Page 56 of Come As You Are

“You can’t make it to Parents’ Weekend.”

“Did your father tell you?”

“No.” I move the phone a few inches so I can sigh in peace. “Just guessed.”Because I tried to think of the worst news you could be delivering, and expected it.

Another pause, and I know she wants to be offended, but also, I was right, so what is there to say? “It’s complicated, and I’m very sorry.” She’s not sorry. “But I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other students there whose parents couldn’t make it, right? You’ll all keep one another company.”

Truthfully, I don’t know anyone else whose parents aren’t coming, but telling my mom that wouldn’t change anything. I don’t know if anything would. Her job as a paralegal doesn’t come with a lot of time off, and any complaints would be met with a speech I’ve heard way too many times about why work has to come first to pay for all these things. Considering my tuition is an added expense they’d never counted on, I’m in no position to bargain.

Then again, she hasn’t mentioned work, and when workisher excuse, she usually wields it with the same excessiveness my sister does mascara. Which makes me suspect this isn’t about work at all. But is it something else real? Or is it entirely made up to get out of seeing me?

Do I even wanna know?

My alarm goes off just then, and it makes the perfect excuse to get off the phone, which I desperately need because I don’t even know how to react to all of these disappointments anymore. Truthfully, Parents’ Weekend hadn’t even been on my radar alongside everything else, but now, all the little things I’ll be missing out on—the way my momalways tries to fix up my hair and tells me I look beautiful whether she succeeded or not, my dad’s Rice Krispies treats and warm hugs—are bringing me right back to the brink of tears.

God, I hate this week.

I also hate showering first thing in the morning, but I feel so disgusting and headachy and in need of a good cry, and the shower is the perfect place to deal with all three. Afterward, I throw my hair in a wet knot—I’ll deal with the aftermath later—pull on my most boring clothes, and lumber out the door in search of coffee and a pastry big enough to stand in for all my feelings.

Sabrina’s already at the Beast when I arrive, and I’m relieved to see she isn’t sitting with Heather. Or Salem, for that matter; I definitely need some caffeine and sugar before I can deal with last night’s whole weird visit. I use the tiny bit of energy I have to give her a little wave and then go retrieve my breakfast before collapsing in the seat next to her and taking a long sip of way-too-hot liquid.

“So, you do exist,” Sabrina says in a casual tone that isn’t casual at all. “I’d been wondering, considering I’ve barely seen you all week and then you bolted out of the talent show. You know I called you three times last night. And I donotmake phone calls.”

She did. I saw them. But I couldn’t answer. I didn’t even know if I could get words out last night. I’m still not sure I can get them out now. Because ofcoursethe last person at this school I’m actually happy to see is mad at me. OfcourseI did something to piss her off. Ofcourseher anger is valid. But Idon’t have the energy to explain or apologize or defend myself or even formulate words. If I open my mouth, Iwillcry.

“I’m sorry,” I offer quietly, as soon as I think I can do it without breaking down. “I’m having a bad week, and I needed some air.”

“You know, most people talk to their friends about their bad weeks.”

Would’ve been nice if I could,I think with no small amount of annoyance.Icertainly didn’t ask for my boy troubles to involve my best friend at Camden’s roommate. “It wasn’t something I could talk to you about. Can you just trust me on this, please?”

“Sure,” she says flatly, pushing at her limp pancake with her fork.

I know I should continue the conversation, change the subject, ask how the rest of the talent show was, but I don’t have the energy. Instead, we sit in silence, her shredding her breakfast into a thousand pieces she doesn’t eat and me grimacing at every sip of bitter coffee, until finally another tray clatters down across from us and Salem slides in. “Well, looks like everyone’s having a stellar morning.”

God, he’s annoying. “Guessing yours didn’t start with your parents calling to let you know they’re bailing on Parents’ Weekend.”

At that, even Sabrina frowns sympathetically. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, I was looking forward to seeing that hair in triplicate,” Salem says with a grin, taking a huge bite out of his omnipresent green apple.

“You would’ve been disappointed anyway. It’s from my dad’s side, and he’s been rocking a shiny head for years now.My mom’s hair’s straight and brown, and my sister got hers—I’m the only freak,” I say sourly.

“So you’ll hang out with our family,” Salem says with a shrug. “We’re all freaks. You’ll fit right in.”

I cut a glance at Sabrina, who might still be mad, but she nods. “Our parents will be thrilled that we managed to make a single friend between the two of us.”

It’s a nice offer, especially since I’m not exactly her favorite person right now, but the only place I want to spend Parents’ Weekend now is locked in my own room. “As much asI’dlove to meet the mythical creatures who somehow spawned both of you, I think I’m just gonna sleep through the whole weekend.”

“Okay, that actually sounds much better than hanging out with parents,” says Salem, his teeth piercing the shiny green skin again. “I wanna do that instead.”

“Not a chance.” Sabrina whacks him on the shoulder, and it’s such a sibling move that my heart aches at the sight of what it must look like to have a real one. “But anyway, if you change your mind, just text me.”

“Thanks,” I mutter into my coffee, knowing that there’s no way in hell I’ll be doing that.

As it turns out, when Parents’ Weekend arrives, they text me before I even get to attempt my grand sleep marathon.SOS,Sabrina sends me in a group text with them both. Need you here ASAP.

I glance at the time—6:03P.M.Which means they’re only three minutes into the special show-offy parents’ dinner. How could they possibly need me there?I’m sleeping,I write back.

---