Page 113 of Tuesday Night Truths

I slow my steps to read her messages.

SYDNEY: I turned down London. Staying in New York this semester.

SYDNEY: I told Harrison.

I stop walking entirely, barely registering the “Hey!” as someone bumps into me.

“Sorry,” I say, not looking up from my phone.

CASSIA: And???

Her responses to my texts lately have been sporadic and vague. We haven’t talked on the phone since she visited.

I was considering asking Holden if we could go to New York to see her after stopping in Pembrooke for the car wash this weekend.

SYDNEY: He proposed.

“Hewhat?” I screech when Sydney answers the phone.

As soon as I saw her text, I called her.

“I had to ask Finn Thomas for Harrison’s number, which was an awkward beginning. And then I called him, which was way worse. We made small talk for a few minutes, and then I blurted it out. There was alongpause, and then he asked if we should get married.”

“What did you say?”

“No thanks.”

I don’t quite manage to stifle my laugh. “How…uh, polite.”

Sydney’s exhale is half-amused, half-hysterical. “I don’t know what the hell he was thinking.”

“It’s a lot to process.”

“I know! And I’m already freaking out about it. We can’tbothbe freaking out about it.”

“You have a head start on freaking out. You’ve had a little time to process everything. He just found out. Give him a minute.”

“Well, I lied and told him I had a class and we could talk tomorrow. Then hung up.”

“It could have gone worse?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t exactly have an ideal outcome. There’s no easy answer here.”

“I know,” I say sympathetically.

I reach the steps that lead up to the Chemistry building’s entrance but don’t climb them yet. A slight breeze pulls a few strands of hair out of my messy bun. I run my fingers along the wrought-iron railing, watching other students stream in and out.

There’s muffled commotion in the background on her end.

“Can we talk later?”

“Yeah, of course. Bye, Syd.”

I hang up and rush up the stairs. I have exactly two minutes before the start of Genetics.

“Cassia!”

I glance over one shoulder as I pull the door open, smiling at Christine as she hurries up the stairs. Her cheeks are red, half of her hair falling out of the braid it’s pulled back in.

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