Page 82 of Where We Belong

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“No, I’m not,” I answer too rapidly, in a weird tone. She cocks her brow as if to say,see?

“I, uh, have to get the kids to bed,” I mumble before walking in the direction of the floor section, where rows of all types of mats are spread out, covering the blue floor. I feel Lexie following me, and once we’ve made sure everyone is settled and ready to go, I send my mother a thumbs-up at the other end of the gym, telling her she can turn the lights off.

The moment we’re basked in darkness, Lexie makes her way back to me. “Are we going to bed too? It’s only 9:00.”

I want to say yes. If we stay here, then we have to stay quiet, and if we sleep, then we can’t think of the shitshow that was this afternoon. However, she’d guess something was actually wrong, and then I’d never hear the end of it.

“We can go hang in the back for a while,” I whisper. That was the initial plan, after all. My parents are going to stay in the offices closest to the floor so they can help the kids if they need something, which means Lexie and I are off the hook for a bit.

Without answering, Lexie heads in the direction of the staff room, and I follow her.

“Oof,” she says once we’ve both walked inside and turned the lights on. “What a day. Handling fifty kids on a sugar high is harder than I’d thought.”

“Yeah,” I say.

Her eyes are on me as she lifts herself and settles her butt onto the lunch table, her lips pursed.

“So, are you going to talk to me now?”

“Huh?” I say.

“Don’t play coy. You think I don’t know when you’re avoiding me?”

“I wasn’t,” I lie.

“Finn, you walked away when I went to offer you food, grabbed a slice of pizza that’d fallen on the floor, and said you were good.”

Yeah, maybe that wasn’t my smartest move.

“So, I repeat my question: are you okay?”

I swallow.

“Is it that girl?” she asks.

A huge breath leaves my lungs. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“See what? Her being shitty?”

I slump in the chair facing Lexie.

“Who is she anyway?” she asks.

And there it is.

Scratching the back of my neck, I say, “A girl I dated a while ago.”

“Did you do something to her?”

“No. She left me.”

“Why was she speaking to you like that, then?”

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