Page 48 of Rule 5: Never Crush on the Captain
I’m silent, but then he brushes his shoulder against mine, and a swell of relief moves through me.
“Thank you.”
“Always knew you had horrible taste, though.”
I elbow him.
We get on the bus, and I put my AirPods in and close my eyes and pretend everything is normal.
I feel gazes on me, and my skin prickles.
VINNIE
I stare at the back of Evan’s head, at the short hair I’ve felt in my hands, at his neck that I had the privilege of kissing.
My organs mush together, as if colliding from the force of my heartbeat, the zing of my nerves.
Leaving Evan wasn’t supposed to hurt him. Wasn’t supposed to hurt Stella.
I squirm. This bus might cost over half a million dollars, but now it feels hard and uncomfortable.
I’m not meant to be here.
Shame floods my body, traveling on each cell, until every single part of me feels miserable. Everything aches, and I can’t blame tonight’s opposing team.
Evan moves his head, and I notice.
Evan scratches his ear, and I notice.
Evan says something to Isaiah in that low raspy voice, and I notice.
Have I made a mistake?
Because if I’ve hurt Evan, hurt Stella, is there any way that this could not be a mistake?
Am I like the villain faced down by a superhero, shocked when I’m told that all my destruction is not good?
Stella isn’t Batman, and I’m not the Joker.Except...
I remove my phone. I’ve resisted going on social media sites, preferring pretending that those days with Evan never happened. Now I go to them.
It’s easy to find what I’m searching for. I click on the images of Evan and me on the porch, and my heart flutters when I look at Evan’s gaze on me, when I see how close our fingers are, how close our bodies are.
Then I scroll down. I read the comments.
There’s a more generous amount of vomit emojis than I’m used to on comments, but also more hearts, also more starry eyes.
Some people say we’re cute together, others say they knew it all along, and still others say that they hope it won’t throw us off our game.
It’s not the hate fest I imagined. It seems ridiculous to change my life for the people who commented negatively. I don’t know them. I’ll probably never meet them. They don’t matter, and Evan, God, Evan does matter.
I close my eyes.
So maybe I need to talk with Evan.
But maybe I’ll be too late. Maybe his eyes, once kind, once warm, will be rigid, like actual steel. Maybe his features will harden, and I’ll have to listen to him explain how he doesn’t want anything to do with me ever again.
I would deserve any awkwardness.
