Then You Saw Me by Carrie Aarons
15
Taya
We had a good ole sleepover to help ease my blues.
Amelie on the right side, Bevan on the left, and me in the middle. It’s how we’ve always packed into a bed during sleepovers, unless there was no bed, and in that case, we would huddle together under sleeping bags or blankets.
But I feel a sense of comfort as I wake up, my two best friends on either side of me. It doesn’t ease the ache in my heart or the pit of mortification in my stomach, but it helps, marginally.
“Morning,” Amelie singsongs, already up and texting on her phone.
“Grr,” Bevan grumbles. “Callum texted me last night, from his goddamn room down the hall, annoyed that I wasn’t sleeping in his bed. You know this is how much I love you, right?”
She and Callum go back and forth sleeping in each other’s rooms, and I don’t think they’ve slept a night apart, besides when they’re fighting, since we moved into this house. Actually, I think besides their breakups that only last a few days to a week, they haven’t slept without each other since we came to college.
“I love you, too.” I roll onto my stomach, on my elbows, and pluck the corner of her eye mask open.
Bevan can’t sleep unless it’s completely dark, and I bought her this mask a few years ago. It says Queen Bitch on the outside for anyone to read as she sleeps. My surly friend is not a morning person, unlike Amelie, who usually wakes before her alarm. As usual, I’m in the middle, amiable in the a.m. hours but also able to sleep in with the best of them.
“Have I died of embarrassment yet? Because I really feel like I have.” I sink my forehead into my palms, as if this might still be a dream I can wake up from.
“Nope. Still with us in the land of the living.” Amelie smiles jovially at me.
I flop down on my face and let out a whimper. “I cannot believe this is happening.”
“Should we play hooky and just stay here and drink?” Bevan suggests, very out of character for Miss Scholarly.
“As fun as that sounds, I have an exam today and I have to be in class.” Amelie gets up and stretches.
“Ugh, me too.” I have no idea how I’m supposed to concentrate at a time like this.
“Has he texted you at all?” Am gives me a pitying smile.
I shake my head. I can’t pick a worst part of this situation. Is it that Austin knows I had a massive crush on him in high school? Is it the embarrassing words I wrote to describe it? Reading them makes me want to claw my eyes out. Or perhaps it’s that he’s living in my goddamn house, and I now have to see him every day?
“I doubt he will. He thinks I’m obsessed with him.” My throat tightens.
“Well … weren’t you kind of?” Bevan is in a bitchy mood this morning.
“Do you want me to tell Callum all the stuff you wrote in your notebook about him freshman year?” I glower, feeling bitchy myself.
Her lips form a thin line. “You know, I don’t get the whole Van Hewitt obsession. The family is stuffy and snobby. That house of theirs, the one the grandfather lives in? It used to be like a slaughter plant. Fucking gross.”
“I’m not enamored by his family.” I roll my eyes.
“You kind of sound like it in that letter. Maybe you should explain.” Amelie goes over to her dresser and starts to undress.
With the number of times we’ve seen each other naked, her body might as well be my own.
“Oh yeah, and say what? I’m mortified, Am. The last thing I want to do is come face-to-face with him, much less explain why I wrote that. Jesus, I was fourteen! And dumb. It was puppy love. But what we were doing here, all these years later? That could have been something. Now I’m just …”
“Sad.” Bevan sits up and puts an arm around me. “And that’s okay.”
Shortly after we have our morning chat, the girls and I are up and at ’em. Amelie is off to an earlier class while Bevan heads to the gym. Scott must have stayed the night somewhere because it’s open and empty when I pass his room. Callum isn’t anywhere to be found, and I’d know if he was home because the guy is so fucking loud it’s insane. Even just walking around, he’s heavy on his feet.
I have no idea where Austin is, but hopefully, the universe will let me catch a break and he’s already left for the day.
Wandering down to the kitchen, I decide to make myself scrambled eggs and coffee with extra, extra vanilla creamer as a sympathy meal. I put on a playlist, one with rap beats to drown out my thoughts and do my best to lift my mood.
My eggs are bubbling in the pan with the cheese and milk when I hear a door shut upstairs, then footsteps coming down toward the first floor. I literally jump into the air and scurry away into the pantry to hide.
The footsteps slow in the kitchen, and I hold my breath. Dear God, if you have any mercy, you will not let Austin Van Hewitt come in here looking for a snack.
I press my ear to the door, fully aware that I look crazy and my eggs are definitely a burnt mess by now. Whoever it is seems to walk out of the kitchen, and when I hear the front door slam with its signature creak, I let out the breath I was holding.
By the time I make it to the frying pan, my eggs are scorched.
Great. So on top of a burnt breakfast, I’m going to have to sneak around the corners of my house and pray I don’t bump into Austin.
Maybe he’ll move out, but I’m probably not that lucky. No, I’m going to have to stare my humiliation in the face for the rest of the year.