Sweet Dandelion
I don’t feel like arguing with him on the matter, so I nod.
We join the others.
He laughs, but his eyes don’t.
He smiles, but his eyes don’t.
And I can’t help feeling like I broke my best friend’s heart.
It’s not like I asked him to like me in that way, but I still never want to hurt him.
And maybe, if it weren’t for Lachlan I could like him back.
But there is Lachlan. Perhaps not a Lachlan and Dani, but still, I have my feelings like Ansel has his.
When Ansel’s eyes meet mine across the table, I can’t help wondering what he’d think if he knew I’d kissed our guidance counselor, that my feelings far surpassed those of innocent.
The food I’ve eaten suddenly sits leaden in my stomach.
I’m not so hungry anymore.
Chapter Thirty-Five
December invades with blistering cold.
Slushy snow plagues the streets, piling up into nasty gray mountains.
I climb onto the school bus, shivering inside my coat despite my layers.
Locating an empty seat in the back, I sit down, putting my earphones in.
Say Love by James TW plays in my ears as the bus pulls away from the curb. It’s only been a week and a half since Thanksgiving, but things are still awkward between Ansel and me. In his defense, I’ve been far more skittish about the whole thing than he has. I know it’s largely in part to my guilt over my feelings for Lachlan.
The bus arrives and I get off, taking a moment to pause and tilt my head up to the sky. It’s a grayish color, a few flurries beginning to fall. They’re calling for a snowstorm to start this evening. I doubt it’ll be as bad as they’re claiming, it never is.
Inhaling a cold lungful of air, I head inside straight to the art room.
Pulling out my sketchpad, I idly work on my latest personal drawing. It’s an outline of Sage. Troubled eyes, thick brows, worried lines. Because it’s mostly eyes someone else might not recognize it as my brother, but I do.
Students filter in, and it is no surprise Ansel is the last.
He takes his seat beside me.
“Avoiding me, Meadows?” He arches a brow, his tone light but eyes sad.
“No,” I hedge, closing my sketchpad and putting it away so I can work on our latest class assignment—a watercolor landscape.
He makes a noise that’s somewhere between an indignant scoff and a cough. “Don’t lie to me. We’re friends. I know you’re … fuck, I know I messed things up, but please talk to me. I would never forgive myself if I ruined our friendship.”
I ignore his comment for the moment, getting up to retrieve my canvas from the rack. He follows, grabbing his own, and we return to the table.
“I don’t know what to say.” It’s a shitty response, but it’s all I’ve got.
He blows out a breath, stirring his shaggy hair. “Can we at least talk about this? If we don’t, it’s always going to be awkward.”
I bite my lip. I know he’s right, but my stomach churns at the thought.
“Fine,” I agree reluctantly.