Page 75 of One True Loves

I roll my eyes. I sigh. I wish I could give her a big hug. “Okay.”

She squeals and claps her hands, but then seeing me start to huff, she tempers the giddiness and gets real serious. “I think you really like him. And from the sounds of it, he really likes you too. I know he hurt you, and if he’s really with that girl—which I think we both know he isn’t—I’ll be the first to hunt him down and make him pay.” Her face gets all murder-y, and it’s so out of character that it makes me laugh some more. “I’m worried, though, that you’re using this as an excuse to put your same walls back up. You’re pushing him away and then feeling vindicated when he leaves... a sort of self-fulfillingprophecy? I don’t know the guy, I’ll admit, but Alex isn’t Jay. He’s not Marcus. And the least you can do is give him a chance to explain himself, especially if he’s doing dreamy things like serenading you to try and do so.”

“I don’t like that kind of stuff. All that attention,” I mutter. “He shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”

“Another thing you can talk about... when you talk,” she says. “And is that all you’re going to take away from all that wisdom I just dropped?”

She glares at me and leans closer to the screen. And then closer. Until her nose is touching the screen.

I laugh. “Okay, fine! You’re right. You’re right! Stop showing me your nose hairs and shit.” She sits back and starts laughing too. “I know what you’re saying is true,” I continue. “It’s just... this time really hurt, Tessa. More than I’ve ever been hurt before. I don’t know if I can take being hurt like this again.”

“Oh, I know, girl, I know.” She presses her lips together, her eyes welling up. “But I think this is all part of it. Putting yourself out there, risking this heartbreak, getting hurt and then trying again, even when it feels like the stupidest thing in the world. I think it’s all part of falling in love.”

That word—theword—makes my whole body feel like it’s frozen. “No one said anything about love.”

She arches an eyebrow at me and leans back on her bed with her arms crossed.

“Well, then yes, you better just give up now. Because you’reright. If he isn’t something special, if you weren’t falling in love, then it’s not worth giving him a second chance. Get out while you’re ahead.”

I cross my arms too. I sputter. I look everywhere but at her.

“I think we both know that’s not the case, though. Right, Lenore?”

I finally meet her eye, and she’s beaming at me. Probably doing a little dance in her brain because she’s got me right where she wants me, right where she predicted that day when we were getting ready for prom in her room.

“Love is worth the risk. So I guess what you have to ask yourself is... is it love?”

Her words echo in my brain all night, waking me up more than Wally’s snores. And they’re still there in the morning, when I’m taking a shower, brushing my teeth, and starting to fill my suitcase.

I shouldn’t have left all of the packing until this morning because there’s just so much to do, and we have to have the suitcases sitting in the hallway for the porter by nine. Wally, of course, has already finished and is out eating breakfast with my parents and Etta. But instead of trying to wrangle all of my stuff, I lay in bed thinking about Tessa’s words and trying to decide my answer to the question.

Is it love?

How would I even know? What do I have to compare it to?

I fold all my clothes, get my toiletries out of the bathroom,try to hunt down all the jewelry I’ve left lying around. And an hour later, I’m almost done. All that’s left is my camera. I need to put it back in the case and into my backpack, so I can use it around Barcelona today.

I pick it up off my desk, running my finger along the scratch across the bottom, the chip of paint missing from the right corner. I remember being devastated when the scratch happened at Disneyland, stomping around and blaming Wally because he threw his hands up on the Dumbo ride and knocked it out of my hands. But I don’t remember what caused the other mark. Could that have happened when I tossed it in frustration at my grandparents’ house, like Grandma Lenore told me about? I gave up on photography altogether that day, just because the shot wasn’t perfect. God, I was trying to protect myself from failure and the related hurt, even then.

My eyes catch on the stack of photos sitting next to my camera. I didn’t have a place to put them. I’d planned to get an album, maybe display them once I got home. Now I spread them out. All these moments I captured in film over the past two weeks, to memorize. But I know already that they’ll be with me forever, regardless, every detail crystal clear.

I put them in order. That first day in Rome at the Trevi Fountain, where I spotted Alex in the crowd. The produce in a rainbow of bright colors in Sicily, where Alex and I argued, assuming the worst of each other. A donkey from the steps in Santorini, and a shot of that beautiful view. Alex embarrassing himself atDDRin the arcade. A close-up from that day in thebusiness center, with every detail of his face that I memorized. A selfie of us in Naples, him kissing my cheek. And then the final picture of us, all dressed up for the ship’s formal. I look so happy, and he’s looking at me.

Laid out like that, they tell a story. Not just any story, but a love story.

Our love story.

The kind I thought I would never get.

I had a boy who treasured me, a happily ever after on the horizon... but then I blew it all up at the first chance because I was scared of failure. Because I was scared of getting hurt.

I gather all of the pictures, put them safely in my backpack, and then take off out of my room, hoping there’s still time to change our ending.

Chapter Twenty-One

I race to the elevator, but there’s a long line of families, maneuvering overflowing luggage carts and tote bags full of souvenirs. So instead, I sprint up the stairs to his deck, taking the steps two at a time, stopping to grab my knees and huff halfway through because I remember I’m out of shape.

I run down the hallway to his room and bang on the door.

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