The nurses’ station is empty, so I walk slowly down the hall, trying to peek into each room without being creepy and drawing attention to myself. I make it past four doors when Isabelle emerges from a room a few feet away. Relief floods me. I quicken my pace, hoping I can catch her without having to yell down the hall. That will probably get me kicked out of the hospital.
She turns around and freezes. “Grayson? What’re you doing here?” She’s got a clear bag with the words “Personal Belongings” written across the front. Inside are clothes, a purse, and shoes.
“Looking for you,” I say.
“Why?”
I can’t help but laugh, which is so not an appropriate reaction, but I figure I’m already a little crazy, so what’s the harm? “You weren’t in school, and I need to tell you something that can’t wait. Because if it waits, I’ll chicken out, and I don’t want to chicken out.”
“Look, now’s really not a good time.” She holds up the bag. “Mom was just admitted to in-patient rehab, and Dad’s waiting for me in the car. We need to go home, pack some clothes and stuff, and take it to Mom.”
“Right.” I nod and nervously lick my lips. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here like this, but like I said, I—”
“I really have to go, okay?” Her expression is torn, though, and I wonder if she’s struggling with leaving.
I nod again. “Maybe we can talk on the way downstairs?”
“Sure.”
We head to the elevator, and as we wait for it to arrive, I turn to her. “I want to say I’m sorry. I overreacted to the whole thing with Cam, and I know it wasn’t your fault. Just seeing you kiss him, knowing we were together… it brought back so many memories of my mom and what she did, and I freaked out.” Winded, I take a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Belle. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Yes.” The elevator doors open, and we step inside. “I forgive you, Grayson. I get why you acted the way you did.”
The immense relief I feel threatens to crush me. “Thank you.”
“But.” She holds up a finger, and my stomach drops. “None of that changes the fact that you automatically assumed the worst of me. You didn’t give me the chance to explain, and you never once considered that maybe I was telling the truth.”
“I know. And believe me, I feel like the world’s biggest jerk.” The ding of the elevator cuts me off.
“Can we talk about this later?” she asks, her gaze darting toward the main doors. A sleek, red sedan is idling near the curb. That must be her dad. “I’ll call you, okay?”
“Okay.” I shove my hands into my pockets, defeated.
Belle presses her lips to my cheek, and I close my eyes, leaning into her. “Thank you for skipping school and coming here to apologize,” she whispers.
With a small smile, I nod. And then she leaves. I stand in the middle of the lobby and watch as she climbs into the car and drives away. This didn’t go exactly as I had hoped it would, but it didn’t go horribly, either. She forgave me, and that’s the most important thing right now. We can deal with everything else later.
I reluctantly go back to school, and to my surprise, the day passes quickly. Vick and Hannah keep me busy between classes, but it doesn’t help keep my mind off Isabelle. At the end of the day, I walk out to the student parking lot with Vick. He’s rambling on about visiting his grandmother for Christmas break so he can catch some waves.
“Wanna come over and hang out? I can make one of my famous specialty pizzas,” Vick says.
I laugh. Last time, his specialty was taco pizza, which wasn’t so bad, but I’m not sure I want to tempt fate again. “Thanks, but I’m gonna go home and wait for Belle to call.”
Vick shakes his head. “Whatever, man.” He stops near his jeep. “Things will work out. You just gotta give her some time.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I hope he is anyway. Because the thought of not having Isabelle in my life is bleak. Even if this whole thing ends with us just being friends, that’s better than nothing. “See ya later.”
I go home—Dad’s back at work so the house is quiet, and chances are he’ll be late tonight. According to Uncle Bryan, jobs are piling up faster than snow in January. I spend a couple hours doing homework and then heat up some leftover meat and make a couple tacos before planting myself in front of the TV, where I proceed to obsessively check my phone for messages from Isabelle. The hours pass, and she doesn’t call or text. Before I know it, it’s almost eleven o’clock. I drag myself to bed with the depressing knowledge that she’s not going to call tonight.
#
The first thing I do when I wake up the following morning is check my phone—nothing from Isabelle. I crack and send her a message. everything ok? I get ready for school and leave, and Belle still hasn’t responded. I don’t know if I’m more worried or annoyed. She said she’d call, and she didn’t. There’s probably a good reason why, which is what makes me so worried. Did something else happen with her mom?
When I get to school, I scan the parking lot for Belle’s car—there’s no sign of it. I’m not sure I want to spend another day in school without her. Sure, I have friends, and classes keep me busy, but Spanish isn’t the same without her. It’s kind of hard to practice a dance when I don’t have a partner.
As I’m walking to my locker, I catch sight of Belle’s reddish brown hair, and I skid to a stop. “Belle!” I beam a smile as I approach her.
“Hey, Grayson.” She whispers something to the girl she’d been talking to, and then gives me her full attention. “Sorry I didn’t call last night. We got home so late.”
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay, right?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
“I’m not staying, though. I’m just here to get homework from my classes. Dad and I have a meeting at the rehab center, and then we have a bunch of other stuff to do.”
“Oh.” I frown. “Okay.”
“Would you mind sharing any notes we might take in Spanish?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Belle smiles. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.” With a wave, she rushes down the hallway in the opposite direction.
Well, that stinks. I walk to Spanish, sadness weighing on me. There’s a note on the door instructing us to meet in the culinary room, which is up on the third floor, so I head for the stairs. The halls are crowded, and I almost don’t make it on time.
Once in class, I’m given instructions to make a Spanish omelet, and I begin the process. This would be a lot more fun if Belle was here, but she’s not, so I try to focus on the task. I’m glad Belle’s mom is getting the help she needs, and I’m sure Belle is happy her family is finally starting to heal, but I don’t like that she’s skipping out on classes again. Her absence affects me, too, and I don’t want to do poorly on our project. I hate the selfish feelings and thoughts consuming me right now. Shaking the negativity away, I do my best to follow the recipe.
When class is over, Señorita Guzmán says, “Señor Alexander. Espere, por favor.” Wait, please.
Groaning, I stay behind while the rest of the class leaves.
She approaches my cooking station. “I spoke with Isabelle this morning.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She’s speaking English—this can’t be good. “Yeah, I did, too.”
“Then you’re aware she’ll be out of school all week, yes?” She looks at me expectantly.
“Yeah,” I say like it’s common knowledge, but it’s a shock to me. I thought she was out for just today. “She’s dealing with some family stuff.”
Señorita Guzmán nods and smiles sympathetically. “Yes, she told me what’s going on, which is why I asked you to stay after class. As you know, there are deadlines for different aspects of the project, and the proposal for your presentation is due on Friday.”
“I know.”
“Considering the circumstances, I’m willing to give you a small exten
sion.”
“Oh, um, thanks.” I shift on my feet and adjust my backpack. I really wasn’t expecting this. In all honesty, I can probably finish the proposal myself and submit it on time. But I don’t want Belle to think I’m taking over and not giving her a say.
“But, before I do so, I need to know you two have been working on it.” She gives me a stern look.
“Yes, we have,” I say with confidence. “We’ve decided we’re going to do a skit. We’re going to pretend to be on a date. I’m a local, and she’s visiting. I’ll show her around, which meets the requirements for giving information about the place we chose. Then we’ll have dinner—the food requirement, and finally, dancing.”
She beams a brilliant smile and claps her hands. “That’s a fantastic idea. Very creative.”
“Thanks. We have it all figured out, so all we need to do is write it up.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a one-week extension.” She stands from the stool she was sitting on and gathers a stack of folders. “If you can get it turned in sooner, that will be great.”
“We’ll do our best,” I assure her, then leave for my next class.
I don’t hear from Belle at all for the rest of the week.
31
ISABELLE
I FEEL BAD FOR NOT texting Grayson all weekend, but I needed time to think. And that’s all I did, too. Think. Obsess. Change my mind. Pray. Think some more. I’m sick of my own thoughts, but at least I know now what I need to do. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to approach Grayson. He just parked his bike and is hanging his helmet on the handlebar. My heart is in my throat, and my legs tremble with a mix of nerves and sadness.
“Hey, can we talk?”
He turns to me, his expression both shocked and pleased. “Yeah, of course.”
The sun is shining, and the air is fairly warm. Still, a shiver forces its way through me. “So, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said that day at the hospital.”
He removes his backpack from his bike and slips his arms through the straps. “And?”
“I meant it when I said I forgive you.” I glance around the student parking lot. It’s almost full, but most students have already headed inside. “And it means so much that you went out of your way to apologize.”
“But?” He raises a brow.
“But.” My stomach somersaults, and I’m not sure I can say what I know I need to say. “My life is such a mess right now, Grayson.” I sigh. “My mom’s in rehab for at least six months, maybe longer, and she’s doing everything she can to get out. She spent all week fighting the nurses and therapists. My dad is trying to find a job closer to home so he can be here for me. I’m barely talking to my friends. I haven’t been going to church or youth group. And I’m so far behind in all of my classes.”
When I was rehearsing this little speech in my head last night, it sounded so much better than it does right now. I’m rambling, but I don’t know how to stop. He stares at me, not speaking.
“I just… I need some time to get my life together, y’know? I need to focus.” I chew on my bottom lip and shift on my feet. “And I’m not sure being with you is the best thing for me right now.” My heart thuds painfully in my chest.
“Oh.” He frowns.
“I’m sorry. I like you. I really do. But I need to do this for me.” God, please help him understand. I blow out a shaky breath.
“I apologized, Belle. And you forgave me.” He shakes his head with confusion. “I don’t understand why…”
“I know. But you’re a distraction—a good one—and I have to get my life together.”
Grayson takes a step away, and I hold my breath, fully expecting him to walk away and leave me standing here. Thankfully, he doesn’t. “I can help, you know.”
“No, you can’t.” My voice shakes, and I force myself to stay calm and firm. “The first time something went wrong, you jumped to the worst possible conclusion about me. You didn’t trust me enough to know I’d never do anything like that to you.”
“Belle. I—”
I hold up my hand to stop him. There’s no way I’m going to get through this if he keeps talking, because he’s the one person in the world who can convince me my decision might not be the right one. I’m already wondering if it’s right.
“I know this is hard, but please try to understand. I don’t need to worry right now that you’re going to overreact about something that’s not even my fault.”
“Are you serious?” He narrows his eyes. “I know I made a mistake. And I said I was sorry. What else do you want me to do?”
“There’s nothing you can do.” Tears burn the back of my throat, and I swallow hard against them.
“So, that’s it?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“You’re a hypocrite, you know that?” There’s an edge to his tone, and I cringe.
“Excuse me?” I cross my arms. In all the times I played this scene out in my head last night, he never accused me of hypocrisy.
“You’re accusing me of thinking the worst of you, and I admit I did that. But aren’t you doing the same thing right now? You automatically assume I’m going to mess up again. How’s that fair?”
Tears pool in my eyes, and I blink them away, but a few escape and trickle down my cheeks. He’s right. It’s not fair, but this isn’t about being fair. It’s about what’s best for me, and right now, the best thing is to make a clean break so I can get my life back on track.
“Whatever.” He sighs heavily and then walks away.
I stare after him. I know I need to let him go, but the urge to chase after him is overwhelming. But my fear is even greater, so I stay rooted in place until I can no longer see him. Then, I make my way into school. The final bell is ringing, and I rush to class without going to my locker. Spanish is going to be awkward.
When I enter the room, I drop my missing assignments onto Señorita Guzmán’s desk.
“Gracias,” she says.
“De nada.” I take my seat. Grayson’s head is down, and he’s staring at his phone. He can be as mad at me as he wants, but we’re partners on this project, and he’s going to have to talk to me about that, at least.
“So, I know I’m a little behind on our project, but if you want to get together to work on it…” I say. “Maybe we can work on it during study hall next period?”
“Sure.” He doesn’t look up from his phone.
“I know you’re mad at me, and probably a little hurt, too, but we have to do this project together.”
“I know.” He slides his phone into his bag. “Señorita Guzmán gave us an extension on the proposal, so we need to get that done.”
“Did you ask her for an extension?”
“No. She offered, and I figured with everything you had going on…” He shrugs.
Wow. That’s so sweet of him. Maybe I’m wrong—maybe he will learn from what happened and not make the same mistakes. I’m sure I made the right choice, though, and there’s nothing inside me encouraging me to do anything different. Why does this have to be so hard?
“It’s due Friday,” he says.
“Thanks.”
He nods. We’re silent as Señorita Guzmán preps the television—great, another video.
“Can you promise me something?” he asks.
“What?”
“Don’t change, okay? Whatever you’re doing to get your life together… don’t let it change who you are.” His gaze is so serious that any sarcastic remark I was going to make dies on my tongue.
“Don’t worry. I’m just finally realizing who I am and what I want. Nothing and no one is going to take that away from me.”
“Good.” He shifts his chair closer to mine. “Would it be okay if we still went to church together? As friends?”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” I glance away. I know I’m responsible for getting him to go back to church, and I feel like a jerk for turning my back on him now, especially when he seems to actually like going.
But until other parts of my life are back in order, I can’t commit to doing this with him. “I’m sorry.”
“Right.”
I sigh. “Sundays are family days at the rehab center. And it’s like a three-hour drive, so I probably won’t be going to church for a while.”
“What about youth group?”
I shake my head. “I really just need to be with my family right now.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and I worry he doesn’t understand. I’m not sure I understand anymore. I just have to trust that God knows what He’s doing.
#
One Month Later…
It’s been a little over a month since my mom was in the hospital and I officially ended things with Grayson. Thanksgiving is two weeks away, and no one seems to care, myself included. Every day is harder than the last, and there isn’t a minute that goes by that I don’t want to find Grayson and tell him how wrong it feels not to be with him. It consumes me. But I don’t, because what if he can’t forgive me? Also, deep down, I still believe this was the best decision. Not forever, but for now. Brandon used to say God always answers our prayers: Sometimes yes, sometimes no, sometimes wait. So, I'm waiting.
Things in my life are slowly getting better. Mom made it through detox and is learning ways to cope with her alcoholism. She’s also finally facing her grief over Brandon’s death. Her doctor is optimistic that once she grieves properly, she won’t need to rely on alcohol to dull her pain.
There’s still one major thing I have to do, though, and it’s going to be one of the hardest things ever. I flex my fingers and then shake the nerves from my hands. I can do this. Blowing out a breath, I knock. A second later, the door opens.
“Isabelle?”
“Hey, Hannah.” I wave and then quickly lower my hand. “Can we talk?”
Without a word, she steps aside and motions for me to come in. Like every other time I’ve been here, we race down the hall and into her room.
She closes the door and leans against it. “So, what’s up?”
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