Page 42 of The Design of Goodbye
The rest of senior year.
“Seriously?” I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see through the dark lenses of my sunglasses. “I don’t want anyone to see me.”
“Why not?”
“Youknow.” I sank into my chair. Everyone had to have seen them by now.
“I don’t.”
I groaned. “Thepictures.”
“What pictures?”
“You really haven’t seen them?” At first, I’d thought he was being nice, but he seemed genuinely oblivious. “They’re on Whirl.”
“I don’t have internet,” he explained.
“Not even Whirl?”
“Whirlison the internet, right?” he asked, voice light, teasing.
“Oh. Right.”
He paused, then asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He asked so sincerely I was struck speechless. In those speechless moments, I stared at him, at his tousled hair that could do with a haircut, his glasses he fidgeted with more than he realized, his too-small jacket I hated. But, somehow, he made it look good. It was all so familiar now.Him. I didn’t want the familiarity to turn into a distant memory.
I didn’t understand what I was feeling. Was it a connection? That was impossible. I’d only met him a few weeks ago. We barely knew each other. He probably didn’t even like me.
“Jules posted pictures of me last night on Whirl,” I confessed. “They’re bad. Too-many-drinks-at-a-party bad.”
“I’m sorry she did that.” The way his eyes flashed and his lips turned downward, like he genuinely hurt for me, did something to me. Almost like that earlier twinkle had made its way to my heart and flickered—ready to ignite. “Isn’t she your best friend?”
“She’s supposed to be.”
“Then,” he started carefully, “why’d she post them?”
“She blackmailed me.”
“Why?”
I hesitated. “Because of you.”
His mouth fell open. “I had nothing—I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything.”
“I know you didn’t,” I said. “Jules really wants to know why you missed all that school at the end of junior year. She told me to find out why you missed school, or she’d post the pictures.”
A pause as he considered my words and then, “You didn’t try very hard.”
I looked away. “Not really.”
After Jules had posted the pictures last night, I’d regretted giving up so easily. It’d taken me hours’ worth of crying to remember why I had. Because I cared about Liam. I wished I knew why. Was it because I’d witnessed his panic attacks? Was it because he listened? Was it because, the more we hung out, the more I wanted to see him again?
I was so conflicted.
I was soconfused.
“Why didn’t you try harder?” he asked.
