Page 105 of The Breakup Artists

I return to the aisle where I left Ella, but she’s gone. In fact, she’s not in the store at all. I do two laps to make sure, nervous energy buzzing under my ribs. I pull out my phone to call her. She wouldn’t leave, would she? But before I press send, I spot her through the window, leaning against the Jeep with a plastic bag hanging from her wrist.

I step out of the air-conditioning into the hot afternoon sun, my stomach twisting mercilessly. But I don’t immediately try to explain the name issue, knowing that if I compensate too hard, I’ll look guilty.

“Well,Holden Jonah, I got the stuff. You’re welcome,” she says, not attempting to hide the “I’m calling BS” tone in her voice.

Breathe, August. One flinch and you’re sunk.“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt our game.”

“Game,” she says, looking askance. “That’s one word for it.”

I tilt my head as though I’m asking a question, not because I’m trying to be obtuse but because my heart is beating a mile a minute and I’m trying to gain control of myself.

She huffs. “I mean, in a way I should thank her. She just outed you as a player who gives girls fake names and then leaves them for some made-up trip to India.”

And that’s all it takes for my inner freak-out to shift into high gear. I take a deep breath, employing the only tactic I know to lower adrenaline. “I never dated Daisy,” I say without hesitation.

She raises a challenging eyebrow at me.

And so I explain, giving her as close to the truth as I dare. “Mia and I hung out with Daisy last summer. She was having a rough time, and we seemed to show up right when she really needed friends. And because of that we all got close kinda fast. But nothing more happened. I never so much as held her hand.”

I don’t know why, but her cheeks blush and she breaks eye contact with me. “I’m not worried about whether you dated her,” she says, and I suddenly understand her embarrassment, because I suspect she was worried about it and doesn’t want me to know that. “I was simply calling you out on the name discrepancy.”

For a flash of a moment, I consider telling her my name is August. But convincing her I’m a giant liar won’t allow me to be the friend she needs right now. So I sigh reluctantly, at both of us. “Think about it. If you had a name like Holden, wouldn’t you sometimes use your middle?”

She eyes me.

“And well, my mom has been on this spiritual self-help kick since my dad left. It’s exhausting. India to join an ashram, Africa to build schools, a yacht trip.” I hold my hands up like I understand it even less than she does. “All I know is that we never stay anywhere long and it sucks.” And even though I’ve done this many times, created a fake life to explain away the details, I feel uncomfortable doing it now. I don’t want to be Holden. In truth, I haven’t really been him. I’ve been August with a fake name and a few useless details. And everything in me is screaming to tell her that.

“Hmmm,” she says, backing off a little.

I nod at the bag on her wrist. “Thanks for getting the stuff, by the way.”

She stares like she’s looking for a crack in my confidence.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says and drops the analyzing stare. “I guess that all makes sense.”

But I don’t feel relief. Because if everything goes to plan, in a week I’ll be telling Ella that I’m going to live in a yurt in Mongolia; meanwhile I’ll be half an hour away moping with my cat.

I reach past Ella to open the passenger door for her, but she reaches for it, too, and her fingers brush mine. She looks at me and then immediately away, saying a quick thanks and climbing into the Jeep.

As I close the door behind her, warmth spreading along my skin from her accidental touch, I look up at the sky in silent protest. What is wrong with me?

I walk around the Jeep and get in, starting the engine and desperately trying not to think about the star constellation on her cheek or the pink of her lips. Or the way her fingers are balanced on her thigh—

“Are you checking out my legs?” she says with an eyebrow raised and a lilt to her voice.

I clear my throat. “Just checking to make sure you were wearing your seat belt.”

“Ah, yes, Holden Jonah. Safety first.” She laughs at my lame excuse.

I press my palms against the steering wheel, turning out of the parking lot like the back road requires all my attention to navigate it. Are my hands sweating?

Ella puts on her playlist, only this time three songs pass and she doesn’t sing a word. She just stares out her window like there is a problem floating on the wind that she can’t quite grasp.

“Can I help?” I offer, which seems to startle her.

“Help?”