Why had I been able to speak to Knight? I asked myself that question over and over again, and I always came to the same conclusion: it had felt like survival. A plea to my lifeline. And still, he’d walked away, just like Val. I was dying to reconnect with Knight…and also dying to know if I’d actually be able to speak to him again. Had it been a fluke?
Not talking felt like living inside a snow globe, with a thick layer of protection against the world. I knew I could, but at this point, it felt almost redundant to do so. No one expected me to talk. In a way, every day I didn’t utter a word felt like an accomplishment. A competition between me and myself.
But with Knight, I broke all the rules. I wanted his attention, his forgiveness, his everything.
After the train wreck that was Thanksgiving dinner, Edie had pulled me outside when we got back home and offered me a glass of wine. I’d declined.
“Can I give you my two cents?” she’d asked.
I’d nodded. It wasn’t like I’d had much choice, and besides, anything beat going into the house and facing my father’s expression, probably a mixture of confusion and horror at the fact I had slept with some guy he didn’t even know.
“The thing is…” Edie had taken a sip of her red wine, sprawling in her quilted hammock, stargazing. “You and Knight have known each other from the day you were born. You don’t know anything else. You have no idea where the love starts or the familiarity begins. The lines have blurred so badly, you’re both acting up and defying each other. Maybe it’s best that you let it go, enjoy college, and revisit this thing with Knight on summer vacation. You have the right to be happy, Luna. And I’ve a feeling Knight is making you really unhappy right now.”
“That’s not true,” I’d jumped to his defense in sign language. “Knight makes me very happy.”
She’d slipped her tan leg past the hammock, her toes digging into the grass to stop its movement, then sat up and stared directly at me.
“I heard you talk to him. With words.”
My eyes had widened. She’d shaken her head.
“Don’t worry. No one else did. We gave you your privacy. Point is, you didn’t sound happy. You sounded…hurt. That’s not how I wanted to hear you when you finally spoke to someone who wasn’t me.”
But almost a month later, even though I knew Edie was right, I still couldn’t shake off the need to stay in touch with Knight. I checked all of his friends’ Instagram and Twitter accounts. Every day.
Even now, as we slipped into Josh’s roommate Ryan’s car, I knew I’d rather stay in my dorm, staring at the phone and waiting for Knight to get back to me, even though I had no evidence to support that he might.
I slid into Ryan’s back seat before noticing that April had taken the passenger seat. When I swiveled my head, I realized why. Josh sat next to me in the back. He smiled, signing, “April called shotgun when she talked to Ryan on the phone.”
The past three weeks had been what my childhood friend Daria would call awkward central. I’d taken a step back from Josh, telling him I still had feelings for Knight and couldn’t be with anyone else. Meanwhile, April and Ryan had grown closer. Their blooming romance kind of forced Josh and me to hang out, even if we needed space from each other. But I couldn’t fault my roommate for wanting to spend time with her new boyfriend.
April and Ryan shared a noisy kiss in the front.
Josh rolled his eyes and smiled. “How have you been?”
That was the worst part—seeing how kind and beautiful he was as a person, even when I’d brought my walls back up, even when I made him feel like a mistake.
“Fine.” I used that damn word. “You?”
“Yeah. Good.”
Thankfully, the ride was short.
When we arrived, it was the kind of gig where everybody was crammed like sardines into a darkened space no bigger than my parents’ living room, the scent of warm beer and sweat wafting through the dense, smoky air—the kind of place even Vaughn and Knight couldn’t usually drag me to. But after my disastrous Thanksgiving, I’d found that maybe Knight wasn’t the only one with a shiny, red self-destruction button. I wanted to forget, too. I wanted to drown in alcohol and sweaty bodies and loud noises no less than he did.
More than anything, I refused to stop. I was making huge progress—Malory said so herself. For the first time in months, I didn’t dread the idea of her sending my parents updates about me, and I wanted to continue building friendships and getting out of my comfort zone.
There was a mosh pit, and good vibes, and—I had to agree with April—a really hot lead singer to drool over. I danced with Josh and lost myself in the music. By the second hour of bobbing my head and buying all of us rounds of drinks with my fake ID, I wondered if the recipe for giving up Knight was simply drowning in distractions.
I didn’t have to wonder long. As soon as I felt my phone buzzing in my back pocket, I pulled it out and frowned. Knight’s name flashed over a picture of him lifting up his shirt and winking at the camera, exposing his glorious six pack.
He was calling me back.
Finally. After dozens of unanswered calls.
Expecting my words.
In front of my friends, who’d faint if they heard me speak.
Answering him would be dangerous, but I couldn’t help myself, knowing he might change his mind if I waited to call him back. I excused myself and ran out into the alleyway sandwiched between the club and a coffee shop. I hit answer and jammed a finger into my ear so I could hear him better.