Page 71 of Past the Broken Bridges

They’re talking, but I have no idea what they’re saying before the men who approached him back off and point toward something in their waistbands. I see the way Dawson straightens, towering over them, but not in a threatening way.

He looks…scared.

Before I can say something to Dixie, the two strangers walk around him, bumping his shoulder and disappearing from view.

I grab another Skittle from the table and peel my eyesaway from the window. “Have you heard from Dawson lately? I don’t see him around as much.”

Dixie finishes scanning whatever line she’s on and looks up from my story. “We went to dinner a couple of times.” Nibbling her lip to suppress a smile, she leans her chin on her propped palm.

My eyes trail back to the window, but there’s nobody in sight. “And you’re happy?” I ask, a nagging feeling in my gut thinking about what Dawson has in his bag.

“I was a little upset after the party, but Banks told me that he provoked Dawson. I won’t pretend like that didn’t hurt, but I think we’ve managed to get past it.”

I hadn’t realized Banks talked to her about it, but it makes sense. They spent a lot of time together at the hospital that night. They had to talk about something.

“But I am,” she adds. “Happy.”

I play with another piece of candy before tossing it into my mouth. “Good. I think…” Glancing out the window again, I clear my throat. “I think you’re good for him.”

She smiles. “Thanks.”

Her eyes go back down to the paper, skimming it before she releases a tiny breath. “I think Dawson might be hiding something from me though. And I don’t know if it’s something I should worry about or not. I’m not experienced in relationships, so I don’t know how to navigate this.”

After what I just saw, she might be right.

But I don’t tell her that because I don’t think it’s my place to speculate what happens in Dawson’s personal life. I make a mental note to keep an eye out just in case though.

I think back to what Banks said. “Somebody told me recently that we all have skeletons in our closets. I guess wejust have to decide if those skeletons are worth sacrificing the people in our lives for.”

Dixie watches me carefully, but she doesn’t say anything. I play with my pile of Skittles and think about the brown-eyed boy who is always at the forefront of my mind. And I can’t help but wonder if my skeletons are worth losing him over when he’s brought something into my life that I haven’t felt in forever.

Peace.

Excitement.

Moments to look forward to.

We haven’t talked about our make-out session or had any repeats. But my body still buzzes with the memory of his mouth on mine and his hands trailing along my body, gripping, grabbing, and pulling at me like he wanted more.

Midterm week has put a damper on anything moving forward while we prepare for exams, but it hasn’t stopped him from leaving treats at my door. From the silver-wrapped Pop-Tart packages to the white bags of beignets, he’s letting me know he’s still thinking of me.

The girl across from me shifts gears, going back to my assignment. “This is really good, but I can see what he means. You can tell this is from an outside perspective. Why didn’t you write about the list you made? That’s personal to you.”

So is the reason behind it.

I think back to Banks’s question. “I don’t want people to think it’s pathetic. I’d rather lie about some fictional breakup than admit to writing down random things I want to do with my life.”

Dixie frowns. “What’s so pathetic about that? I think it’s cool. A lot of people have bucket lists.”

“I’m not exactly putting things like ‘travel to Paris’ or ‘hikeMachu Picchu’ on there.” If Banks saw it, would he laugh? Would others? Having sex, going to parties, and making friends should be part of everyday life. Not things people strive for on the level I am, working to check them off.

I’ve never been ashamed of it before, but I’ve also never had anybody outside my family judge me for what I’ve gone through. They understand the reasoning. I’ve made sure that nobody here can.

“If I wrote about it, I’d have to explain it,” I add, voice quiet. Fingers tracing the indents left on the wooden tabletop, I ignore the curious gaze she’s giving me. “Some things are too personal to share with strangers.”

For a long moment, Dixie is quiet. She sets the paper down and slides it back over to me, fiddling with her pen. “What about sharing them with friends?”

I lift my head up, biting down on the inside of my cheek.

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