Saylor

“I do that too,” he admits with a sheepish grin that looks too much like his father’s. “Is that why you can’t come to Star Wars? Because you’re in time out until you can say sorry?”

“I guess so.”

“I do that too. But don’t say sorry unless you mean it.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

He smiles back at me. “Okay.”

“Hey, Grady?” I ask.

“Yeah?”

“What does your dad tell you to do when you’re not the only one who needs to apologize?”

Grady shrugs then drops his voice an octave and mimics his father. “We can only control ourselves. We can’t control the people around us, so it doesn’t matter what they do. What matters is how we react, and that’s on you.” With the surety he gives his speech, I can tell he’s just regurgitating previous conversations and teaching moments with his dad, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

“You’re right,” I decide before pushing myself up to my full height.

I can’t control Owen. And yes, he screwed up, and that’s on him. But I screwed up too, and I need to accept the blame for that. I shouldn’t have ever created the Slytherin4ever profile. But it was also kind of nice to have a fresh start with him, even though it wasn’t real. I need to remember that. I did learn one thing, though. I missed Owen. I missed our conversations. The connection we have. All of it. And it hurts to feel used all over again. But the idea of letting him go a second time hurts too. Does it mean I want to open up the can of worms labeled Owen Daniels? After everything we’ve been through, I’m not sure I can handle it. So, where the hell does that leave me?

The desk behind me squeaks with Turner’s weight, bringing me back to the present as I glance over my shoulder and smile at him.

Tapping my knuckles against Grady’s desk, I murmur, “Thanks for the chat.”

“You’re welcome. Will you say sorry soon so we can watch Star Wars, though?”

I sigh. “Why don’t you keep the tradition alive without me, but you can give me all the details on Monday mornings, okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

“Thanks, bud.” I rub my hands together, then raise my voice so everyone else in the room can hear me. “Alright, guys. Let’s get started, shall we?”

15

Saylor

The next few weeks go by in a blur of numbing chaos. The Boo Bash was great. Owen and I didn’t say more than ten words to each other, but he was there to chaperone, holding up his end of the deal. Though I’m a little ashamed that I was actually surprised he decided to show up.

Principal Wells gushed about how smoothly everything went, promising that he’d remember this when it came time for choosing a vice-principal. And even though that should’ve made me happy, all I felt was a familiar numb acceptance of the future I’m trying to build. Alone.

And now, I get to pretend everything’s great, grand, and wonderful at a Thanksgiving dinner that I want no part of.

Lucky me.

“Hey, everyone!” I call out to no one in particular as I let myself into my childhood home. The scent of gravy and mashed potatoes tickles my senses, making me smile before I slip off my thick coat and hang it near the door.

“In the kitchen,” my mom’s voice echoes down the hall. It’s mingled with the floors creaking from my father’s weight as he appears a few seconds later, his arms open wide.

“Hey, Sweet Pea,” he greets me.

“Hey, Dad.” I melt into his hug before he places a quick peck against my forehead.

“Have you been avoiding me, Say?”

“What?” I pull away and peek up at him. “No hello first? Just going to dive right into the interrogation? And why would you say that?”

“You haven’t been around lately. Not even for Sunday dinners,” he scolds.