Page 23 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

And instead of talking, we play.

Delilah

“So who was that guy anyway?” Charlie asks. He reaches forward to put his hand lightly on my hip. My stomach flutters and my legs move on their own, stepping closer to him.

We drove back to his place after—again,weas in Charlie, Asher, Beau, and me. And after an hour of watching them playCall of Dutyon the Xbox and pretending to be interested, I stood up and walked away from the couch, ready to end this stupid night already. That seemed to be the nudge Charlie needed to remember I exist. But why, of all things, is he asking about...

“Reggie. I told you. You said you remembered him?”

“Yeah I know.” He looks back at the screen, clocking what’s happening in the game. But just as fast, his blue eyes are back on me. His touch on my hip radiates my whole body with warmth. “It’s just that, it looked like something more. Did he say something weird to you? Like, I don’t know... try and ask you out?”

“What? No!” I’m so loud that Asher and Beau look away fromtheir battle. I take a steadying breath. “It’s not like that.”

Not that I’m 100 percent sure what it is with Reggie... or even what I want it to be. Who knows what Reggie even thinks of me now after I was so cold to him?

“Oh, okay. Good.” But quickly, before I can let myself get excited about thatgood, his hand drops from my hip. He flashes a quick smile at me and then he’s back on the couch, throwing himself down between Asher and Beau. The fluttery feeling in my stomach is gone, and now it just feels empty, hollow.

This up-and-down with him is like a roller coaster, and at least right now... I want to get off.

“Should we pack a bowl?” Asher asks, taking his stash out of the backpack he always carries around for just this purpose.

“Yes we should!” Charlie says, and grabs a lighter off the table. “Hey, Delilah, can you shut that door so it doesn’t get out? My mom was pissed last time because her Bunco group could still smell it on the pillows the next day.”

“Actually, I’m going to head home.” I don’t want to look like a baby. But the smell is also impossible to get out of my hair, and I don’t want to deal with explainingthatto Mom tonight.

“Oh, all right then. We’re going to miss you, kid,” Charlie says. He waves from the couch but then quickly turns to Asher. “Oh, bro! That’s the good stuff! Why have you been holding out all night?”

I bite my lip and stand there awkwardly, waiting for the joke. Is he really not going to offer to drive me home? I’m fine taking the bus. I do it all the time after our practices. But it’s late...

“I’ll drive you, Delilah,” Beau says. He stands up and swings his keys, with a Pearl Drums keychain, on a finger.

“Guess just Charlie will be my Valentine’s date then!” Asher jokes, and the laugh that escapes out of my throat sounds hysterical and wrong.

Beau plays some weird folk music with a warbly singer that I don’t recognize as we drive down Ximeno toward my house. I can tell he wants to say something to me. His right hand grips the wheel and then flexes, like a visual representation of his mind going back and forth.

Finally, he exhales and looks at me, and I’m sure I’m going to have a talk about my hopeless and obviously misguided crush on Charlie with Beau, too. That seems to bethe thingtonight.

“I’m sorry,” he says, with a nervous smile. Now, that’s unexpected.

“For what?”

“Back at the yogurt shop... that wasn’t cool,” he continues. “You should have been involved with that call to Brass Knuckle, and we just, like, peaced out on you to take it. That wasn’t right. This is just as much your band too.”

I feel a little breathless as I take in his words. I didn’t have any expectations to be included. I guess I still think of this astheirband. And I’m just a guest—someone who doesn’t really belong but is along for the ride. But maybe I don’t have to keep feeling that way.

“Wow, um, thank you.” I nod. “I appreciate that.”

“And Charlie...” he starts as we pull up to my apartment complex.

“I don’t want to talk about Charlie.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles and taps out a beat on his steering wheel. “Hey, I’ll wait here until you open your door.”

I smile, grateful for his kindness. “Have a good night, Beau.”

I don’t hear Mom’s loud laughter or reality TV shows when I walk inside, which means she’s still out on her date with Andre. And it must be going well. For a second, I think Georgia is out too, but then I hear some soft music drifting from our half-closed door.

She’s sitting on her bed in a lilac sweatsuit, with her curls pulled up in a massive, frizzy bun on the top of her head. Her laptop is balanced on her lap, but she pauses what she’s watching and smiles at me.

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