s walking away and I’m the one running after him.

“Royce!”

When I catch up to him, his cheeks are red and his eyes are as glassy as mine.

“Royce, I’m sorry,” I say, because I am. Because I suck, because I should have been honest with him from the start. I pride myself on being forthright, and yet I’ve been unable to tell this guy I really care about something fundamental about me.

I was so worried about getting hurt, but now I know it hurts so much more to be the one causing pain.

“About what?” he asks. “What are you sorry about?” His face is terrible, gray and angry.

“I should have told you the truth about me, when we first met,” I say slowly.

“What? Do you have a boyfriend? I should have known.” He looks like he wants to punch something.

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