Page 11 of Searching for Nova

I look down, overwhelmed with emotion and having no idea what to say. I don’t understand this—why he’s here or what he expects me to do.

“Nova, say something. Anything.”

I keep my head down. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just … I wanted to see you. And talk to you. I thought maybe we could—”

“What?” I look up at him. “Be friends?” I let out a harsh laugh. “After all this time, you thought you’d just show up in my life and it’d be like it used to be? You thought I’d just forget that you—” I hear my voice crack and stop, refusing to let him know how much he hurt me when he left.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a step closer. “I’m sorry I left you there. I wanted to go back but—” He looks down, then back up at me. “Can we just go somewhere and talk?”

“There’s nothing to say. It’s the past.” I shrug. “I’m over it.”

It’s one of the biggest lies to ever come out of my mouth, and I’ve told a lot of lies over the years.

“I need to get going,” I say. “I’m gonna miss my bus.”

“Let me give you a ride.”

“Thanks, but I’m good with the bus.”

He looks behind me. “I think you just missed it.”

I turn back and see it taking off. “Shit!” I run after it. “Wait!”

It’s too late. It’s already gone.

My shoulders slump as I realize it’ll be another hour before the next bus comes. I could take a different one, but I’d have to transfer twice, which would take just as long as if I’d waited for the one that’s on the route to my apartment. I might as well just wait.

As I continue to the bus stop, Easton races up in front me. “Let me take you.”

“I’m fine waiting. I do it all the time.”

“When’s the next bus?”

“An hour.”

“Seriously?” He looks around. “You can’t wait out here for an hour. It’s dangerous.”

“Everywhere is dangerous. Last week some lady got stabbed outside my apartment. The cops think her boyfriend did it, but it could’ve been anyone.”

“Please.” He puts his hand on my arm. “Just let me take you home.”

I look at him, like really look at him. He does look like Sean. The more I look at him, the more I see the resemblance. And he knew all that stuff about our foster home, although I still think he could’ve found that stuff out with some research. But he knew about the picture I gave him when he left. How would he know that if he wasn’t Sean?

“Smile.” I stand back, eyeing him with suspicion. The smile will confirm if it’s him.

“Did you ask me to smile?” he asks, seeming confused.

“Yeah. Hurry up.”

He does this exaggerated smile that looks fake and not at all like this real smile.

“Yeah, sorry, but that’s not Sean’s smile.” I go around him.

“Nova, hold on!” He catches up to me, stopping me. “You do it first.”

I turn to him. “I don’t smile. It’s not my thing.”

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