Page 41 of Anything (Mayberry University #1)

CHAPTER FORTY

I’m on a mission, embarrassed of this half-baked plan but proud of my newfound courage. Yesterday needs to go away. I ignored Levi’s text checking on me, and I’m in dangerous territory. If I don’t act soon, things will turn unbearably awkward.

After breakfast, I borrow Sophie’s curling iron, swipe on mascara, and zip leather boots beneath my white long-sleeved dress. Books dropped off in the classroom, I bolt across campus.

Sophie didn’t push for details yesterday when I came barreling in, just held me there on the sofa like a drenched cat.

As she rhythmically smoothed my hair, I let something slip about ruining things with Levi.

Without hesitation, she said, “Then go get him back. Put on that white dress he likes and get him back.”

I’m not sure about the logic or wisdom of that advice, but I’m following it out of desperation.

I never had him fully, but I had some part of him, and getting back to Before Us might still be an option.

Joking and confiding and reading his eloquent, caring eyes is worth almost anything to me.

I can still choose to be Brave Kit. So I’m run-wandering around campus, panning my head around, hunting him down.

I’ll hate if I curled my hair for no reason—it was a big step.

I know he’s frustrated that I won’t tell him anything, and he deserves to be, but an argument would only push us further apart.

Maybe a pretty dress and a smooth-over will be enough of a Band-Aid, just this once.

Enough to keep him from insisting I tell the truth.

A far-off car door slams, and a spike of fear stabs through me—proof that this is necessary.

Two weeks after prom, I couldn’t hear a door shut without flinching, nightmares every night.

I couldn’t stand another word of Mom’s consolation, so I told Tess everything, thinking I wanted her level-headed advice.

Now I can hardly stand the memory … Squirming in that armchair in the church atrium, throat aching with hidden tears.

Her sheer contempt. She said I was asking for it, that I should be happy, that I didn’t even deserve flashbacks because nothing happened.

She said it wasn’t fair I was spared when worse things happen to girls who don’t walk right into it.

Her derision, her flippancy. I shiver. Enduring a sequel with Levi? Never. I can’t, and I won’t.

A cool wind blows the final leaves off a tree. I hold down the skirt of my dress while my eyes bounce around my surroundings.

There. Levi’s dark-green sweater. A favorite of mine. I can’t wait to see the hazel above it. I stride up to him and his Jesus backpack with all the confidence and calm I can muster. This ridiculous plan might work. I need it to work.

He sees me coming, but he doesn’t start like I expect. He straightens to perfect posture and avoids my eyes. “Are you okay?” I’ve never seen him so walled off.

I motion past the corner of the engineering building, ensuring the privacy he’ll want so we can get back to normal. He follows silently, stops at the wall, and pivots to face me without meeting my gaze. I thought he’d be stubborn, insist that I explain. What is this?

My skin chills. Are we done? It’s only fair. He should distance himself from me and my crazy—especially without a word of explanation.

“Levi?” I try.

When his eyes finally meet mine, they soften instantly.

They’re every bit as green and gold and dreamy above his sweater as I anticipated, but I can’t enjoy them because I caused the hurt there, the concern.

I want to kiss him until he sees how much I care about him.

No! Not the k-word. I can’t think like that. I have to stay on task.

“Friends?” It’s not actually a question. I’m channeling my mother—only a yes will be acceptable.

He doesn’t answer, so the plan is on. I step close to him, as close as possible without touching, and look way up.

He holds perfectly still. The ghosts of his eye creases are visible this close. He’ll have wrinkles there when he’s old. He watches me intently, hopefully, affectionately. The hurt isn’t visible anymore—I’ve distracted him thoroughly, at least for this moment—and I can take him in with delight.

“Friends.” His voice is like gravel, almost a whisper, more of a question.

His full attention, that brilliant laser focus, all for me. It warms me like a fire. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t fidget. His breath smells like wintergreen flavor … I want to taste it. No. I can’t think that way.

I was planning to say something. Wasn’t I?

I force my eyes down from his intense gaze.

Oh, and away from the lips I’m one impulsive moment from kissing.

My fingers find his backpack straps, not quite touching his sides.

I have to keep my arms still. No pulling or my suggestive stance will become a full-body hug.

No pushing or he’ll hit the brick wall. Can I touch him at all?

What can I get away with? Nothing more. Anything else would be ruined, and no one needs a repeat of yesterday. This is all I get.

I return to his eyes and melt into the pebbles.

Levi. He lifts a curl, running his fingers over it with an unspoken question.

He opens his tempting mouth—wintergreen again.

I wonder if his breath always betrays the flavor of Tic Tacs in his pocket.

I have to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.

“Um …” I swallow. “Can I have a Tic Tac?” That was not the plan.

He tucks the hair behind my shoulder, his calm accentuating my disarray. I hear him lift the box out of his pocket without touching me, suave as ever, eyes squarely on mine.

I release his backpack straps and reach down blindly. My hand grabs his in a jolt of electricity, and I hesitate. I hold his warm fingers around the Tic Tacs for a full second before I jerk away. It’s as good as I always thought it would be.

The nerves in my belly mix with the black wisps of fear swirling.

I might be sick. I drag my eyes away from his and my body too, squeezing his Tic Tacs as I turn around.

I’m instantly colder, stiffer. I rub my temples with nervous energy and try to walk normally until I’m out of sight, my heart beating wildly against my ribs.

The fear doesn’t materialize into a flashback. Are they getting less frequent?

I shake my head at myself. I tried to distract him, but I’m the one who lost my mind.