Page 36 of Every Thought Taken

“We don’t have to watch—”

“I want to,” I say, cutting her off.

“It’s just that…” Her eyes dart between mine in search of answers. Then they drop to my lips, only for a second, but long enough that I notice. “What’s changed since we left the diner?” She fists the cotton of my hoodie, anchoring me to her. “You seem… different.”

Releasing her chin, I tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear. I love my fingers in her hair. So soft. Pretty. Delicate. I like it more in the colder months when she wears it down.

“Sorry,” I whisper, my eyes following the path of my fingers. “Sometimes, I get lost in my own thoughts and spiral.” I tug on the end of her hair. “Just how my mind operates.”

She eliminates the breath of space between us, wraps her arms around my middle, and lays her head on my shoulder. My arms band around her waist and shoulders. Hug the breath from her lungs as I hold her in a way I never imagined possible.

“Ander?”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Commit every second of this moment to memory. How she holds me with unrelenting strength as her warm body molds mine. The sweet floral and earthy scent of her perfume. Our stuttered breaths mixed with the rapid beat of my pulse and hers. The din of town patrons as they move around us. But most of all, the amplified thrill in my veins.

“Yeah, North?”

“I’m here,” she says, barely audible. “Always will be.”

I want to counter her last words. Tell her no one can make such a steep promise. No one can swear forever and keep their word. Instead, I keep the thought to myself.

“Thanks, North.” With one last deep breath, I straighten and inch back. “Should probably catch up.” I point toward the cinema. “Before Ales freaks out.”

She tugs on my hoodie strings, then drops her hand to mine and weaves our fingers once again. “Yeah, I’d rather not start our week off with her wrath.”

We hurry down the sidewalk and come face-to-face with an irritated Ales. I open my mouth to apologize, to tell her I caused the delay. Before I get the chance, Helena comes to the rescue. Tells her she saw cute fall decorations in a window display her mom might like.

And just like that, subject dropped.

At the concession stand, we buy two large popcorns and sodas to share among the group then our individual sweets. We wander into the dark theater and wait for a brighter scene to illuminate the seats. Ales points to empty seats and we duck and shuffle our way through the theater.

Soon as we settle, Helena flips up the armrest between us and lays her head on my shoulder. For hours, we stay this way. Connected. Content.

And I can’t help but wonder what happens next.

CHAPTER19

HELENA

You can’t predict the future. You can’t know what will happen today that might change your tomorrow.

Days before Thanksgiving, the guy Mags had been seeing broke up with her. She cried for hours with me and Lessa. Told us she thought everything between them was going well. Confessed she lost her virginity to him, which shocked us more than anything. Not that she’d lost her virginity, but the fact we had no idea she was ready to take that step with her boyfriend.

Sure, high school has changed us. Driving us in different directions while somehow keeping us together. But I hate that big steps like this got pushed aside until monumental moments arrived.

Sadly, Mags’s lost virginity and recent breakup are a blip on the heartache radar. At the time, they seemed monumental and all we thought about.

But the worst had been right around the corner.

A week ago, Mrs. Bishop was in a car accident on her way home. From what Mom and Dad told me, the other driver swerved into her lane and hit her head-on. She didn’t make it.

A week ago, we lost a family member. One of our moms. Mags’s mom.

I don’t know what to do or say or think or feel. I don’t know how to talk with my friend. Don’t know how to console her. Not a chance in hell I will tell her everything will be okay. Falsehoods won’t bring her mom back. Falsehoods won’t change what happened. She will never be the same, and that is the only thing that is okay.

For obvious reasons, Mags started winter break early. She and Mr. Bishop have holed up in their home. Mourning and making preparations for the service. Lessa and I stopped by a few times with food, which they accepted graciously, but they asked for more time alone.

I get it. If my mom passed away suddenly, Dad and I would be basket cases. We wouldn’t leave the house or remember to eat either.

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