Page 20 of Searching for Nova

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I say, my anger rising. “I give you all the free time I have. I don’t even get time to myself.”

“If that’s what you want, then we can just be over!” She turns back to the front, folding her arms over her chest. “I deserve so much better than this. I could have any guy I want. I don’t have to put up with this.”

“Is that what you want? To break up?” I wasn’t expecting to break up with her tonight. Other than the occasional fight, everything was going okay between us. I didn’t start feeling differently about her until last night. At the diner. When I saw Nova.

Something changed in me when I saw her. I’m still trying to figure out what, but I definitely felt a change, and now I can’t seem to get back to how I felt before.

I look at Paris, waiting for answer. Instead she gets out of the Jeep.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she says, before slamming the door.

I wait for her to go inside the house, then drive off. I’m surprised she didn’t end it. She could easily find someone else. She’s gorgeous, and popular. Guys at school are always checking her out. She could have a new boyfriend this week if she wanted to. I think the only reason she’s hesitating is because she wants to be with whoever’s in the spotlight, and right now that’s me. It’s hockey season and I’m the star of the team, one of the best teams in the state. That makes me one of—if the not THE—most popular guy in school, at least during hockey season. Paris loves attention, and since I’m getting a lot of it right now, she does too. She’s not giving that up. I wouldn’t be surprised if she texts me tomorrow and acts like tonight never happened.

It’s just after eleven when I get home. I go up in my room and turn on the TV, not feeling ready to sleep. I lay back on my bed and mindlessly look through my phone. As I’m flipping through my texts, I stop when I see one from Nova.

“Holy shit.” I sit up as I read the text.

It was good seeing you too. Not sure if I can meet up but maybe we could talk sometime. On the phone.

My heart’s beating out of my chest as I read it again. I don’t know if it’s because I’m nervous or excited, or just shocked that she texted me back. She didn’t seem very happy to see me today when I went to the diner. And when I took her home, I got the feeling she didn’t want to see me again, or even talk to me. She wasn’t the Nova I knew when we were kids. She was more guarded, like she didn’t trust me, even though we used to be best friends.

How about now?I text back, noticing my hands are shaking. What the hell? Why am I so nervous? It’s Nova, not some stranger. And I’m not someone who gets nervous about shit. Talking to girls. Speaking in public. Playing hockey in front of thousands of fans. None of that makes me nervous. But for some reason, asking Nova to talk to me has my nerves on overdrive.

She doesn’t text back. She’s probably asleep. Or maybe she’s on a date. She mentioned some guy, but she said they’re just friends. I don’t know many guys my age that spend a Saturday night with a girl who’s just a friend. Maybe he’s more than that and she just didn’t want to tell me, although I don’t know why she wouldn’t want me to know.

By midnight, she still hasn’t texted back, so I try to go to sleep. If I want to be at the rink at eight tomorrow, I need to try to get some sleep.

My phone rings just as I’m drifting off. I pick it up and see NM, her initials, on the screen. I fumble with the phone, almost dropping it as I go to answer it.

“Hey,” I say, sounding out of breath.

“Easton?” she asks, her voice hesitant, like she wasn’t sure she should call.

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just, um… I saw your text and—wait, were you asleep? Shit.”

“I’m in bed, but I wasn’t asleep.” I sit up and turn on the light. “So how was your night?”

What a stupid question. I haven’t seen her in over ten years and I ask how her night was? I didn’t know what to say. I have so much to ask her, so much I want to know, but I don’t know where or how to start.

“I didn’t know you were in bed. We can just talk some other time. Goodnight, Easton.”

“No! Wait! Don’t hang up. Are you still there?”

There’s silence and then, “Yeah.”

I breathe out a sigh relief. “Good. So, um, howareyou?” I say it with genuine concern, because it’s how I feel. I’ve worried about her since the day I left. Even when I begged myself not to think about her, or that time in my life, my heart wouldn’t let me forget her, or stop worrying about her.

“I’m good,” she says, but it’s not convincing. There was an uptick in her voice when she said ‘good’ that sounded fake. She didn’t seem good when I saw her at the diner, or today when I took her home. She seemed sad. I could feel it just being around her. I could feel her sadness like it was my own, just like I could when we were kids.

The phone is silent. I’m not sure what to say. Why is this so hard? We used to talk for hours, and when we weren’t talking, the silence wasn’t awkward like it feels now.

I hear a train going by on her end of the phone. It’s really loud and I have to wait for it to pass before talking. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m sitting outside.”

“At your apartment?” I ask, thinking that’s not a good idea. Her building is in a dangerous part of town. She shouldn’t be sitting out there alone at night.

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