Page 45 of Icing Hearts

“About?”

“Us.”

“I swear, Tory. Are there any lengths you won’t go to in order to avoid doing work?”

“Very few, actually.”

“Such as?”

“Torture. Definitely torture.”

“Funny, that’s exactly how I’d describe this impending conversation.”

“Unsurprising.”

She rolls her eyes, and I nearly split in two. It’s distracting. She’s always distracting. My favorite detour.

“Do you have any tests we can make flashcards for? Coach gave me some supplies for our session…”

“Things have changed between us.”

“Actually, I think I forgot them in my locker.” She laughs nervously and stands.

“Sit, Clara.”

She looks like Cher or Deon from Clueless today. Plaid miniskirt with cable-knit tights and lug sole loafers. The skirt bells out when she plops back down, neck flushed deep red.

The room is cold, be it the lack of bodies or lack of a functional radiator. Goosebumps pepper her forearms and chest. I toss my hat onto the desk in front of me and yank my quarter-zip sherpa over my head. The hat returns to my head, and I hand her the extra layer before straightening out my remaining t-shirt. Clara pokes her arms into the sleeves, letting her fingers poke through the hand-holes, but doesn’t pull it on all the way over her head.

Her voice comes out small. “Why?”

“Why what?” I ask.

“Why did things change? I didn’t change anything. You changed the rules, Tory. You always do. I didn’t want anything to change. I was perfectly content with things exactly as they were, and you act like you can just do whatever you want with no concern for anyone else.”

“I didn’t mean to, Clara.”

She sighs, a heavy pall spreading over the room—over us. The weight of the moment is surprising, but I welcome the raw, real version of her.

After a long moment passes between us, I ask quietly, “Were you truly happy with the way things were?”

“Yes,” she answers immediately.

I wait again, giving her more time to sit with the implications of the conversation. Then, I say, “Are you lying?” To me, or herself, I don’t specify. Both, perhaps.

“I don’t think so.”

“What would you say if I asked you out on a date?”

“I would say no.”

“You’d say no.” I nod slowly, pursing the corner of my lips. They don’t know what they want to do. One corner wants to smile. The other is frustrated.

“Correct.” She nods, resolute, then looks at me and says firmly, “I would say no, Tory. For many reasons, the least of which not being that you only seem to be showing interest now that Vince and I are involved.” Her knee bounces, shaking the desk in front of her.

“False. We’ve been flirting for years.”

“Double false. I flirted. You’ve been…vicious.” She shudders when she says it, as if reliving some of my most scathing remarks. “You sure are eloquent, but you’re also venomous.”

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