Page 42 of Past the Broken Bridges

“That’s just a TV show,” I remind her. “And I looked it up. Only four percent of alligator attacks are even fatal. That’s practically nothing. Plus, it’s crocodiles you have to worry about anyway. Alligators are like the black bears of the marshes. Harmless. Usually.”

The noise she makes isn’t one that sounds like she believes me. “Dawson couldn’t go anyway. He said he had plans with the basketball team after practice. I didn’t want to seem clingy since I’m the one who suggested we hang out last time too.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to have a girls’ day with me anyway?”

Dixie is quiet for a second. “No offense, but I think our versions of girls’ days are different. If you wanted to get your nails or hair done, I’m totally down. Maybe even shopping, since you think I own too many cardigans.”

I do think that, but I would never make her change something she loves. And the thought of going anywhere to get my hair done is laughable. What would I do? Take my wig off and ask them to shampoo it? I plan on taking my fake hair with me to the grave.

Literally.

“I’m sorry,” she says again when I don’t respond immediately.

Instead of pushing her on a girls’ day, I try to reassure her it’s fine. “Don’t worry about it. By the way, I saw Dawson when I was heading out of my apartment, and he said there was a party on Greek Row tomorrow night that we should go to. Maybe we can do that together instead.”

Dixie doesn’t answer right away. “Who is ‘we’ exactly? Because I don’t know if I want to be a third wheel.”

What?“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just…” She sighs. “He never said anything to me about a party when I asked him to hang out. But then he sees you and invites you to one. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

Okay, I see her point. “Maybe he found out about it after you talked. It’s not like that with me and Dawson anyway. You know that.”

“But doeshe?”

Frowning, I stare at the ground. I’ve never done anything to make Dawson think otherwise.

But you’ve also never done anything to make him think there’s not a chance.

“I…” Guilt crests in my chest. Maybe, secretly, there’s a part of me that enjoys the possibility of someone giving me attention because I’ve never gotten it before. Being flirted with is a new experience—one I like. So, no. I guess I haven’t turned Dawson down anytime he’s gotten that way. I let it go.

And that’s not fair to Dixie. “I don’t know,” I admit sadly.

I’m met with silence.

Then she says, “I just remembered I have to do some homework. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“If you want, I can skip this,” I offer weakly.

“No,” she insists. “I really do have homework. You go and have fun.”

I pull the phone back to check the time. “I have to call an Uber to get to the meeting place for this tour then. Say you’ll come to the party! I’ve always wanted to go to one, and we don’t even have to think about boys. I’ll even let you raid my closet again to find something cute.”

“Sawyer…”

“Please?” I beg, drawing out the word until it’s borderline annoying. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll think about it,” she relents, pausing. Her voice is softer. “Be careful on the tour.”

“I’ll text updates to let you know I’m alive and avoid sending you any pictures of the scary animals I see.”

That seems to appease her. “You can send turtle photos. And I’m really—”

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” I tell her, ears perking up when I hear the apartment door open behind me. I turn to see Banks walking out, so I wave at him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Banks stops beside me. “Who shouldn’t be sorry?” he asks curiously.

He still never used my number, which makes me regret ever giving it to him. And since he hasn’t mentioned it, I don’t either. The few times we’ve been around each other, he’s made it a point to acknowledge me whenever he sees me. Usually with a greeting that ends in “pal” or “buddy” to prove some sort of point.

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