Page 5 of Glad You Exist

“We are family. I know it’s hard for you to remember that after falling out of touch with your best friends—”

“Ex-friends,” I mutter under my breath.

“—but you need to understand that the adults are tired of entertaining this insane notion that since you guys aren’t friends anymore, we all have to stop too.”

I hug my knees to my chest as I fight against the urge to cry. You could hear a pin drop with how quiet it suddenly gets between us. There it was. I have always felt like, in some way, my mom, along with everyone else, blames me for changing the whole dynamic. That because of me, there aren’t any more get togethers or vacations with our—her—closest friends.

“Mom...”

My voice catches on a sob, and I have to swallow the lump that has formed in my throat.

She reaches out, cradling my chin in her hand, and forces me to look at her.

“I’m not blaming you. I would never blame you for what happened, nor will I question your decision to become this version of yourself who cuts off the whole world. It’s what you had to do to get better. To survive what happened.”

The dam breaks and tears stream down my face in silent waves.

She clucks her tongue as she wipes my tears away with her thumbs. “I also know you, Elizabeth. More than you think I do. I think it’s time to stop hiding. You do not have to tell them what happened, and you have my word that it will not be brought up at the party.”

She cups my face between her palms and kisses the tip of my nose, “Whatever transpired between the four of you, find a way to address it before you go your separate ways after graduation. It doesn’t have to be on Sunday, but at least it’s a start. You do not want to live your life regretting that you didn’t at least approach the possibility of reconciliation.”

She pauses and forces me to meet her gaze.

“Or at the very least, forgiveness.”

“Kyle Anderson.”

“Elizabeth Jenkins.”

“Bradley Stevens.”

“Kimberly Thompson.”

Ishake my head in disbelief as Mr. Santos moves on to recite the next batch of students, calling them out one at a time. A loud sputtering breaks through my shock as I notice Kim shooting up to her feet, her cheerleader uniform swinging around her as she raises her hand.

“MISTER. SANTOS.”

Our Social Studies teacher lets out an exasperated sigh as he looks up from his desk, pausing his announcement of the next group to look at her.

“Miss Thompson. I am not entertaining any questions until after I have called all the groups.”

Kim visibly bristles with annoyance at being told to wait, but she sits back down in a slump.

Clearly nothing has changed—Kim is still as impatient as ever. I almost laugh at that but manage to stop myself. I do not want to be on the receiving end of her temper. Apparently, I would be spending the next few months working closely with my old friends for this class.

Mister Santos is friends with my mom. I have a feeling she has something to do with this “coincidence” that we are all suddenly grouped together after three years of limited to no contact with each other. But I know better than to even ask my mom, she’ll deny it, tell me I’m overreacting.

I peer over my shoulder at Kyle to gauge his reaction. Kyle is leaning back on his chair, ankles crossed, looking unfazed. He looks over at me and shrugs, nodding Liz’ way.

Dude doesn’t care.Noted.One less thing to worry about.

I hazard a look at Liz. Her hair is down today, and it hides the expression on her face. I adjust my position to get a better view. It doesn’t take long for her to feel my gaze on her. She looks right at me, rewarding me with a small, awkward smile.

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and her smile grows. I might have allowed myself to feel special about that, but she turns that same smile at the others. Her shoulders stiffen, and the smile fades away as quickly as it came when she shifts her gaze to Kim, who is still obviously seething and ignoring us. Liz pulls her purple sweater tighter around her, and I fume.

I am about to do something about that, like throw my pen at Kim, when I’m interrupted by Mr. Santos shutting his planner loudly.

I sit back as he stands up from his desk to address the room.

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