Page 38 of In the Net
Sebastian glares at me. “Why did that remind me of the way my parents told me my hamster went to summer camp when I was five years old, instead of that he died?”
I chuckle. “Okay, nothing beats the Louvre. But Orsay really is incredible.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” he says on a defeated sigh.
“Now go. I need to take a shower. I feel gross.”
“Look it, too.”
“Out.” I point to the door.
Sebastian chuckles as he steps out and closes the door behind him. Minutes later, when I’m in the shower, hot water running down my body, I can’t get the last glance he threw over his shoulder at me out of my mind.
15
SEBASTIAN
Maybe it’s not the Louvre, but yeah, the Musée d’Orsay is pretty amazing.
The museum is bright and airy, the paintings displayed in a massive former railway station with high, glass ceilings. It has many of the greatest Impressionist paintings. There’s plenty to see, but it’s not so intimidating that you don’t know where to start, or worry that you’ll only be able to scratch the surface of the collection.
So many of the paintings that I’ve seen online or in books and admired for years are right in front of my eyes. But as much as I’m trying to be present for it and drink in the experience, my mind keeps wandering back to Harper’s hotel room.
I hope she’s doing alright. Sure, she looked a lot better this morning, but sometimes when you’re sick like that, you can make a false recovery. I keep checking my phone to see if she’s texted me. But I know that even if she does start feeling worse and needs my help, she’ll keep it to herself.
Maybe I contracted her illness. Because there’s clearly something wrong with me right now. Even when I’m standingright in front of an honest-to-God Van Gogh painting, I’m thinking about Harper.
I should be appreciating Van Gogh’s thick, colorful brushstrokes, but instead, I can’t stop thinking about how last night Harper and I joked around, laughed, and watched a movie together.
How the last thing I remember before I fell asleep last night is Harper turning her head in a way that made strands of her vivid auburn hair feather over her pale cheek.
It was weird getting along with Harper for the first time in so many years. Sure, we still threw some jabs at each other, but there was no bite to them. No malice. It was like we were old friends hanging out.
Which is what we should be.
I don’t know why she decided to antagonize me at every opportunity ever since we’ve been at Brumehill, even though we used to get along just fine before I transferred to St. Bart’s.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. I tell myself I don’t know what got into her. Why the way she’s treated me since college started has been so different than the way we used to get along.
I tell myself she’s the one who changed, not me.
Even though, deep down, I know that the arrogant jerk I was freshman year was a million miles away from the shy kid she remembers going to school with back in the day.
But shouldn’t I have changed? Wasn’t it a good thing?
What, was I supposed to stay the pushover with no confidence that I was as a kid? Why, just because that’s how she remembered me? Because that’s how she liked me? Because I didn’t make her, or anyone else, feel threatened when I was just some bookish wallflower?
Sure, I let my newfound confidence get the better of me sometimes. Looking back, I could’ve toned down the ego.
Or maybe it’s not just how I acted freshman year of college that soured her opinion on me. Maybe it’s how I acted in high school, in the years after I transferred to St. Bart’s.
A wave of guilt rolls through me. I can try to excuse the way I acted during my first year of college, when the attention and popularity that came with being a Black Bears player went to my head, but I can’t excuse the way I acted after transferring high schools. The way I …
I shake my head, forcing myself off that mental path. I dwell enough on those regrets back in the States. While I’m here in Paris, I should focus on making the most of the experience.
For the next hour, I’m able to give the artworks in front of me the attention they deserve. Honestly, missing out on the Louvre yesterday is no big deal. It’s always good to leave something on your list unchecked when you visit a city, so you have a reason to come back.
While I’m gazing at a Manet painting, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I quicky take it out, thinking it could be Harper needing something.
