Page 73 of Over the Edge

Kissing. They’re kissing. Oliver’s hand cups the back of Quinn’s head, her dark hair flaring between the gaps in his fingers. It’s not a long kiss. I breathe and it’s over.

They’re dating. I know they’re dating, doing far more than this in private. But I guess seeing is believing, pushing unconscious understanding into stark reality.

The jealousy that settles on my tongue has a confusing flavor to it. I want to spit it out.

It’s not because Quinn is with Oliver. No, it’s the type that comes when you’re watching a rom-com and thinkI want to belong with someone like that. I want to belong so bad it hurts.They found it without me. Together.

There’s another fraction of a second where they look at each other. Oliver’s blue eyes shine for Quinn in the way that everyone wants to be looked at. He sees her, only her.

But Quinn sees me, all but jumping away from Oliver’s hold as she does. She stumbles over the rock she was using earlier to prop up her leg and Oliver reaches out to grab her. His arm snakes around her waist pull her back to him. The moment they’re both upright, they’re putting distance between them again.

I hold up my keys and then point at where I picked them up from the ground. “I lost these.” My voice comes out robotically before I turn and head back to the cars.

“Ev, we—” Oliver starts to say.

“No. Stay,” Quinn says, effectively cutting him off before there’s a light thud of footfalls behind me. The steps slow as she closes the distance. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need to see that.”

“I’m not upset,” I say.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m not upset that you guys were kissing,” I clarify.

“Then why won’t you look at me!” she demands, causing me to stop in my tracks. Quinn kicks up dust around her as she works to not run into me with her forward momentum.

“Because you practically shoved Oliver away to not touch in front of me,” I say. “I don’t want it to be weird. If you guys want to touch, touch. I don’t want to be the reason you can’t.”

“Stop it!” she shouts.

“Stop what?” My voice rises to match hers and my muscles tighten in my shoulders.

“Stop it,” she says softer this time, but only slightly. “You’re doing that thing I hate where you act like nothing can touch you if you decide that it should be okay. You’ve been doing it all week. Barely talking to me at the wine bar then avoiding conversations yesterday.”

“Itisokay. Haven’t I said that already?”Haven’t I said that enough? Can’t we just move on? Please, can we move on?

“Maybe things aren’t supposed to be okay. Maybe we should talk through things because we’re friends and it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, and I don’t want to act like that doesn’t matter?”

“I don’t want to fight. We don’t fight.” We all have our reasons for it. When we all met each other, we were thick in the magic that’s reserved for new beginnings.

In those days, we always ended up in Oliver’s room because his roommate had upperclassman friends who lived off campus and Quinn and my roommates liked to use our rooms for studying. I had a fake ID and bought us a box of wine, a shitty red blend that we still buy on principle and not for the taste even though we can afford much better.

The first time it happened was during the third week of classes. Nothing mattered besides finding a place to belong for the next four years. Secrets and hidden thoughts bled into casual conversation, until we could never be strangers ever again.

It was the time that Oliver told us about his sisters and how they were his favorite people in the world. How he delayed college by a year because of his dad’s most recent divorce.

Quinn told us about her parents. How they couldn’t stand each other and were only still together because of their staunch religious beliefs. That she lies to them about going to bible study and church every Sunday. We promised to be her unconditional alibis if she ever needed us.

For me, it was the first time I talked about my brother. It was the first time I told anyone about my deep need for things to be okay. We all cried and let it be okay to cry.

My eyes catch on a red sedan pulling into the parking space.

“Then why are you running from us? If everything is fine, why did you leave?” she asks, and I don’t think we’re talking about their kiss anymore.

“I didn’t think it was right to stay.”

“You can tell me if there’s another reason. You can tell me anything,” she says, opening an opportunity with her words. An invitation I nearly take.

“Not right now,” I say. It’s not the right time. “And also, I’m not all that into voyeurism, so I thought walking away was an okay response.”

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