Page 142 of Secret Obsession
“Yeah…”
I smile. “So the next year, they wanted you to go back, didn’t they?”
“They made me go back, yeah. Said something about facing my fears—”
“And I was there.” I squeeze her fingers. I never told her that her parents were the ones who approached my mom when we were fifteen, asking if they could send me to this rich person overnight camp. In reality, I should’ve been dancing—but my mom saw fucking dollar signs in the Reeds, so she’d said yes.
Understanding dawns over my best friend’s expression.
“You couldn’t have afforded that,” she whispers. “Hell, youhatemath.”
“I do,” I agree. “But they knew you needed some backup, but they wanted you to figure out how to do things you were scared of doing.”
I have a hundred examples. Her parents are showers, not tellers. Traveling all day to dance competitions when their schedules allowed—and sometimes even taking my mother along, back when she was part of my life. If we were putting a label on things, I’d tell Willow that her parents showers her with acts of service but never words of affirmation. Because maybe they didn’t know she needed it.
Or she didn’t.
“You can love,” I tell her.
She sniffs and wipes her nose again. “I lied to him.”
“Miles?”
“I told him that I leave people.” She lifts her teary blue eyes to mine. “But that’s not true. He’s the first person I’ve ever left. He’s the only one who’s scared me enough to actually run away and say nasty things—”
“It’ll take more than a few words to dissuade him,” I say.
“But that’s why I said what I said,” she whispers. “I wanted to push him away. But instead, I made true on my word andIleft.”
In the back of my mind, a new plan forms. One that puts both of them together, without all the pressure of school and people judging, the bullies and gossips and glares.
“Food’s ready,” Aspen calls up the stairs. “Anyone want my infamous mac ’n’ cheese?”
I take Willow’s hands and pull her out of bed. We head downstairs and sit around the table, where Aspen serves us bowls of creamy, cheesy, delicious-smelling macaroni.
“I used to make this for my sisters when Mom had to work late,” she tells us. “One staple that was always in supply was boxed pasta, and blocks of cheese usually lasted us a while. Milk, if it was the beginning of the week.” She shrugs. “Easy to throw together.”
“Comfort food,” I agree. “And we’ll watch Disney movies with ice cream after.”
Willow picks at her bowl and forces a smile. It’s easier to see now that I’m watching for it. The way her eyes take a second to catch up with her mouth.
I hold up my phone. “Grey’s calling. I’ll be right back.”
Once I’m around the corner, I dial his number.
“Hey,” he greets me almost immediately.
Warmth floods through my chest. “Hey, yourself. How’s the game?”
“About to start the third period. It’s been a fun fight, but we’re ahead by two.”
I smile.
“What’s up? Do I need to get Miles?”
“No, no, I think it’d be best if we don’t involve him. At least, not directly…” I take a breath and explain my plan.
“Brilliant,” Grey says. “I gotta run, Coach is coming in. Love you.”
