You know that feeling you get? That hot-cold, you’re about to throw up, sense that something is about to go terribly wrong? Yeah, I have that at this moment.
He hands over the letter, and the minute I see the yellowing notebook paper and my handwriting, my throat goes bone dry.
“What is this?” I ask, my brain playing tricks on itself as I try to stay sane.
Austin looks anywhere but at me, and when he speaks, his voice is so high I want to cringe. “Well, um, I think we had the same English teacher at Webton, and we did those time capsule things. It looks like maybe there was a mix up …”
He doesn’t have to say anymore to get me to understand, and he seems to know it. Which is why he stops talking, and a blush creeps up his neck.
I look down at the papers in my hands, and nausea hurdles from my stomach to my throat. The freshman year letter, the one I was supposed to write to my college self.
“How did you … where …” I think my brain is imploding, because I can’t form words.
I don’t want to look at Austin, but I can’t help it. My mouth is open like a fish hanging on a wall, and when I glance up, he’s looking at me with a mix of pity and caution. There is also something bordering on anger in there, but I can’t digest that right now.
There is no need to ask where the caution is coming from; I know what’s written in this letter. My heart and soul die a thousand deaths of embarrassment right here in front of him because now he knows about the epic crush I’ve harbored for him. Even as a mature, twenty-year-old woman, I feel as small as a middle school girl right now.
I feel like that dorky freshman he never noticed, and one who will never have another chance with him again.
“There was no name on the envelope. I had the same teacher, thought it was mine …” Austin holds his hands up as if he’s playing innocent.
“What you read here …” My voice is shaky.
Neither of us can complete a sentence; it’s all just too painful and awkward. The longer this goes on, him standing in my room like he’d rather be anywhere else, the worse the humiliation is sliding down my neck in hot, pricking waves.
“It’s fine. I don’t need to know. I just figured I should bring it to you. I’m going to go.”
Austin doesn’t bother to say another word, and I’m about to dissolve into a fit of hot tears when he finally shuts the door.
Those tears leak from my eyes, staining the paper, and I can’t believe what is happening right now. Mortification seals a hot brand on my heart, and I have to clutch my chest to breathe.
As soon as I hear his footsteps disappear up to the attic, I launch myself across the hall to Amelie’s room and slam the door closed. Pressing my back and palms to the door as if barricading it from someone, I instruct her shocked face.
“What the hell—” Am starts to address me.
“Text Bevan. Tell her to get her ass up here. We are at DEFCON one.” My voice is breathy with unshed tears.
Slowly, my best friend pulls out her phone and texts our other best friend. “Did you finally fuck Austin? Is this what this is about?”
Hearing the word fuck come out of Amelie’s mouth breaks whatever spell I’m under. And I start cackling like a maniac. My best friend looks at me even weirder than she was before.
“If only that was the case.” I laugh so hard I start to cry, and I’m basically sobbing by the time Bevan comes up.
“What the hell is going on?” she asks, eyeing us both suspiciously. “Why did Amelie text me that we need to hide a dead body?”
Amelie shrugs in my direction. “With the way crazy is acting over there, I figure that’s what this is about.”
I throw the letter on Amelie’s bed and point to it like it might spontaneously combust.
“What’s this?” Bev asks, picking it up.
Amelie looks it over as Bev tries to read it and then exclaims, “Wait, is that the letter we wrote in Mr. Belding’s class freshman year? I remember those! You got yours already?”
I shake my head like it’s about to topple off my neck. “No. No, I did not. At least I wasn’t supposed to. And I’m not the one who opened it.”
“What do you mean?” Am cocks her to the side, confused.
“Austin found this first. There is no name on the envelope. He had Belding, too.” I nearly scream this, not caring if the guy in the attic can hear me.
A howl works its way up my throat, and I have to stifle it, grabbing one of Amelie’s pillows and groaning into it.
“Oh my God, he read this?” Bevan’s head shoots up from the letter.
“Well, guess you got to the good part,” I grumble, my cheeks growing hot again.
I feel myself start to break down, to dissolve into sobs, and Amelie comes over to wrap me in a hug.
“I’m so freaking embarrassed,” I cry to them, and my best friends surround me.
Not only is whatever was happening between Austin and me completely over, but I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this level of humiliation.
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.