XX

Not twelve hours later, when Amelia picks me up for school Monday morning, with coffee in my hands, does she profusely apologize for last night. And with such passion that I think she either lost sleep over it, or Ethan spoke to her about my reaction.

Right. Ethan. He drove me home last night, and when we pulled into my driveway, we just sat for a moment and before I could say anything about anything, he reached across my seat, the fabric of his hoodie brushing against my torso, and opened my door for me from the inside. I took that as my queue: I politely thanked him for the ride home and then got out of the car, making sure to give a tight smile and wave once I unlocked my front door because he was still waiting in my driveway.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, “I can’t imagine how stressed your mom must be.” To think I did something like that, but I don’t say the last bit.

She offers me only a tight lipped smile and starts the car.

Right. Good, I’m glad that’s over.