Page 79 of High Hopes

I sigh and pick at the frayed edges of my sweater. “Okay, it was boring and sad. I stayed inside the whole time. Cleaned. Watched some terrible TV. Ignored my dad’s subtle attempts to get me to socialize.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And Liam?”

I gnaw at my lower lip. “We didn’t talk much.”

“Birdie,” she groans. “He texted you, right?”

“A couple of times,” I admit. “But I didn’t text back until New Year’s Eve. When he came by before break, I just . . . didn’t answer the door.”

She drags a pillow over her face with a dramatic groan. “No! Why? He likes you!”

“I know,” I say quickly, guilt bubbling to the surface. “I know. He didn’t do anything wrong. I just—I couldn’t face him. Not after everything that happened. I felt so . . .”

“Defeated?” she offers gently.

“Exactly. And I didn’t want him to see me like that. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that.”

She sets the pillow aside, leaning forward, her expression soft but firm. “You can’t keep shutting people out, Birdie. You did that after the accident, remember? And you hated it.”

I swallow hard, the memories rushing in. After the accident, I cut everyone off—friends, classmates, even my dad to a degree. I told myself I needed time, space, but the truth was I was scared. Scared of pity. Scared of being seen as fragile. Scared that noone would understand how heavy it all felt—like I wasn’t just grieving the accident but the person I was before it.

And I was right. Most of them didn’t understand. The friends I used to laugh with on weekends, complain about professors with—they vanished. No texts, no visits, not even flowers. They just . . . stopped showing up.

And while I don’t miss those shallow friendships, the thought of doing that to someone I do care about—someone like Liam—that’s terrifying.

“I don’t want to do that again,” I whisper.

“Then don’t,” Sena says simply. “And it’s not too late. If you ever want to reach out to anyone, I’ll be there. Moral support and all that.”

I blink at her, surprised. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” she says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You’ve got me whether you like it or not. And if those old friends aren’t worth it, screw them. But the people who matter? They’ll still be there if you let them.”

Her words sink in, loosening the knot in my chest just a little. Rebuilding trust feels impossible, but the idea of someone standing beside me makes it feel less so.

“Thanks,” I say quietly. “For being here. For putting up with me.”

She grins and nudges my shoulder. “You make it sound like it’s a chore. Trust me, you’re stuck with me.” Leaning back on the couch, she adds, “So, tell me, what terrible TV did you watch over break?”

“Oh, you’re not ready for this,” I say, grateful for the change of subject. “First, there was theLove Boatreboot—yes, it’s a dating show on a cruise ship. Then I fell back into theToo Hot to Handleabyss. But the worst?MILF Manor. It’s like someone dared them to create the most chaotic, uncomfortable show ever, and they said, ‘Bet.’”

She gasps, clutching a pillow. “You’re lying. That can’t be real.”

“It is. And it’s worse than you’re imagining.”

She groans, mock horrified, but she’s smiling. “You need better coping mechanisms.”

“Don’t act like you’re above it,” I tease. “You’ll be watchingMILF Manorby the end of the week.”

“Absolutely not.”

For a little while, we keep talking and laughing like nothing’s wrong. Like the world hasn’t been crumbling around me. Like I didn’t lose the fellowship or what little confidence I had left along with it.

It’s nice, the ease of it. The way she makes everything feel easier, even when I’m carrying so much. And for now, I let that be enough.

It’s Thursday,and my chest feels tight the entire walk to the pizza place Liam suggested, like someone’s wrapped a rope around me and pulled it. Every step feels heavier than the last, and by the time I spot him waiting by the door, I’m ready to turn around and run.

But then he sees me. His face lights up with that effortless, crooked grin of his, and I unravel—just a little.

---