I can’t go back to the house, but I also can’t just stand here, waiting to see Justin and Steve leave. So I walk deeper into the woods, trespass more definitively. Once I’m out of the streetlamp range and the neighborhood glow, it’s completely dark. As I walk among the trees, I realize this is as close to bodiless as I’m going to get. Just a mind walking through the night. Unseen. Unfelt. Unreal.

Justin was careless with me. That’s undeniable. But it doesn’t excuse me from being so careless with him. It explains it, but it doesn’t excuse it.

I lose all sense of time until I hear my name being called. More frantic with each repetition. Rebecca’s voice. Preston’s. Ben’s. Stephanie’s. Will’s.

“I’m here!” I shout, then keep shouting it until they find me.

Chapter Thirty

I call my parents.

I tell them I’m sleeping over at Rebecca’s.

Then I sleep over at Rebecca’s.

The next morning, Will invites us back to his house for a picnic.

“Are you sure he’s not just inviting Preston?” I ask. It’s eleven in the morning and I’m not out of bed yet.

“Nope,” Rebecca says. She’s been up for at least an hour, I’m sure. “All of us. Me and Ben. Steve and Stephanie. Will and Preston. And…you. Do you want to ask your Mystery Man?”

“I can’t,” I say.

“Come on. Isn’t it time we met him?”

“I just can’t.”

“What? Are you ashamed of us?” She’s teasing, but I can tell there’s a worry that it’s true.

“No,” I say. Because the truth is that I’m sure A would love nothing better than a picnic with me and my friends. A would fit in perfectly. It hurts me to know this.

“Then why not?”

“Because I don’t think it’s going to work out,” I say. “With him and me. I just don’t think—”

I can’t finish the sentence, because it feels so strange to say it out loud.

Rebecca sits down on the bed next to me and gives me a hug. “Oh, Rhiannon,” she says. “It’s alright.”

I don’t know why she’s treating me this way, but I guess I’m crying or something. I want to tell her they’re tears of confusion, not sadness. Was all of this for nothing? I think of Justin last night. I think of A out there somewhere. And I think, No, this wasn’t for nothing. Even if I’m not going to be with A, I needed to stop letting Justin determine my life. I needed to find my own life. A, in a way, got me there. And it wasn’t for nothing. A and I still have something, even if it’s not the kind of something where he can come to a picnic with my friends.

I get myself together. “Sorry,” I tell Rebecca.

“No need to be sorry,” she assures me.

“I know.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes, I want to talk about it.

No, I cannot talk about it.

“It’s just a long-distance thing. It’s hard,” I say.

Rebecca nods, sympathetic. I know she wants to ask me more.

“Let’s get ready for the picnic,” I say.

•••
We hang out in Will’s backyard and pretend it’s Central Park. Nobody mentions Justin. Nobody mentions the Mystery Man. Except my thoughts. They mention Justin and A all the time.

I am glad Justin isn’t here. If he were here, it wouldn’t be like this. Rebecca and Ben arguing over whether it’s pretentious to pronounce croissant in a French accent when you’re speaking English. Will and Preston finding every possible opportunity to touch each other on the arm, the leg, the cheek. Steve and Stephanie chilling out—Stephanie asking Steve to peel her a grape, and Steve actually doing it, both of them laughing at how messy a process it is. If Justin were here, he’d be bored. And he’d be letting me know how bored he was. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy any of my friends, because I would be so stuck on how Justin was feeling.

But if A were here. It’s Mental-picture A at first. But then it’s any of the A’s. Because even if he was a pretty girl, or even if he was a huge guy, or even if he was poor Kelsea, back from wherever her dad sent her—there’d be a place for A. Because A would appreciate this. A would understand how much this matters, to spend a day lazing around with your friends, telling inside jokes and feeling inside of them. A has never had that. But I could give A some of mine.

I could email. I could say, Come on over. But I’m worried he won’t understand why I’m asking. He’ll think I mean we can be together. A couple.

Plus, it wouldn’t be fair to the person he’s in.

I have to remember that, too.

•••
I think about contacting him a thousand times. For the rest of the day—in the fun moments with my friends, or in the quiet moments when I’m at home. Back at school, when I see things it would be fun to tell him about, or when the minutes seem hours long and class never ends. I want to tell him about Justin, and how now when we see each other in the halls, we ignore each other, as if we’re strangers, even though the way we ignore each other isn’t like strangers at all. I want to tell A that he was right about Justin but also wrong about Justin. Yes, he wasn’t good for me. But, no, it’s not that he didn’t care. That much is obvious now.

Finally, on Monday night, I give in. Instead of telling A everything, I keep it simple, to make sure that it’s okay to keep in touch.