Page 15 of Eleanor & Grey
“Um, my mom. She has breast cancer,” I breathed out, andthe moment the wordcancerleft my lips, I tried to suck it back in. Every time I said it, my eyes had a way of watering over.
“I’m so sorry, Eleanor,” he said, and I could tell he meant it because his eyes were so sincere.
“Thanks.” He kept staring at me as my stomach flipped over and over again. “Is someone you know sick?”
This time, he grew uncomfortable.
“He was. My grandpa. He passed away a few weeks ago.” His eyes did something I didn’t know Greyson East’s eyes could do: They grew sad.
“I’m so sorry, Greyson,” I said, and I hoped he could tell I meant it by looking at how sincere my eyes were.
“Yeah, thanks. Everyone keeps saying he’s not in pain anymore, but I don’t know. I just feel like he left some pain behind for me to take on.” He brushed his thumb against the base of his jaw, and I was stunned.
Greyson was sad.
Really sad.That was shocking to me because I’d never noticed his sadness when I’d looked at him before. To me, he’d just always seemed like the free-spirited popular kid who everyone loved.
Turned out popular kids could be sad too.
Greyson shook off the grimaced look and smiled. “So I’ve been thinking... we should hang out.”
He said it so casually, as if the idea of us hanging out wasn’t insanely absurd.
I laughed sarcastically to cover up my nerves. “Yeah, OK, Greyson.”
“No, I mean it. We should hang out.”
I glanced up and down the block, just to make sure he was speaking to me. “You don’t want to hang out with me.”
“Yes, I do.”
I tugged on the bottom of my purple cardigan. “No, you don’t.”
“I do,” he pressed.
“To get to Shay?”
He stepped closer to me. “Not everything is about your cousin. Some things are about you.”
“I mean, it just doesn’t make sense. Why would you want to hang out with me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You were interesting at the party, and I’d like to get to know you better.”
“I was reading a book and wearing headphones at a high school party. That’s not interesting. That’s weird.”
“I like weird.”
I laughed. “No, you don’t. You likenotweird.”
“How do you know what I like?”
I glanced around and shrugged. “I’m just assuming.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. If you want, you can hang out with me and really get to know me,” he offered.
“We don’t really come from the same kind of world, Greyson. You’re you, and I’m me. I mean, look at the size of your house, and your popularity, and—”
“Listen, if you don’t want to hang out, just say so. No need for excuses,” he cut in, making me stand up straighter.
