“We must be on different schedules.”
“Yep.”
Like in the closet at Chance’s party, conversation with River felt like trudging through mud, getting nowhere.
I cleared my throat. “Tell me, does this royalty gig come with a lot of duties?”
He chuckled. “Aside from sitting in a car and waving? No.”
I laughed too with relief. A miniscule step toward being more comfortable around each other. Or maybe it was him. He seemed more nervous around me than I was around him.
The announcements ended, and we were released back to our seats.
“Call you soon,” River said. “Promise. Or I’ll see you at my house?”
“Definitely.” I widened my eyes and put on a scary-wide smile, doing my best impersonation of the Overly Attached Girlfriend meme. “You can’t escape me…”
He burst out laughing. “Thanks for the warning.” He reached out and awkwardly patted my arm. “See you around.”
My smile felt permanent until my gaze went to Miller in the corner of the gym. I gave him a wave and pointed at my crown. “Crazy, right?” I mouthed.
He didn’t even crack a smile but quickly turned back to his friends. And Amber Blake. The pretty blonde had appeared and was sidled up close to Miller.
A strange ache stabbed my heart. Like any good scientist, I’d clung to logic and facts to untangle the messy emotions that had arisen the night of the crazy party, after Miller had played our song so beautifully. So powerfully…with Amber practically sitting in his lap.
I drank too much that night, which made me overly emotional.
I had a crush on River, and he’d finally asked me to a dance. Achievement: unlocked!
Miller was free to date any girl he wanted, and I’d be happy for him.*
Except that mental asterisk wouldn’t go away. If he and Amber got together, why wouldn’t I be happy for him? Why would it matter that he chose our song to introduce himself to the world as the brilliant musician he was? He was my best friend. Being happy for him was my job.
Except that my best friend never called or came over anymore. At school, he’d barely look at me.
Like now.
“Bathroom emergency,” Julia said, tugging my arm and breaking me from my thoughts. “It’s Evelyn.”
I hurried with her and Caitlin to the nearest bathroom, outside the gym. Julia shooed out a freshman who was washing her hands and tapped softly on a closed stall door.
“Evelyn? You okay?”
“I’m fine,” came the throaty reply. “I got my period.”
Julia looked to me and shook her head. I cleared my throat. “Ev? It’s me. You sure you’re okay?”
“I said, I’m fine. Jesus.”
Caitlin shrugged and went to the mirror to redo her lip gloss. “So, tell me, my queen. What’s the story with Miller Stratton?”
I flinched and shot a glance at the bathroom stall. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve been dying to talk to you about him, but you’re so busy all the time.”
Julia pulled her cell phone from her bag, swiped at it, and then aimed it my way. “She means this.”
A video played: Chance’s darkened living room but for lit lighters and ghostly phone flashlights falling over Miller as he sang “Yellow.”