Dare You to Hate Me

“We talked about this. It’s—”

“I’ll talk to my mom,” he says quickly, pushing the pamphlets out of the way and sitting up straighter. “We can tell her what’s been going on and figure something out.”

“Aide—”

“Ivy,” he cuts me off. “Please? I need you here cheering me on like you always do. Maybe that’s selfish, but this can work. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind if you stayed here for a while until things got better.”

Does he hear how that sounds? I frown, dragging my hands through my hair before dropping them into my lap. “Don’t you think they should mind, Aiden? Isn’t that the problem?”

He’s quiet, contemplative of his next counterattack. We’ve been through this before, and every time we end up at the same place.

“It’s time,” I repeat softly.

He reaches out. “Don’t.”

I blurt out, “Come with me then.”

One second passes.

Two.

Three.

With each passing silent second, I know the answer to the question before he even parts those beautiful, full lips. Usually, the words passing through them are of comfort. Things that make me feel warm and fuzzy.

But now…

“I can’t.” A breath passes between us, a moment of clarity between our locked eyes. “I can’t go with you, Ivy.”

I blink.

He blinks.

I wet my lips.

His jaw ticks.

“I can’t stay here, Aiden.” It’s not a guilt trip or a way to convince him otherwise. We both have our minds set on our futures, and they look nothing alike.

Standing up, I point at the Wilson Reed pamphlet and say, “You should go there. It’s what you want. You always tell me to get out of my head, so it’s your turn.”

He gets to his feet with a pleading look in his blue eyes that dims them, and part of my soul with it. “What are you going to do?”

I think about the bus ticket Mom gave me that’s tucked into the side pocket of my bag. “I’ll figure it out, just like you will.”

Stepping toward me, there’s hesitation in his eyes like he wants to have the same argument but knows there’s no point. So instead, he wraps me in a hug, his arms tightening their hold around me until our bodies are flushed together.

We stay like that for five seconds.

Ten.

Twenty.

Twenty-five.

My arms curl around his back, knowing this will be the last time. Maybe I’ll sneak into one of his games when he’s big time. Follow his career when they announce he’s made the league.

Aiden Griffith will go on to do great things. I just hope I’m half as lucky.