Page 67 of Scout
“Scout says all relationships are valid,” she says, completely serious. “And you two look like one of those sad breakup Spotify playlists. So… yes or no?”
Xavier clears his throat. “Yes. We want to be with him again. But he’s mad. Really mad.”
“Duh,” she mutters. “But also, he talked about you like you hung the damn moon.”
I feel the weight of that. All of it. Pressing right against my sternum.
“Get my phone,” she says suddenly.
“What?”
“My phone. Get it. It’s in the bag with all my stuff.”
Xavier moves, finds the small clear hospital bag, and pulls her cracked pink case out. He hands it to her carefully, like it’s a detonator.
She holds it out to me. “Give me your numbers.”
“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” I hedge, already feeling like I’m in over my head.
She scoffs. “Look. He’s gonna be glued to my side for, well, basically infinity now. You want another chance? You need me.”
“She’s got a point,” Xavier mutters beside me.
“I’m going to Parent Trap him,” Juniper says, as if it’s the most logical plan in the world. “Except it’s not a trap—it’s more of a slow-burn emotional ambush. But I can’t do it without your numbers. And you need mine, so hand it over.”
Devil help me. I reach for my phone.
She grins wickedly. “I knew you two were the boys that had him all mopey the other weekend. Buckle up, Dr. Dreamboats. You’re about to get the Junie Boo treatment.”
And for reasons I can’t explain—not even to myself—I let her take it. Because maybe, just maybe, Scout’s not as far gone from us as we thought.
25
Scout
I tugmy hoodie tighter around myself the second I step outside the hospital’s automatic doors. It’s not cold—hell, it’s summer, but the chill still finds a way in. Maybe it’s not in the air, though. Maybe it’s just in me. In my bones. Inside my chest where something cracked wide open last night and hasn’t stopped bleeding since.
The street smells like exhaust and piss, and for a second it makes my stomach twist. I haven’t eaten since… yesterday afternoon? Maybe longer. Time’s been a blur ever since the call last night.
Juniper.
God.
She’s alive. She's banged up, sure—twelve staples in her scalp and stitches down her arm—but she’s alive. If that seatbelt hadn’t held, if the angle of the crash had shifted a few degrees, if Jennifer had been going just a little faster… I don’t let myself finish the thought.
Because Ican’t.
Because it sends me into a tailspin every time I try to picture it—Junie not making it. A fucking bottle of vodka and a gas pedal and that’s all it would’ve taken to rip her from me forever.
I would’ve buried my baby sister. I would’ve buried her.
And the sickest part? A piece of me would’ve buried myself right next to her.
I press my fingers into my eyes until stars dance behind my eyelids. Stop. Focus. You’re going to Subway. Junie asked for her usual—Dr. Pepper, tuna on white, black olives with vinaigrette and black pepper—and it’s the least I can do. I’ll get myself something too, maybe, if I can stomach it.
She’s getting discharged tomorrow. That’s what Xavier said when he and Kendrix stopped by the room earlier.
God, seeing them again…
