“But he doesn’t call. He doesn’t try talking to me. He doesn’t even write threatening words. This one had song lyrics on it—bad song lyrics at that.”
Her green eyes flash to mine, cutting past the bullshit. “Why are you joking about this?”
“I don’t want everyone to make this into a big deal and worry about it. What if I’m right and it’s just a joke? I mean, it makes sense that it’s a joke because they stopped after my accident and then when they started up again, they took a sharp right and just became goofy and random. Maybe it’s someone I know who’s just trying to make light of things?”
“What about your tires?”
I cringe. “We’re not sure that was the same person. What if that was just some random jerk?”
“Or maybe it’s someone who’s freaking stalking you. Do you understand the potential threat here? You’re so smart, and yet you’re being so dumb about this. I want to shake you.”
“I’ve spent hours upon hours reading about stalkers. None of these behaviors fit into any of the profiles. But I’ve stopped social media altogether. I never post where I’m at. I went from living with my parents to staying with friends or a house with four guys, and I’m rarely alone. I’ve received no gifts, no calls, no nothing. I feel like me blowing this up would just exacerbate everything and make it into something it isn’t.”
Poppy ignores my reasoning and proceeds to read the letter. Her eyes scan over the text twice before she looks at me. “Are you reading these?”
“I’ve read all the others.”
“Raegan,” she says my name like she’s exhausted by my ignorance. One I know is deserved, yet still struggle to accept.
“Can we just deal with it next week?”
“How many have you received recently?”
“Define recently.”
“Raegan,” she groans.
“Ten? A dozen, maybe?”
“A dozen! He’s telling you he watches you. This is scary. I’m worried. You need to tell people. You need to tell Paxton and your parents and the police.”
“I will.”
“Like you told everyone about your dad’s affair?”
It’s a low blow, one that leaves a gash in my sanity and conscience. Every day the line between right and wrong seems to thin and blur.
“I’m sorry,” she says, reaching for me. “That wasn’t fair. I get it. I get that too much is going on, and it’s hard to know where to focus your time and energy.”
“School alone is drowning me,” I tell her. “And then I have the aquarium and the coffee shop, and my parents, and Pax is struggling, and…”
“And you want to enjoy this time with Lincoln while everything is new and fun and sexy. I get it. But, you’re selling yourself short. You’ve got this, Rae. You only have a couple of weeks before finals, and you can afford to take less shifts at the coffee shop, and once you guys tell Paxton, you won’t feel like you have to sneak around to see each other. But you can’t ignore this,” she holds up the unfolded crane. “This needs to be at the top of your priorities right now.”
“Can I have one more night off before facing the music?”
“One,” she says. “Tomorrow, we rip off the Band-Aid.”
I pull in another deep breath, already dreading the moment.
The doorbell rings, breaking into the dread I’m imagining that will come with dissecting these letters and my next step. Poppy’s eyes meet mine. “Stop thinking this is all temporary. He likes you. You guys will figure all of this out. And I’ll be here for you, every step of the way.” I thread my fingers with hers, feeling the same weight, the same warmth, the same comfort I’ve always found in my best friend.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
She shakes off my apology. “I’m sorry I’ve been so focused on moving on. I know I’ve been distracted this year.”
My throat grows tight as tears slip down her cheeks, proof that she’s still trying to recover from her heartbreak. “Don’t apologize. You’ve always been here for me. Sometimes I just feel bad for depending so heavily on you.”
Poppy laughs, but it’s garbled. “You spent every day of our summer coming over and trying to cheer me up. Every. Single. Day. You’re the reason I was able to finally get out of bed and go to class and laugh this fall.”
“I just helped. That was all you.”
She shakes her head again. “It was you. This is what friendship is—we help each other, rely on each other to help us through the bad times, and celebrate the great times. I’m here for you, and I won’t let this crap pull you down. I swear. We’ll get past your dad, and this creep of a loser, and Pax, and all of it. I promise. Go enjoy your night and celebrate looking like a freaking princess with your prince charming.”
She blurs as tears build in my eyes.
“No. No. No. I was giving a happy speech. Girls rule, and we’ll persevere, rah, rah, rah!” She pumps a fist into the air, her hand still holding mine clutching tighter.
“This feels like a terrible idea. Every time I’m with him, I feel more—so much it feels impossible and too big and too great, and it just feels like I’m setting myself up for heartbreak.”
Poppy’s lips slide into a smile that teeters into a frown as she fights back her own tears. “You can’t look at it like that. If you expect every relationship to fail before it even starts, you’re not even trying.”
“But this isn’t just some relationship…”
She nods. “I know. I get it. It’s Lincoln.” She purses her lips. “You have to fight for it. Let all those feelings you’ve had for three years out, and let him in. Trust me, he’s not going to go anywhere. You guys have something. I see it—hell, I feel it. There’s an energy between you guys that is palpable. It makes me excited and so damn happy for you and hopeful and jealous because I want that. I want someone who looks at me like he’d part the sea and knock down mountains if he had to—the way Lincoln looks at you.”
I work to silence the fears and doubts that conflict with her assurance, the fact we’ve barely begun and how lust can be so misleading, but I focus on her words and the feeling that is so much deeper than just in my heart where the butterflies swarm whenever I see him or hear his name or think about him.
Poppy keeps my gaze, waiting for me to take another deep breath before she nods. “Everything’s going to be okay. We’ve got this.” She hugs me, her grip tight like she’s trying to keep my thoughts and confidence together. “My mom is likely grilling Lincoln. We should save him.” She studies my makeup, brushing a single finger below my left eye. “You look perfect.”
We find Lincoln in the living room, Poppy’s mom across from him. “You know, Rae’s like a daughter to me.”
It’s hard to believe her words, considering Poppy’s mom has always been so stern and cold, but the realization she’s like that even with Poppy has several walls of assumptions falling.
Lincoln nods. “I have no doubt. It’s hard not to care for her.” His attention cuts to the stairs, hearing our shoes, and his jaw falls, his gaze following each of my movements.