“So, what was this big idea of yours?” I ask, sipping my latte.
Dylan stuffs the last of his muffin into his mouth. “I think we should try to hack the password of the email account.”
“Or,” I say thoughtfully, “you can just tell me the password. Since, you know, you created it.”
He gives me a devilish smirk. “Where would be the fun in that?” He bypasses the stack of napkins on the table and wipes his hands on his pants, leaving behind an unsightly grease streak. I guess that solves the mystery of why he always looks so disheveled. He turns the laptop toward him. “What email address is the perp using?”
“I’m sorry,” I say teasingly. “The perp?”
“Yes, the perpetrator. Keep up.”
“I know what perp means,” I argue. “I just … You know what? Never mind. It’s [email protected]”
He nods and navigates to the YouMail site. He types the email address into the log-in box and clicks the Forgot Password link.
“Look, the perp set up a password hint.” He squints at the screen, his eyebrows knitting in confusion as he reads aloud. “I know what you’re thinking…”
“What?” I grab the laptop and spin it toward me so I can read it for myself.
I know what you’re thinking …
He turns and looks at me. “What on earth does that mean?”
I shrug and shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a warning message to us. Or whoever is trying to hack the password. Like, I know what you’re thinking about doing, so don’t even try it.”
Dylan takes the computer back and stares at the password hint.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he repeats with a curious inflection. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Every time he says those words aloud, something stirs in me. Something I can’t quite identify. I can almost hear someone else saying them. Someone in my past. A faint, clouded memory that’s struggling to break through.
He raps his fingers against the keys, contemplating. “Maybe it’s a line from a book. Like on the Chronicle list.”
I nod. “It’s as good an idea as any.”
He opens a new tab in the browser and Googles the exact password hint along with the word “book.” There are no obvious results.
I don’t know what the password hint is referring to, but for some strange reason I’m positive it’s not a book. And my conviction is starting to unnerve me.
“What about…?” Dylan starts to ask but I don’t hear the rest of his suggestion. I don’t hear anything, actually. Because just then, the door of Peabody’s jingles as two customers come tumbling into the restaurant and all of the blood instantly drains from my face.
Oh my God. This isn’t happening.
Why, oh why, did I agree to come here? Why didn’t I suggest we go somewhere else?
I should have known they’d walk through that door. I should have been more cautious. I should have protected myself from this very situation.
I watch in a mixture of shock and horror and jealousy as my ex-boyfriend and my former best friend order coffees from the barista and carry them to a nearby booth. They slide into the same side, leaving the opposite bench empty, and immediately snuggle up to each other.
And in that moment, all I can think is Austin never did that with me.
We never snuggled on the same side of the booth. Not even in the beginning when things were new and exciting. He always insisted on sitting opposite me. He said it was so he could see me better. I never argued because that sounded so sweet.
But maybe it was a lie.
Maybe he just didn’t want to be that close to me. Maybe the thought of being separated from me by a foot of table didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“Friends of yours?” Dylan asks, crashing into my thoughts.
I blink and face him. “No,” I mumble, trying to focus on my laptop screen. But my attention keeps getting diverted. I keep looking up to see what they’re doing. What they’re saying. How many times they turn to just look at each other. Not talk. Not smile. Just gaze into each other’s eyes.
“They look happy,” Dylan remarks, and once again I realize that I’m staring.
“Whatever,” I mutter. “Let’s get back to work.”
But I can sense Dylan watching me. I have a feeling he won’t let this go. “Is that your ex-boyfriend or something?”
I bark out a laugh. “No. I mean, not really. We went on one date in middle school.”
I notice his body tense for a moment before he leans back in his chair. “Is that like a pattern with you? One date and then you’re done?” It sounds like a joke, but I can hear the hostility behind the words. I know he’s referring to us. To our one date. The one I don’t remember, but he obviously does.
“N-n-no,” I stammer. “It wasn’t like that.”
“So, did you stop responding to his texts, too?”
I startle at this. Not just because he’s no longer even trying to hide the resentment in his voice, but because I can’t believe I would do that. Or she would do that. Did she just ignore him until he got the point and went away? That seems kind of harsh. And incredibly cowardly.
I bite my lip, struggling for words. “No. It just didn’t work out.” I see a flicker of something on his face and quickly add, “With him.”
Because the truth is, I don’t know what happened with us. With Dylan and me. All I know is what Sequoia told me. That we had one date. That I was planning on going out with him again but then I met her and she convinced me to focus on school instead of boys.
“Why didn’t it work out?” he asks, and then after a moment, he also adds, “With him.”
But I have a feeling he’s asking me for more than that. He’s asking me for something I can’t give. An overdue explanation that I simply don’t have.
I swallow. “Because I went to Windsor and he went to Southwest High. It just kind of fizzled out.”
“So,” Dylan presses, folding his hands in his lap like a TV talk show interviewer. “If you hadn’t gone to Windsor, you two might still be a couple?”
Yeah, and he would have eventually cheated on me.
My body tenses. My heart thumps in my chest. I don’t want to think about that. I spent the last three and a half years wondering about what-ifs. I’m done. This is my life now. This is where I belong. I’ve already made that decision.
“It doesn’t matter what would have happened,” I say. “This is what did happen.”
“So you’re bitter,” Dylan guesses. “About the one that got away?”
“What?” I ask, flustered. I can feel my face turning red. “No. I’m not bitter about anything. That was more than three years ago. In middle school. I don’t care about him. I barely even think about him.”
Dylan’s expression is inscrutable. But apparently mine is not. “That’s not what your face says,” he points out.
So, now he’s the micro-expression expert?
“Admit it,” Dylan prods. “You’re totally still in love with that guy.”
“No!” I screech. “I will not admit that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not true! He and I … we were … we didn’t…”
Dylan’s hostility gives way to amusement as he sits back and watches me struggle.
“We were terrible together,” I finish. “We didn’t work. We had different interests and he made weird sounds with his teeth and laughed at fart jokes. And he misuses the phrase ‘for all intents and purposes,’ which is just annoying.”
“That’s a lot of specifics for one date.”
I don’t like where this conversation is heading. Actually, I don’t like where it already is. “Let’s drop it. We weren’t meant to be and that’s that.”
“Unlike them,” Dylan prompts, and I get the sense from his goading tone that he’s trying to get me riled up again.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, those two are clearly meant for each other. Just look at them.”
Reluctantly, I turn back to the booth where Laney and Austin are sitting. Of course, it happens to be the exact moment when he chooses to kiss her on the forehead. I avert my eyes. For some reason this gesture seems more intimate than watching them swap spit in the parking lot for five minutes. This hits me in a more vulnerable spot. So instead, I let my gaze wander to the empty bench across from them.
In the old days, when the three of us used to go out together, Laney and I would always take one side of the booth and Austin would sit by himself on the other. I did it because I didn’t want Laney to feel like the third wheel. I never wanted her to be uncomfortable hanging out with us. But it turns out, she was. Just maybe not for the reasons I thought.
Is Dylan right?
Is there a reason they ended up together in both versions of this life?
Were they the ones meant to be together all along?
“I should probably get home,” I say, closing my laptop and returning it to my bag. “We’re not making much progress here.”
“Okay,” Dylan agrees, still looking at me like he’s trying to X-ray my brain. “I’ll drive you.”
“That’s okay,” I say quickly. “I can walk.”
Dylan laughs. “Are you crazy? Have you seen what it looks like out there?”
I peer through the darkening window of Peabody’s at the rivers of rain streaming down the glass.
Crap.
When did that start?
Probably the moment Laney and Austin walked through the door. Like some kind of dark omen.
“You’re not walking home in that,” Dylan insists. “I’ll give you a ride.”
I sigh. “Fine.” Then I remember my manners. “I mean, thanks.”