Page 92 of Icing Hearts

“But after the week I had with her, that doesn’t make sense. She and I were supposed to be together. We were basically together all last week. Did she tell you she slept in my bed almost every night?”

“She did.”

“And that I stayed over at her house Saturday night, and we spent the whole day together Sunday?”

“She mentioned that, too.”

“So you must see how insane this is, right?”

“Vic, I know things have always been complicated between you and her. I’ve never gotten in the way. I’ve never gotten mad. Even when I absolutely should have. Exclusively dating or not, you’ve been disrespectful the whole time I’ve been talking to her.”

“It was disrespectful for you to start talking to her in the first place, Culbs.”

“Bull. You treated her like garbage. For a long time.”

“That’s not—”

“And as soon as someone else showed interest, you flipped a switch.”

“I know what it looks like but—”

“But nothing. She’s my girlfriend. And right now, she’s your nothing. So back off.”

“Or what?”

“Come on, Vic. Don’t do this. It’s embarrassing.”

I lean back against the lockers, staring straight ahead. “I’m so far past embarrassed, Culbs.”

“You’ll bounce back. I know you’ve never really been rejected or turned down by a girl before, but I have. It sucks. I get it.”

And I just nod. I don’t tell him that he can’t possibly get it. The girl he’s in love with didn’t just stomp all over his heart and start dating his friend with absolutely no warning. I don’t tell him that I’ll never forget this or that he doesn’t deserve her.

But before he walks back into study hall, I do tell him, “If you make her cry, you’ll be answering to me.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Practice is a waste of time. I go through the motions. Everyone can tell, but no one says anything. A couple guys pat me on the back. All eyes look at me in silence, either conveying pity or judgment, among other emotions.

Peace is a stranger. Tonight, sleep eludes me because I can’t stop replaying everything through my mind. Literally, every moment from the day I met Clara up until now. I rewrite key moments and play out the conclusion to see if I could have done something differently to have prevented this tragedy. And I keep coming back to the same answer: I’m missing a piece of the puzzle.

She continues avoiding me over the next week and a half. Or maybe I avoid seeing her and Vince. In the hall. At lunch. She smiles. They look happy.

It makes me sick.

Clara doesn’t sit next to me in history anymore. I don’t bother taking notes. In history, or any other class. Everything feels pointless. So I pull my hat low on my brow, put my head down on the desk in each class, and catch up on the sleep that escapes me at night.

But I can’t stay away. I’ve settled for friendship before. I’ll do it—or anything else I must—to keep her in my life. So today, I shove down my feelings and plaster indifference all over my face. Clara and Jack are at her locker, switching out books before history like they usually do.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Tory,” she says flatly.

“Vic,” Jack says, making his presence clear. As if he could do anything.

I flip the bill of my hat backward and shove my hands in my pockets. Anything to keep my hand from reaching out and twisting one of her curls around my finger.

“Look, I still need a tutor. Are you available?”

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