Page 29 of The Design of Goodbye
He grabbed the strap of his backpack like he was preparing to leave. “I have other things to worry about.”
“Like how you jump when someone slams a locker?”
I felt terrible for bringing it up, but with the way our conversation was going, he was never going to tell me anything. And thatcouldn’thappen.
“Sure,” he said sharply, “that’s one of them. Now, can you please eat your lunch?”
“Fine.” I felt dizzy. I wasn’t going to find out where he’d gone those six weeks. Jules was going to post the pictures. “Don’t talk. Continue to live the way you are and stay a freak.”
I slapped a hand to my mouth. I hadn’t meant it. I didn’t believe it. I never had.
“This conversation has been rather enlightening,” he said, turning away from me, “but we’re done talking.”
I’dhurthim. I’d never wanted to hurt him. He didn’t deserve how I’d treated him. I’d only ever wanted answers so Jules wouldn’t post the pictures.
I started crying. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried in front of someone, and here I was, sobbing in front of Liam Strom. But I’d never hated myself more. I wished so desperately I was strong enough to not let Jules control me and how I treated other people.
“I didn’t mean to call you that,” I said through tears. “I don’t think you’re a freak. You’re actually really nice and sweet, and I don’t know why you’re even still here, and I—”
He handed me a napkin. Moments ago, I’d called him a freak, and here he was, handing me a napkin to dry my tears.
“I really didn’t mean to say those things.” I took shuddering breaths, hoping he could understand me. “Life’s really hard right now, and I...I know that’s no excuse, but it’s all I’ve got.”
He still didn’t speak. I dried the rest of my tears, terrified he was going to leave and never speak to me again. And for the first time, the fear had nothing to do with Jules and her need for answers. For some reason, I enjoyed sitting in this library conference room with him. I didn’t want it to end.
In our silence, I divided my lunch into two portions.
“Will you stay?” I asked, pushing one of the portions in front of him. “And share my lunch with me?”
He gnawed at his bottom lip. “You confuse me.”
My shoulders sagged. “I know. Look,” I continued, “I didn’t give you my lunch as a way for you to prove yourself or anything. I gave it to you because I thought you might be hungry. You can eat it now or save it for later. But please stay.”
He let go of his backpack. “Fine. I’ll stay.”
But he didn’t eat.
After five minutes of silence, I said, “Uh, the cookies are what my dad entered into the apple festival’s baking competition last week. They’re apple cider cookies.”
“Did he win?”
“Try one and let me know if you think he did.”
He grabbed one, took a bite, and then stared at the remaining cookie in his hand like it was full of magic. “Hedefinitelydid.”
“Second place. Mrs. Crawler won,” I explained with a tinge of bitterness, “with her snickerdoodle apple pie bread.”
“Voting’s rigged.”
“That’sexactlywhat I said.”
He ate the rest of the cookie. “It’s the only possible solution.” He hesitated and then pointed to the sandwich. “Did your dad make that, too?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Even the bread. You should try it.”
Eventually, he ate everything.
* * *
