Page 40 of The Masks We Break

With the earlier moment forgotten, I accept it, biting into my bottom lip. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I have to go, but text me later, okay? Maybe we can fall asleep to a movie again?”

This makes me laugh, the memory of him trying to get me to watchSawwhatever-number before I totally conked out in the middle. Unfortunately, we were on FaceTime, so he has a pretty embarrassing screenshot of the whole event. “Sounds perfect.”

He leans in close, pressing his warm lips to my cheek. Tingles erupt down my arms, but the confusing sensation feels like anxiousness rather than elation.

“I’ll let you pick this time,” he whispers before backing away with a wink.

Biting into the inside of my cheek, I give a little wave, clutching the bag tighter as I watch him walk out. But then I remember, it’s Amora’s breakfast in my hand and she’s going to kill me if it’s cold.

* * *

The clavicle isthe softest bone in the human body. It’s ranked the fourth most painful to break, while the femur is the strongest and most painful to snap. Tracing over the sketch I made of the human body’s skeletal system, I review my notes for my upcoming test.

“I swear, Linny’s legit makes the best freaking breakfast bagels in Washington.” Amora wipes her face with a napkin and takes another oversized bite.

Nodding, I shoot her a playful grimace before taking a sip of my tea. For someone with the grace of a swan, the woman eats like a pig out of a trough. “This is very true.”

She sticks out her tongue, clearly seeing my scrunched nose, but then her blue eyes widen and she squeals. “Oh girl, I didn’t tell you! The boo wants to take me to dinner downtown, at Finane’s.”

My eyebrows shoot up as I swallow the large gulp of tea. “Seriously?”

Finane’s is a French restaurant smack dab in the middle of Emerald Falls, at the top of a thirty-story luxury hotel. A hotel that is one of the dozens Amora’s family owns. In fact, it’s notorious for being a must-stop place for celebrities, booked months in advance, and for elaborate engagements.

She nods. “Yep, and he doesn’t know my parents own it, so that’s a plus.”

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. I don’t mean to be negative, or seem unsupportive but a strange suspicion sticks to my throat forcing me to seek reason. “How did he get reservations if you guys have only been dating a few weeks?”

Amora thinks on this for a second but shrugs, I assume deciding she doesn’t care enough to wonder. “But it’s for Friday night, so I need you to come shopping with me.”

“Yeah, of course.” So much for inviting her to Ricky’s. “Can we actually go now though? My week is kind of busy.”

“Shopping on a Monday morning, and skipping class? Yes, please.”

“Nope. Never mind. Let me go do some grading now, and we can goafterclass.”

Amora grunts, pursing her lips to the side, making me giggle. “Fine.”

After agreeing on a time, I decide to do some work in bed, changing into my pj’s and crawling under the warm sheets. Flipping open my computer, I see a few more emails from Dr. Humphrey, and a couple reminders for some assignments I need to finish up for other classes.

The desire to call Spencer and complain creeps up suddenly, nudging me in the chest and sending an ache around my heart. Instead, I send him a quick text and let him know I’m thinking of him, and if he needs anything I’m just a drive away. Then I send one to Lily, asking for an update.

It isn’t until nearly noon when my phone vibrates against my leg. A quick rush of excitement makes me grasp on to it, but dies quickly as I see the caller is literally the last person I feel like hearing from.

“Hey, Dad.”

“I missed lunch the other day and forgot to tell you. Did you come by?”

My father has missed every brunch with me since before my birthday, always sending an excuse days later on why he couldn’t make it. Never does he call before and now I’ve stopped wasting my time and don’t even make the drive anymore. I ignore the way his excuses, and his voice in general, deepens the lingering ache scratching at my ribcage.

“No, I did some work here instead.”

“How are classes?” He doesn’t miss a beat asking about my grades, rather than apologizing for standing me up yet again without notice. I’m not surprised, but it doesn’t help the dull ache that’s started around my heart since I picked up the phone.

“All A’s. It will be a four-point-oh semester.”

For some fathers, this would be a proud moment. A moment tosaythey’re proud of their daughter for maintaining such a solid GPA while taking eighteen hours, plus working as a teaching assistant, with the addition of tutoring.

---