Page 105 of On His Mind

“I don’t know what you heard, or what you think, or what Drew’s been saying, but — I’m not.” She stops, but her composure is still there. “I’m done with him. I have been for weeks. The night I called you, the night I came here — I had him in my car, and I couldn’t do it. I took him home, and I called you instead.” Her hands are folded too tight in her lap. “I don’t know why I never told you that. But I’m telling you now because I can’t––” She breaks off. “You’ve been cold since the game, and I didn’t understand it, and then I heard what you did, and I think I understand now, and I need you to know you’ve got it wrong.”

I don’t say anything, because if I open my mouth I don’t know what comes out.

“Say something,” she whispers.

I’m still staring at the floor. “Why are you telling me this?” Then my eyes flick up, and when our eyes meet, it feels like blood rushes to every nerve ending in my body.

“Because it’s true,” she says, brows meeting.

“That’s not what I asked.”

She’s quiet a second and says, “Okay. Because I don’t want you thinking I’m with him.” She pauses. “Because it matters what you think of me.”

“It shouldn’t,” I say it to the floor. My heart’s in a panic. “What I think doesn’t change anything.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

I don’t know why she would say that. I barely understand what she means. I search the floor again like it’s going to give me answers. Deep down, I feel the pang. She’s telling me that it matters to her. That I matter to her. I look at her because I don’t get it. I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that her text to me this morning was about this, aboutit matters what I think. I can’t remember the last time it mattered what I thought about anything.

I don’t have a reply for that, so I don’t give one.

She shifts on the edge of the bed, and I feel the whole room change with it. She’s inching near me, and I try my hardest not to move. I don’t know what she’s doing, but I’m aware that the space between us just cut in half.

“I want to know things about you,” she says. “You never tell me anything.”

I look at her. “There’s not much to know.”

She says softly, “I don’t believe that, Percy.”

“Believe it,” I say back, and I hear the way it sounds. My words, my tone, my voice linger in the air when she doesn’t respond right away. I’m being short. I’m being a dick. And for what? I swallow it down and look at her.

She’s beautiful. Always has been since the moment I saw her. She looks back at me like she doesn’t believe it at all.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” she asks.

I inhale. “I talk to you.”

“You barely talk.”

I keep my voice soft and my tone easy. “I talk to you more than I talk to anyone.” It’s the truth. Out of everyone in my life, this girl is the only one I’ve ever talked to. It’s surprising that she doesn’t think so.

“Is it the French?” she says, and there’s the smallest tease in it.

I look at her, wondering where that came from. “It’s not the French.”

“Then what is it?” she shoots back, and I feel it hit me square in the chest.

She’s the only person in this world that I’ve spent time with, that I’ve let my guard down around, and I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t know how to say what I feel. I never have.

“Penelope,” I whisper, and she waits for me to continue.

I stare at her as my heart races so completely out of control. I want to tell her the truth. I want to tell her everything, but Ican’t. The words are somewhere I can’t get to, and she can see it. She pats the bed beside her.

“Come here,” she whispers.

I watch her hand do it, but I don’t move. The chair’s got four feet of room between us, and that four feet is the only thing keeping me level.

“Percy.” Her hand’s still on the blanket. “Trust me.”