Page 217 of Boys Who Taint

“Are you moping around again?” Mavis says as she sits down beside me.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not moping.”

“Yeah, you are.” She nudges me with her elbow. “C’mon, you can tell me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It wouldn’t be nothing if it’s been bothering you all this time. Tell me. I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

I lower my gaze and draw in the earth with a twig I found. “You know, I always imagined things would go differently between Aspen and me.”

“Oh … you’re talking about how she’s been ignoring you?”

I shrug. “I don’t understand it, and it’s pissing me off.”

“Sometimes girls do that.”

“You think?”

“I know so.” She snorts. “Girls can be fickle. One day they’re interested, then the next they’re aloof.”

“Right.” I draw some stick figures in the ground. “But we’ve known each other for so long. We used to be friends, but then she started pulling away.”

“You’re worried she doesn’t like you anymore?”

I suck in a breath. “She won’t even look at me.”

She nods a few times. “I get it.” She scoots closer. “You know, I feel the same way about a guy I know. Someone I’m close with.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I was head over heels, but he never saw me the same way, and then he fell for another girl, so I pretended I never felt anything for him, and I … just gave up.”

“I’m sorry. He doesn’t know what he lost.”

She smiles. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“I mean it.” I smile back.

“I think these things just happen sometimes. People are like bugs.”

“Bugs?” I frown, snorting.

“Yeah. They start small, dependent, crawling all over you, and friends with everyone. And then they weave this cocoon around their heart and hide from the world.”

“I’m not getting the analogy here.”

“When the bug is finally done growing, it’s turned into a moth or a butterfly, a completely new being. And then it flies away and might never see its fellow bugs again.”

“That’s depressing.”

“Yup …” She stares off at the waves in the distance. “But you know, sometimes those bugs might just randomly fly into each other.”

I look at her, and she looks at me, and I don’t think we’re talking about bugs anymore.

“As for me, I’m kind of done trying to fly,” she mutters.

“Hmm …” I get what she’s saying, but I don’t know if I could ever see it in that kind of light.

“I don’t think she’ll ever fly back to me.”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

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