Leah on the Offbeat
Page 25

“About Nick?”
She tucks a curl behind her ear and exhales. “Yeah. Kind of. I mean, I talked to Simon, and he obviously thinks I’m making a huge mistake, but . . . I don’t know. Like, do I feel shitty right now? Yeah. But it’s not because I want him back.”
I just look at her. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I know Simon would want me to challenge this somehow, or at least press for details. But it’s like I’ve been pushed onto a stage to recite lines I’ve never rehearsed. How would I know how a breakup’s supposed to feel? I’ve never even kissed anyone.
Finally, Abby sighs. “I just feel like such a bitch. We’ve been dating for over a year. I love him. I do. It’s just.” She taps the steering wheel. “I don’t want to do long distance. Like, at all. But a part of me feels like I owe him that, since I’m not following him to New England or whatever. Which is ridiculous, I know, but I just feel so guilty.”
“Because you’re not giving up your scholarship to pay student loans for the rest of eternity?”
“Right.” Abby sighs. “I mean, yeah. Why is this even a question?”
“Look, if he wanted to simplify this, he could have applied to Georgia.”
“Yeah.” Abby bites her lip. “Though I’m glad he didn’t.”
Oh.
“Okay.”
“Like, am I the biggest jerk? He’s an incredible guy. He’s been an incredible boyfriend. I mean, he’s Nick. I just can’t . . .” She laughs wryly. “You know, I kept wanting to imagine there was something going on with him and Taylor, because then there would have been a reason to break up with him.”
“Why do you need a reason?”
“Because it sucks that there wasn’t one. I just wasn’t feeling it. At least not as much as I should be? Like, I’m sad about it, but it doesn’t wreck me, and I really feel like it should wreck me.”
I glance at her sidelong. “You want it to wreck you?”
“Do I want to love him enough that leaving him would wreck me? Yeah.”
And somehow, that single word expands like a balloon. It fills the whole car. Yeah.
“Then I think you did the right thing,” I say after a moment. I feel strangely charged up. Like if you touched me, I’d zap.
“I know,” she says softly.
For a minute, we’re both quiet.
“God. I just feel so bad. His birthday’s coming up. Prom’s in two weeks. Like, I’m pretty sure I just ruined everyone’s senior prom.” She laughs flatly. “That’s going to be a fun limo ride.”
“You can’t stay in a relationship just so prom won’t be awkward.”
Abby’s lips tug upward. “It sounds so ridiculous when you put it that way.”
I shrug.
“It’s just such a weird feeling. I’ve never broken up with anyone before.”
“Really?”
“Well, I only had only one real boyfriend before Nick, and he dumped me.” She rakes a hand through her hair, smiling sadly. “Like, how does this work? Am I even allowed to feel good about this?”
“I mean . . . probably not in front of Nick. Or Simon.”
“Yeah.” She laughs out loud. “God. Boys are just so . . . ugh. I’m never dating one again.”
“Maybe you should date girls,” I say.
She grins. “Maybe I should.”
I turn quickly toward the window, face burning.
Just. Holy fuck. I said that.
I didn’t plan to. I don’t know where it came from. But I said it, and it’s out there, thickening the air between us. I have this sudden mental image of our car filling with smoke. But maybe it’s all in my head, because suddenly Abby’s singing along to Wham! like it’s nothing.
I’m sure it really is nothing. Just like the drawing was nothing.
Except she kept it, and I can’t imagine why. I wonder what she thinks about it—or if she even thinks about it at all. She probably just likes how I colored the background. Or she forgot it’s in her phone in the first place.
But here’s what Simon doesn’t know: the drawing’s in my phone, too.
The traffic on Route 29 is suddenly fascinating. There’s a minivan in front of us, with a little stick figure family in the corner of the rear windshield. Perfect magic hetero dream family: mom, dad, two girls, and a boy. Now I’m picturing my own family as a sticker tableau. Mom and me hanging tight in the left corner; Dad on the top right, mostly out of frame. And, of course, Wells creeping his way in on the side. Just your basic American love story.
The song changes to Passion Pit. Way too upbeat. I should have picked the moody playlist. We drive and drive, and it’s like I’m teetering on the edge of something. Now it’s been ten minutes since we’ve spoken. The music feels too loud and too soft all at once, and underneath its bass line, I can hear Abby breathing.
17
AND THEN WE’RE IN ATHENS. Abby cuts down Prince Avenue, and I take in the colorful jumble of shops and cafés. There’s a little indie bookstore with tall, arched windows, a grocery co-op on the corner, and two guys walking down the sidewalk, holding hands. I don’t think it’s hit me that I’ll be living here. Not just visiting. Not just staring out of a car window, driving by. It doesn’t feel like real life.
Abby’s friend lives in an apartment building near the center of town—understated and modern, with its own covered parking deck. “Caitlin says we just park wherever,” says Abby. “She’s letting us borrow her parking permit.”
“This is wild.”
“I know.”
I peer out the window as we loop around each row of the deck. It’s a funny mix of cars—some freshly washed and expensive-looking, others dented and battered. Lots of University of Georgia cling stickers. Apparently, almost everyone who lives here is a student.
We find a spot on the third level, ride an elevator to the lobby, and sign our names on a sheet at the front desk. Then we take another elevator to the sixth floor, where Caitlin’s apartment sits, halfway down a long, carpeted hall.
When she and Abby see each other, they shriek and hug in the doorway, even though I’m pretty sure they’ve met literally once. Honestly, how well can you know your cousin’s girlfriend’s friend’s sister? But it’s Abby, so who knows.
“And you must be Leah,” Caitlin says. “Here, let me grab your bags.” We follow her into a sunny open kitchen with marble countertops, chrome appliances, and cheerfully stacked Fiestaware. It looks so perfectly adult. I knew Caitlin lived off campus, so it’s not like I expected a dorm room, but this apartment looks like something out of HGTV. I didn’t realize college sophomores could live like this.
“So, this is it. Bedroom, bathroom, I’ve got the Wi-Fi password written down, and you have my number. You guys are going on a tour tomorrow, right?”
Abby nods. “In the afternoon.”
“Cool. Well, if you’re up for it, my friend Eva is having people over tomorrow night. They live downstairs—it’s literally this exact apartment, but on the fifth floor. Leah, you would love them. They’re a drummer.”
That casual singular they. It isn’t even my pronoun, but it feels like a hug. Because if Caitlin’s unfazed by her enby friend’s pronouns, she’d probably be unfazed by me being bi.
“Anyway, I can text you the info.”
“So, it’s a party?” Abby asks.
Caitlin shrugs. “I guess so? Not really, though. I think it’s going to be super chill.” She twists her hair back and releases it. “You guys should totally stop by. And here’s the parking permit. You can just prop it near your windshield.”
“I should do that now,” Abby says.
“Perfect. I’ll walk you to the parking lot. And I guess that’s everything.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Seriously.”
“Oh my God, of course!” She hugs me, and it’s like hugging a flower. It’s like that with skinny people. I’m always terrified I’ll crush them.