“No.” He laughs and then looks me in the eye. “But I haven’t been myself since you left.”
I sit down on the step. I’d invite him in, but after introductions and small talk with my parents, I might never get to actually talk to him.
He asks about Song, and then he sits down beside me. “I really blew it this summer, Nola. I knew that this was my last summer at Robin Hood. I was so determined it would be perfect, and, well, it became the summer of my missed opportunity.”
I force myself to ask the question. “What about Carly?”
“There’s something about Carly, isn’t there?” he says. “She’s so—I don’t know—out there.”
He hasn’t answered my question.
“Okay, I was curious about her. Maybe even attracted.” He blushes. I’ve never seen Harrison blush.
“But I couldn’t help feeling she wasn’t being straight—there was something manipulative about her,” he says. “It was like I smelled a rat and I was going to poke it out.”
“And how were you planning on doing that?” I ask.
“I don’t know. At first I relied on my charms. But,” he says, laughing, “they’re obviously not very effective. After a while I think I was annoyed. I saw her as an opponent.”
“You were smarter than I was. I thought she was wonderful.”
“I know. And since we’re being truthful …,” he says, looking at me.
I can tell he’s trying not to offend, and so I brace myself.
“That’s what made me guarded around you. I mean, it was like you guys were trying to be twins or something.”
I look away and notice the cracks in our walkway, the dying plants on the borders for the very first time. I can’t deny it. True, Carly played a big part in that—but I was so willing to … what’s the word?
Follow.
“And she was so weirdly possessive of you. I didn’t know if I cared enough to cross that line,” Harrison says.
I have no defense. Nevertheless, I start to say sorry—and then, remembering, stop myself.
He turns my face to look at him. “But then I watched you that night with your sister, and, I don’t know, I saw you.”
Harrison used his day off to come and tell me that. So even though he could only stay through dinner, and even though I don’t know when we’ll get the chance to see each other again, he has given me a huge present. (And a promise to write.)
There are some people who are born into this world—like Harrison, maybe—knowing exactly who they are.
And there are the Carlys, who, like hermit crabs, are always looking to find a home in someone else’s shell.
And then, I suppose, there are the rest of us. People like me. People who, for whatever reason, don’t quite know their shape. Don’t know their boundaries. When you’re in this position, it’s hard to stop others from rushing in to fill up the space with, ironically, themselves.
Like Song—like everyone, really—I live with uncertainty. But, as corny as it sounds, with each new decision I make, I’m given a chance.
A chance to learn what it means to be me.
Huh.
Carly gave me that.
The Complete History of Why I Hate Her Page 11