Chapter 22
Summer's POV
The Science Wing hallway smelled like floor wax and the faint chemical tang of whatever they used in the labs, and I was halfway to my locker when Evan materialized from around the corner like he'd been waiting there all afternoon.
"Summer." His voice had that smooth, practiced quality that used to make my stomach flip. Now it just made me tired. "Can we talk?"
Mia's hand found my elbow, a silent we can leave, but I shook my head slightly. Better to deal with this now than have him ambush me somewhere more public.
"What do you want, Evan?"
He blinked at my tone—flat, uninterested—like I'd slapped him. "I wanted to remind you about Orchestra. There's a Boston Youth Symphony recommendation audition this week. You're one of the piano candidates. You shouldn't miss it."
I stared at him. Of all the things I'd expected him to say, this was not it.
"I know," I said.
"So you're going?" He stepped closer, lowering his voice like we were having an intimate conversation instead of a tense standoff. His eyes flicked to Mia, just for a second, and I saw the irritation there. "Come on. You've been working toward this for years. Don't let everything that's been going on mess up your future."
Everything that's been going on. Like my decision to stop letting him use me was some kind of temporary breakdown.
"I haven't decided yet."
"Summer." He reached for my arm, then seemed to think better of it. "Look, about today—about Blake—I know that got out of hand. But you have to understand, he was just messing around. You know how he is."
"I know exactly how he is." My voice came out colder than I intended. "And I know you stood there and let him say those things to me."
"I told him to stop—"
"You said his name. Once. That's not the same thing." I shifted my textbook to my other arm, creating more space between us. "You want to know what would have actually stopped him? You telling him to shut the fuck up and apologize. You walking away with me. You doing literally anything that showed you gave a damn."
His jaw tightened. "That's not fair. I can't control what Blake says."
"No, but you can control whether you laugh along with him. Whether you stand there smiling while he sexually harasses me. Whether you text me at two in the morning telling me to 'just ignore it' when your friends post pictures of my body online with captions about how fat I am." My hands were shaking now, gripping the textbook so hard my knuckles went white. "You want to know why I picked STEM Track? It wasn't because I suddenly discovered a passion for physics. It was because I couldn't stand being in the same hallway as you and your friends anymore."
Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or guilt—but it was gone too quickly for me to read. "Summer, I didn't know you felt that way."
"Yes, you did. You just didn't care."
"That's not true." He ran a hand through his hair, that gesture I used to think was charming and now just looked practiced. "I've always cared about you. Why do you think I'm here right now? I'm trying to help you."
"Help me do what, exactly?"
"Get back on track." His voice took on that reasonable, patient tone that made me want to scream. "I can talk to Ms. Anderson later. If you want to switch back to Humanities, I can make it happen. The seat next to me—it's still open. We could be desk partners. Remember last spring at Walden Pond? You made that wish, and now—"
The memory hit me like cold water—the transcendentalism field trip, the wishing station, the pink paper where I'd written I wish Evan and I could be desk partners in next year in careful cursive with hearts dotting the i's.
I remembered Blake finding it, reading it out loud in that mocking sing-song voice while everyone laughed.
I remembered Evan sitting twenty feet away, reading Thoreau, pretending not to notice.
I remembered crying in the bathroom and still sending him a "Good morning, handsome" text at 7:15 the next day because I was so desperate for him to love me back.
"I actually really like my current desk partner," I said, and watched his face crumple.
"That wish you mentioned? The one from Walden Pond? I barely remember it. That was almost a year ago, Evan. People change."
His expression shifted—something harder creeping in beneath the charm. "Summer, come on. Don't be dramatic. We both know you're not going to make it in STEM with your current grades. I'm offering you a way out. A chance to come back where you actually belong."
"Dramatic?" I repeated slowly. "Is that what you think this is?"
"Look, I get it. You're upset about Blake, about the whole cafeteria thing. But you're overreacting." He was using that soothing voice now, the one that used to make me doubt myself. "Come back to Humanities. We can fix this. We can fix us."
"There is no us to fix, Evan. I told you today—we're done."
"You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do."
"Summer—" He stepped closer, and I saw it then—the calculation behind his eyes, the shift from charm to something sharper. "Please, Sum. You were kind of heavy before, okay? And you got thinner and better-looking after we started dating. I helped you become more popular. So what if there were some mean comments along the way? Did it stop you from being homecoming court? Did it stop you from having the best table in the cafeteria?"