Page 27 of Past the Broken Bridges

He pulls out his phone, his brows pinching as he murmurs, “Did she?”

I’m not sure what’s captured his attention, but it doesn’t seem good. “Yeah…” I do my best not to glance at his screen even though my curiosity is getting the better of me as one of his knees starts bouncing. “She’s taking some sort of musical history class. You should ask her about it. I bet you two have a lot in common.”

Dawson pales when he sees whatever is flashing on the screen. “Shit,” he murmurs, scraping the chair back. “I gotta go. I’ll see you two Tuesday though?”

“We’ll be there,” I call out, watching him walk away and put the phone to his ear.

Weird.

After only being able to take two bites of food, I dump the rest into the trash bin by the door as I fight the nausea creeping into the back of my throat. As I walk toward the exit, I see Banks stroll in with his notebook tucked under his arm. He looks lost in his own little world, but the second he glances to his right and sees me, he straightens.

I lift my hand to wave, about to walk over when his gaze dips and he walks into the food hall without so much as a nod in my direction.

“Guess that answers that,” I murmur to myself, debating following him in. Glancing at the time on my phone, I say screw it and head to the grill section Banks is browsing.

As if my suspicions weren’t enough, the way he stiffens as soon as I stop beside him cements it for me. “You’re avoiding me,” I declare, getting the attention of the line cook behind the counter.

Banks grabs one of the wrapped paninis. “I’m not avoiding you,” he replies, focusing solely on the food displayed in front of him.

His lack of eye contact says otherwise. “Are you sure? Because it sure seems like you’re being weird right now.”

From his profile, I see his jaw tick. “Maybe it’s because you’re harassing me in the middle of a lunch line while I’m trying to get food,” he snaps back, voice cool enough to make me frown.

Okay, I get that. I should have probably just walked out and gone to class early. “I wanted to clear the air, that’s all,” I tell him quietly.

I wait for him to say something else. When a few awkwardmoments go by in silence, I peek at the employee still watching the two of us before backing down.

“Sorry for bothering you,” I tell Banks, flushing at the rejection. All I want is to be friends. Or friendly. That’s not too much to ask for. Is it?

I hear a deep sigh as I’m walking away. “You caught me in a bad mood,” he admits.

When I turn, I suck in a breath as I see his split lip. It looks like mine when Bentley and I were playing with a wiffle ball bat and things got a little carried away. “What happened?”

His chin dips, trying to hide what I already saw. “It’s nothing. An accident.”

He doesn’t seem like a fighter, but I don’t know him well at all. “Are you okay? Make sure you keep that cleaned. Once, I got a cut and it got infected.”

He takes his things and heads to the fountain drinks to get a plastic cup. Naturally, I follow close behind. “I’ll be fine.”

Pressing him will only make him angry, so I don’t. “Well, if you need anything…” I rub my lips together, watching as he pours himself Dr. Pepper. “You know where I live. I’ve gotten good at cleaning wounds.”

The comment finally catches his attention, his eyes drifting to mine with silent curiosity. He doesn’t ask what I mean, and I don’t elaborate. I didn’t even mean to let that slip. I bruised easily as a child, got cut during my many adventures outdoors, and broke a few bones climbing things I shouldn’t have long before I ever got sick. I guess it was all practice for when life kicked me while I was down.

I can’t explain it, but his eyes pierce mine in ways that see right through me. Stomach tightening, I try figuringout the feeling that settles into my gut. It goes beyond the nausea. Familiarity? Something else?

“I’ll keep that in mind, Birdie,” he says, his low tone making goose bumps pebble my arms.

It almost makes me forget I don’t feel well.

Almost.

I have to run out of class halfway through to empty what little is in my stomach. There’s a tinge of red that I choose to ignore as I wipe my mouth off, take a deep breath, and meet my eyes in the mirror.

The girl staring back is a stranger.

Hollow.

Tired.

---