Page 84 of The Do-Over

His face was a little flushed and he looked hurt. Sad, actually, as he looked at my face like he genuinely needed an answer. I took a deep breath and said, “Listen, Josh, I know it seems—”

“Like you’re an asshole?”

Wow. That was the first time that a guy I’d loved had ever called me a name, and it was a jarring, nasty feeling. I said, “Maybe I wouldn’t have acted like one if you weren’t still involved with your ex.”

His eyes widened a little, like he was surprised. But it wasn’t just surprise that I saw—there was something else as his head tilted the tiniest bit. Almost a satisfaction that I was jealous…? He said, “Macy and I are just—”

“Just what? Friends who kiss?”

He blinked, a slow blink that somehow made him look pretty and accentuated his ridiculously long eyelashes. “We didn’t kiss.”

I tilted my head. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His eyebrows were all scrunched together. “You think I kissed Macy?”

Man, he sure looked like he was telling the truth. “Didn’t you take her with you on a coffee run yesterday?”

His eyebrows unscrunched. “Yeah…?”

“You didn’t share a moment in the parking lot? In your car?”

He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again. Swallowed before saying, “I’ll admit that things area little, um, complicated with Macy. But I swear to God, I didn’t kiss her.”

“Really.” I looked at him, really looked, squinting my eyes to try to find my hurt. The first couple of times I’d seen him kiss her, it’d felt like my insides were being twisted. But now I looked at him and just saw… a guy. A guy who was a relatively attractive person but had absolutely no emotional hold over me. “Well, I guess I uncomplicated it for you. Later, Sutton.”

I turned away from him and very nearly sprinted to Chemistry, head down, desperate to avoid more conversation. I didn’t want to be decimated by the mean girls, and I didn’t want to be talked about like I was some sort of urban legend for being an asshole.

I took a deep breath and walked into the classroom. It didn’t look like Nick was there yet, and I was glad to have a minute to get myself together before seeing him. I sat down and got out my book, more nervous than I’d been all day.

Because I had no idea what to expect.

Would Nick be funny and warm like he’d been the night before? Would he be the surly lab partner I’d had all year? Was he going to ask me out—and maybe kiss me again—or was he regretting all of his choices from yesterday?

My heart was pounding as I waited for him to show up.

But when the bell rang, he still wasn’t there. Bong marked him absent and started talking about our upcoming projects as my brain kicked into paranoid hyperdrive.

Where was he? Was he sick? Absent? Ditching class?

And was it because of me? I mean, Iknew, logically, that itwasn’t the case, but my insecure heart had a bad feeling about Nick Stark’s absence.

Mr. Bong spoke for a solid five minutes before he turned his attention directly to me.

“Are you recovered from yesterday’s misbehaviors, Ms. Hornby?” Bong looked down his glasses at my face. “I’m assuming the office spoke with you regarding punishment?”

“Um, yes,” I said, dying of mortification.

“Good.” He looked back at the class. “We’ve got a lot to cover, so let’s get right to work, folks.”

He started lecturing and I started taking notes, face aflame, but the burning ball in the pit of my stomach didn’t go away. It got worse with every passing minute.

Was Nick avoiding me?

Twelve hours ago he’d been kissing me, but now he was nowhere to be found.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Between my lack of sleep, Nick’s absence, and the fact that all eyes were on me all the time, I was basically numb. I went through the motions of the afternoon, shuffling from class to class and trying to be invisible, and when I finally got home, I went straight to my room and shut the door.

Hopefully, I could avoid parental confrontation. I knew my mom was probably champing at the bit to give me a little more hell, but I didn’t have the energy.

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