Page 22 of The Soulmate Theory

She frowned at me, her eyes narrowing. “Those with narcissism may be characterized as having a grandiose sense of self and–”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking out loud.” Her smile was playful in a way I hadn’t seen since I moved home. I removed my hand from her waist and stepped back, lifting my arm and her hand inside mine into the air above our heads. I twirled her around, and as she came back to face me, I flicked her nose.

“You ass,” she gasped. I was sure she was joking, I hardly touched her. But I put both hands on her hips and pulled her a little tighter so she wouldn’t run away. Her hands lazily clasped behind my neck, and she laughed.

Where her giggles with Marshall were mischievous and revengeful, the one she gave me was enthralling. It was a song, a melody. And I felt triumphant.

REO Speedwagon began to fade behind us, but I wouldn’t let go yet. I’d hold on until the very last second. I’d savor it all. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Jeremy yet, and I wasn’t crazy about Marshall. But I liked Macie. And Macie liked me. And Penelope, she outshines them all. I realized that I was fine falling in with this group. I was fine with anything that brought me closer to her.

I’d welcome her friendship– anything at all that she was willing to give me. As long as I didn’t have to let go of her ever again. I lived more of my life with her in it than not. After living in the not for the last five years, I realized I never wanted to live there again.

Chapter Seven

Penelope

I ALWAYS RAN.

My entire life when it came to facing things I couldn’t, I ran. I’d learned to run the night my mom died, and sometimes it felt like I never stopped. There were moments when I knew that running was the wrong choice. When I knew running made me a coward. But other moments made me think that leaving a toxic situation, walking away from something that can only hurt, was the best decision. Sometimes running away from something just meant procrastination. A delay of the inevitable. The key to it all, the thing that I never learned, was when you were supposed to run from something and when you stood your ground.

When I was fourteen and a boy asked me to dance for the first time, I ran away. I learned tonight that it had been the wrong choice– the cowardly one. So, when that same man asked me to dance again at twenty-three, I said yes. Because I had already run away tonight. I had run away from my admissions letter, one of only four I had left to receive. I was quickly running out of options for my future. Staring down at the unopened letter on my kitchen counter, it was too much to endure at that moment. So, I ran. I think that might have been a cowardly choice, or maybe it had just been a way to delay the inevitable.

Regardless, when I ran to Carter, he didn’t stop me. He just took my hand and ran with me. He knew exactly what he had been doing when he was making me forget about all my worries for a moment. While we were dancing, and I was trying to think of anything other than the way his hands felt against me, I thought maybe the two of us hadn’t changed so much after all. Of course, things were different. As they should be. Nobody should be the same person at twenty-three that they were at eighteen. But maybe, when you know someone to the depths of their soul, things didn’t change as much as they do when you only know them on the surface. I think, maybe, Carter and I knew each other like that.

After we danced, we resumed our places at the drink table. Carter made a comment about the way Marshall had been watching us. I almost told him that Marshall was the farthest person on my mind. That Marshall was nothing and no one to me. That he was Jeremy’s roommate, and if Jeremy and Macie weren’t together, if Macie wasn’t my best friend, I’d not even know Marshall’s name. Except, I kind of liked the look on Carter’s face when I could tell he was a little jealous, so I held my tongue. Then, he asked me about life in England, all the things I’d seen and done in Europe. I asked about his mother, his life in Hawaii. I didn’t think about the potential rejection letter waiting for me at home.

Not until I reached my car. As I drove home, I thought about it. I knew my parents would be in bed, and Maddie was likely with her friends. It would be the best time to read the letter so that I could face my rejection alone. I could feel it stirring inside my bones. I’d been rejected by Stanford. I couldn’t bear to see the look on my parents’ face when I received the rejection from any school, but especially Stanford. The school my father had attended.

The headlights of Carter’s 1975, Kentucky blue Bronco blinded me as he followed me onto our road. I pulled to the right into my parents’ driveway, and he pulled left into his. I shut off the engine to my car and stepped outside into the chilled night. He was already outside his truck, leaning against the door with his arms crossed, smirking at me. I could tell he had some sort of smartass comment hidden in his breath, but I spoke before he could.

“I know what you were doing tonight.”

His smirk grew. “And what was that, Pep?”

“You were distracting me. From thinking about my admission letter.”

He pushed off his door and took a step forward. “Did it work?”

I smiled. “Yes.” Then added, “Thank you.”

He inclined his head. “Are you going to open it right now?”

“Yep.”

“Do you want company while you do it?”

I pretended I was contemplating it. “Thank you, but no. I actually specifically waited to do it now so that I would be alone.”

And even though it was dark, I thought I may have noticed his face drop. “Okay.” He started to turn towards the house but paused. “Do you still have the same phone number you’ve always had?” I nodded. I couldn’t tell him that I had deleted his number the day I landed in England. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

He turned completely and walked through the gate that led to the backyard of his parent’s house. I wondered why. “Goodnight!” I called back to him just as the gate shut.

I stepped inside the quiet house. My mom had left the lamp next to the front door turned on, but the house was otherwise dark. I took off the heels I’d worn to the dance and loosened the tight bun I held my hair in, which was now giving me a headache. I tip-toed into the kitchen, my letter from Stanford still sitting on the counter next to the fridge. I remembered applying to Stanford back in high school. I’d been nervous about the admission then too. I remembered my father telling me it didn’t matter whether I’d gotten in or not. He was proud of me regardless of where I attended school. No such words of encouragement existed this time around.

I knew I likely received the decision through email as well. Probably a few days ago. But I’d been avoiding checking. Something about the mailed letter felt more definitive. I flipped on the dining room light and sat down at the table with the letter in hand.

Dear Penelope,

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