Page 46 of The Sweet Spot

I’m too angry, and too tired, to get into it with her so I just go, ignoring her when she calls my name.

* * *

It’s not that I thought Brooke Henley was the one, but we’d been good together. I thought, anyway.

We never talked about it, but we were exclusive. The sex was great, and we never fought. Granted, neither of us was ready to settle down, despite her parents’ antiquated interest in Brooke acquiring a husband along with a degree and Mãe’s giddiness over how ‘cute’ we looked together the few times I brought her to Walnut Creek for family dinners.

I thought it was good that our relationship was so low maintenance—she didn’t even mind when I returned to São Paulo for another fall semester abroad. I thought the phone calls and Facetime sessions were enough, and that she was as busy as I was. But in truth, she had Logan to keep her company while I was gone.

The stunned quiet I’ve been abiding in starts to devolve into rage—but not just at Brooke.

No, I’m angry at myself because I didn’t listen to Matt. He always saw right through Brooke’s beauty, her cultured bullshit. He told me what he saw, what he sensed, but for some reason I still let her in.

As for Logan—what the fuck? There’s a superabundance of hot, single girls in Santa Cruz; why the hell would he go after the one I was seeing? He’d acted like he couldn’t stand her when apparently, the opposite was true.

We’ve been friends for most of our lives, but now I feel like I don’t even know who he is.

My mind wanders back to the times we all hung out together. Brooke and her friends became friendly with us after I got back from São Paulo the first time, right before Christmas. When exactly did this start?

But thinking about this bullshit is useless. New Year’s is around the corner, and then, the final semester of my senior year. I’ll have to find another place to live, because I can’t trust Logan anymore, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

* * *

Brooke: Hey, call me.

We need to talk about the party tomorrow…

What’s the theme this year?

She signs off with her usual pair of pink hearts. I don’t reply to her text. I haven’t replied to any of the messages she’s sent lately. We’ve never been a particularly lovey-dovey couple, but we usually talk at least once a day, so I know she notices.

While she doesn’t know for sure that I know, her guilty conscience is most likely eating at her…it’s the sole reason she isn’t more pissed off by my lack of a response right now.

Logan doesn’t know I know, either. I make a point to ignore the shit-eating grin he’s giving his phone. For all I know, he’s texting Brooke right now.

“Heads up, Luca.”

I look up just in time to catch the can of beer Matty tosses at me.

“Really, man?” I give him a look, placing the can on the table so it can settle before I open it.

“What? You said you wanted one.”

I ignore him, turning my attention to Kellan. Every year, his very rich parents throw a very fancy New Year’s Eve party in their very swanky home down in Aptos. There’s always a theme, we’re always invited, and it’s always a good time.

“So, what’s the theme again?” asks Logan, kicking his dirty, sneakered feet up on the coffee table. “The 50’s?”

“The Fabulous Fifties, specifically,” Kellan says, offering me the bong. I decline, so he passes it on to Logan. “Formal like always, but with a twist.”

Cracking open my beer, I take a long pull. It’s a little fizzy, but it’s calmed down enough to not make a mess.

“Are you bringing anyone?” I ask Kellan. I’m looking forward to staying at his childhood home for a few days, even if Logan’s stupid ass is coming along, too.

“Besides you jokers?” He grins. “Maybe. I ran into this girl I knew in high school and we’ve been texting.”

“When you say you knew her, do you mean casually?” Matt asks, flipping through channels on television. “Or biblically?”

Kellan smirks, lowering his lips to the bong.

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