12| you're a tender curiosity

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chapter twelve

There is elation in waking this morning, the day after spending time holding Greyson's hand again. Unfortunately, it is short-lived.

The moment I wake, I ready for school to see Greyson before leaving. Serena meets me at the front door as I watch red flaky paint peel from the wood, and she promptly tells me that Greyson is at an appointment downtown. But the problem is I don't believe her.

I return home and throw a pebble from my window to his, across the void between our houses. When I don't get an answer, I let it go.

At some point, I stopped taking Serena's word for truth, and it hurts in my chest when I think about how we used to be.

But nothing is the same anymore. 


"Where were you yesterday?"

I flinch, leaning up onto my elbows to meet Cade's unwavering gaze. 

"I missed school," I say, laying back down in the grass under our tree.

The sun flows through the healthy, bright green maple leaves, touching the billions of freckles on my nose and cheeks. The breeze brushes against my face like cool water. With my eyes closed, I lift my hands into the air and feel it dance between my fingers like I'm holding its energy.

"But where were you?" Cade presses.

"Not at school, that's where."

Just then, something heavy lands on my abdomen. My eyes shoot open to find my discarded copy of The Great Gatsby that I was reading a few minutes ago but gave up on.

"Are you not going to answer my question?" Cade asks. He's ditched his leather jacket for a fitting long-sleeved black shirt and a simple pair of blue jeans. The same ebony waves, a bit shaggy now, fall into his eyes as he holds his own copy of The Great Gatsby. And those dark green eyes on unrelentingly staring through my lies.

"I was home," I force out.

"So you were sick," he says, waiting for me to deny it.

"Can you drop it? Let's—let's just talk about something else."

He pauses, weighs his options, then says. "I have to work tonight."

I adjust my elbows so the ground doesn't dig into my bones so much. "Okay," I breathe. "Where do you work?"

"Basilisk's Bite, the restaurant downtown. I'm a waiter."

My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. "That fancy place?"

He snickers, but nods, because it's true. Basilisk's Bite: the fine dining establishment Pat couldn't afford to take me for my celebratory scholarship dinner, and the place I couldn't afford to take him for his sixtieth birthday.

"I should hand in my resume," I joke, shaking off my defensive disposition. I'd never be hired at a place like that, not with my only experience being fast food joints and gas stations.

"I could put in a good word," says Cade, surprisingly serious. "I know the owner well enough."

I open and close my mouth like a fish. "Cade. I wasn't being serious."

"Do you already have a job?" he asks, to which I shake my head. "Are you looking for one?"

"I don't know," I venture, unsure. I usually work during the summers. It was my only option to pay for school until that scholarship changed everything. But, if I could work and make enough money to help Pat with a new car lease, or even buy him a suit so he can start interviewing for a better job, then I'd jump at the opportunity. "Yes, actually," I say with more determination.

"Apply, then."

I choke on a laugh. "I'd never even get an interview there."

"I'll talk to my boss. I can swing it."

"I don't need handouts if that's what this is about."

He runs a hand through his dark hair. "I have nothing to handout, don't worry," he mumbles, pulling at a thread on his jeans.

Swallowing my pride and thinking of my uncle who's only ever provided for me, I nod. "Okay. Fine." And I blush as I mutter, "Thank you."

"What's wrong with you today?" Cade asks next, brows together.

I might as well tell him. He'll find out eventually, I'm sure. "Greyson's back," I say, and even the words sound false, like a trick.

"He's...back," Cade says, blinking.

I nod. "He got home yesterday, so that's why I didn't come to school." I squirm, the ground too hard on my elbows. "It was...a lot."

"And he's just—back? Is he okay?" Cade asks.

I don't know the first way to begin to answer that, so I don't. I just stare a thousand miles ahead, looking for a sunrise, a path, a sign along a highway.

Cade purses his lips, goes to say something, then returns to his reading. It's my chance to look at him. And there's something off with him today, too. His eyes are dull and red, and the skin beneath is translucent and tinted purple with exhaustion.

"Cade?" I ask, sitting up. I tuck my unruly hair behind my ears. "What about you? You seem abnormally broody."

He closes his book, giving me his full, intense attention.

"Why are you still here, Ember?" he says bluntly.

I blink a few times, trying to clear my head. "Why am I here in school? School rules, obviously. Or why am I here outside? I love the great outdoors—" I point to the pavement ahead "—and you can't beat all those cigarette buds. Great view."

"You know what I mean," he cuts in sharply.

I laugh through the unease in my chest. "Well, certainly not to tutor you in physics anymore. You're one million percent a lost cause."

"Can you not answer a simple fucking question today?" he snaps.

My expression shifts to something more serious, something a bit hurt.

He thinks he's not good enough for company, that I should be elsewhere, that no one should ever come close to him. And it's so odd that I know that. I know that I'm right. 

I don't answer. I drop my eyes and don't even look at him again for the rest of lunch, which we run out in silence. 

Before I leave for fourth period, I grab a scrap piece of paper from one of my notebooks. I quickly scribble my number on it. Hitching my bag over my shoulder, I glance down to see Cade still pulling at threads on his jeans, avoiding my eyes like I did his.

I drop the paper between the pages of Cade's book before I leave. He picks it up between his fingers. Reads it. Frowns.

"In case there's an emergency and you forget what a vector is," I say. 

Cade bites his cheek, staring at the numbers.

"I'll answer if you call," I say, turning around, and leaving.

The moment I find my seat in fifth period English, Ace is already sitting beside me. Ace is dressed in black sweatpants and an oversized, threadbare white hoodie with some kind of volleyball logo on it. Their black hair is messed atop their head haphazardly, ivory skin free of makeup.

Before Mrs. Zammar begins her lesson, I turn to Ace and say, "Hey, you alright?"

They dramatically set their forehead on the desk in a clunk. I wince at the action.

In my bag I pull out a large clear Ziplock bag of rainbow coloured macarons. There are at least thirty in the bag from a batch of seventy or so I baked a few nights ago. Pat had already crammed down twenty himself, and Raveena stole some last time she was over. I had to fight them off to save some for Ace.

"For you," I say, holding out the bag.

Ahmed turns around to gape at me. "Are you a drug dealer or something?"

Ace perks up. "Is there weed in these, Ember? Please say yes."

I roll my eyes at them both. "They're plain ole French macarons as per our arrangement, Ace."

Ahmed rolls his eyes and turns around.

Ace deflates, taking the bag and shoving two purple ones into their mouth. "Thanks," they mumble around the food. "I don't have any pencils today, though. I kind of ran out."

"Aren't you excited for yet another lesson on why colour has symbolism?" I say. "Why blue curtains mean a character has depression? Why storm clouds are foreshadowing? Why—"

"Okay," Ace grumbles, shoving a yellow macaron into their mouth. "It's just...this day sucks. It sucks so bad, Ember. It's prom." Another macaron. "And it sucks!" Ace bursts quietly, cringing when a few people turn around from the middle of the class. "How am I supposed to plan a whole night for couples and romance and love when..." They lower their voice. "When I don't even have a date!"

I roll my eyes and sink back into my chair. "That's what's wrong? Remember a few weeks ago when you said a partner was not necessary to attend prom? Where's that attitude, huh? Don't be a hypocrite."

"Well," they huff, chewing loudly, "that was before I saw all my friends pair up in super romantical proposal gestures in the cafeteria."

I fake gag. "Right, because the cafeteria is so romantic. It smells like Axe body spray and weed in there."

"It can be romantic!"

"Just ask someone and be done with it."

Mrs. Zammar stands and scrawls our reading assignment onto the chalkboard.

Ace punches me in the arm. Their eyes are wide. "Would you just, I don't know, go up and ask your crush to prom?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I know you're super pretty and all that and it's not even fair, but still, you're lying. Go ask Cade then. He'd say yes."

"He wouldn't," I say.

"Yeah he would, and you like him." Ace is smiling now, so I reign in my irritation. They shove the remaining macarons into their bag on the ground. "He's so lonely," Ace murmurs, setting their chin in their hand. "Like, I never see him with friends. Well, unless you count those two girls. Denise and that scary girl."

"Daniella."

"Right. I knew that."

I continuously pick at my fingernails. "Friends can be hard," I say, surprising myself. I don't know why I feel so...protective, over him. I don't even know him that well.

But that shared loss. Our families. That's something I understand, something worth protecting.

"Sometimes it's easier to be alone," I go on, keeping my eyes down, "and then one day you look around and you wish you'd put the effort into getting to know people when you had the chance."

Ace sighs dreamily. "You guys are soul mates. I can feel it. What's your star sign?"

"Don't you dare come at me with astrology right now."

Ace laughs lightly, all traces of dejection gone from their expression.

Mrs. Zammar clears her throat and then proceeds to go over our essay assignment for The Great Gatsby. Since I've started reading it, one quote has stuck with me. I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.

My phone buzzes on my desk. I flip it to see a message from an unknown number.

Are you in English rn?

This is Cade btw.

I smile, which has Ace peeking over my shoulder.

Yeah.

Currently contemplating life.

And 1920s jazz music.

I'm in physics.

I hate it.

Shocker.

Help.

Cade sends a picture of a word problem on projectile motion. I flip to a clean sheet of paper in my English workbook and write it all out, sending a picture back within one minute.

Fuck you.

I giggle. I actually let out a real, live giggle, then slap a hand to my mouth at the absurdity of the sound.

Ace squeals quietly beside me and says, "Please tell me that's him!"

I narrow my eyes. "Maybe."

Ace smiles and claps their hands quickly a few times like a child. I roll my eyes and set my phone back down on my desk.

When I glance down at my page a little over halfway into our essay writing time, I see that I've just rewrote the book quote over and over on the thin lined paper of my notebook in red pen.

I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.









Do we like Cade? Are we split? I'm intrigued to know.

Anyone just not go to prom cause they didn't want to? Mine was pretty anticlimactic tbh. Could have skipped it. But then I'd probably regret skipping it.

I digress.

Thank you for reading

-Laurel-


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