I huffed. “When did you get so wise?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. Around thirty-nine?”
I smiled.
“Zane was a dick, obviously. But how was he after?”
Jett had told me all about after.
I sighed. “Sorry. He was sorry. He apologised to the kid and to me and even stood up to Cody the next day about something similar. He told him it wasn’t okay.”
“Okay. So, what does that make you think you need to do?” Brendan asked. “What do you want to do?”
“Forgive him, of course.”
“Of course.” Brendan paused and, when I didn’t say any more, continued. “And?”
“And what?”
“What about the other thing?”
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “What other thing?”
Brendan chuckled roughly. “I’m your dad, not an idiot.”
“Prove it.”
“I know you and Zane are totally into each other. What are you going to do about that? You worried it will ruin your friendship if you give it a try?”
I laughed humourlessly. “Been there. Done that.”
“Okay. So, you’re gonna give him a second chance?”
I took a deep breath. While I was being honest with him, I may as well lay it all out there. “Yes. I guess he’s still a good guy under all that teenage idiocy–”
“He’s not the only one who suffers from teenage idiocy, Little Miss Enlightened.”
I smiled at him fondly. “Thanks.”
“Any time. Now, go and teach him better.”
I nodded. “Okay.” I started moving away, but realised I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do. I turned back to Brendan. “How do I do that?”
“I think you’ve exhausted the limits of my wisdom, kid. You’ve gotta work this one out for yourself. Go find your ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’,” he called as I headed to my bedroom.
“Still don’t get the reference!”
I heard Brendan laugh as I skidded into my room and looked around. I might not have totally understood Brendan’s reference, but I understood enough to know that a ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ was something in common and I had to find Zane and my something in common.
Except I had no idea what our ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ could be.
By absolute coincidence, I happened to look out the window and I saw the treehouse over the back fence. I was instantly flooded with that deep, warm feeling in my chest and a smile on my face. It was accompanied, though, by a niggling feeling of panic and an inexplicable lump in my throat. Although, it wasn’t actually inexplicable, was it? I knew exactly why my feelings about the treehouse were an amazing happiness tinged with sadness.
That treehouse symbolised almost every major milestone in my relationship with Zane. The day he asked if I wanted to help him and his dad build it and we became inseparable. The day he went off to a new school and we promised we’d always be best friends. The day my first boyfriend dumped me and Zane cheered me up with bad movies on his mum’s laptop. The day Zane broke up with his first girlfriend and I wasn’t sure if we were commiserating or celebrating with a bad movie. Every break up since then. The days we got our Learner’s permits. The days we got our P Plates.
We never missed a celebration or a commiseration. That treehouse had seen it all.
It had seen our first kiss.
It was our ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’.
It made sense that it saw the resolution to our relationship – whether it was good or bad.
So, I pulled on my big-girl pants. I put on my face-up-to-your-mistakes hat. I took hold of my accept-the-consequences umbrella. And my… I was out of metaphors. Suffice to say, I sucked it up, climbed out my window and headed for the treehouse.
Chapter 22: Zane
I threw the baseball in the air again and caught it just before it landed on my face.
I wasn’t sure I’d have minded if I’d let it connect, to be honest. Everything had gone to shit and it was all my fault. Me and my stupid big mouth. I just hadn’t been able to stop myself performing for that laugh from the guys I called friends. And in the process, I’d not only lost the only girl I’d ever loved, but also the only real friend I could rely on.
For the first time in my life, it sucked to be Zane Lindon.
“Hey, dorkus,” my sister said.
I looked at her, having forgotten I’d thrown the ball again, and winced as it dropped on my head. It bounced onto the bed, and rolled onto the floor with a thunk.
Eden smirked. “Cool.”
“Shut up,” I mumbled, pulling myself up to a slouch. “What do you want?”
“I was just trying to remember what the green light in the treehouse meant.”
I sat up straighter. “What?”
Eden shrugged and looked me over. “The green light in the treehouse? Did that mean ‘come up here and I’ll hit you’ or ‘I might forgive you’?” She crossed her arms and leant on my doorframe.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why do you care? Figure you need to lure defenceless guys some new way?”
She huffed as she uncrossed herself and stood up. “No, dipshit. There’s a green light on in your precious treehouse and I was trying to be nice.” She shook her head as she walked away muttering about ungrateful jerks and turd brothers.
I scrambled up and looked out my window. Eden hadn’t been wrong. There was a light on in the treehouse – our signal. And it was green. Green for go, just like the stoplights. Green for I’m here if you want to hang out.
Suddenly, I could see what Eden had meant with her comment. If Charley was in the treehouse and hinting I join her, there were one of two options. Really, there was only one option. Charley wasn’t the sort of girl to do anything that even had a whiff of crawling back about it. So, the only option left was that she wanted to yell at me some more. I felt shit enough about the whole thing so knew it was a just punishment.
I pulled on my shoes and trailed out to the treehouse, resigned to meeting my fate.
I dragged myself up the ladder unenthusiastically, but knowing I fully deserved whatever Charley was about to throw at me.
“I’m sorry,” was not what I expected to burst out of her mouth when she saw my head pop over the floor.
I paused.
She was standing in the middle of the treehouse, her hands clasped in front of her body with that nervous wringing she hadn’t done in years. Her body was poised like she’d been pacing.
I hauled myself the rest of the way into the treehouse and stood as far away from her as I could without falling out the door.
“What do you mean, you’re sorry?” I asked.
It wasn’t like Charlotte Baines to apologise when she should have, let alone when she’d done nothing wrong.
Her face seemed undecided between consternation and uncertainty as she started pacing again. But she said nothing. She was in more danger of wearing a hole in the already flimsy floor.