Page 3 of Damaged Boys Don't Fall For Bubbly Girls

“I know. I don’t think he’s a jerk. Not at all. But he does have a lot of issues to work through, and he decided not to let us be part of his life anymore. We need to accept it and obey his wishes.”

I don’t say anything, just continue battling tears.

“Don’t you want to move on with your life and be happy?” he insists. “You and I are such great friends. We always have fun together. I care about you a lot. I think I could be a wonderful boyfriend.”

I shut my eyes, not sure I can handle hearing this right now.

“Look, no pressure or anything,” he says. “I just told you how I feel. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same or don’t want to pursue anything with me. Just, make sure you’re putting yourself first, okay?” He leans back on the wall with his comic and continues to read.

My heart hammers in my head. So many confusing thoughts and emotions pump through me. Finn…likes me? How did I not see this? But then again, I’ve been preoccupied with Brock for so long. Have I really been making myself miserable?

Brock has made it clear that he doesn’t want me in his life. Wishing and hoping for that to change won’t make it happen. But can I really move on? I don’t know.

I pick up my comic and lean against the wall, too.

Finn and I read in silence. I can tell there’s so much he wants to say, but I’m thankful he’s giving me space. I’ve never seen him as anything more than a friend. Could he and I…?

I don’t know if I can ever be with anyone. Maybe I’m too messed up.

Finn’s phone dings. After fishing it out of his pocket, he glances at the screen and suddenly sits up. “Whoa.”

“What?” I ask.

“Gael just texted me. Brock is home.”

“What?”

“He said he just got back an hour ago—”

My comic flies to the ceiling as I race out of my room.

Chapter Two

Brock

It’s weird to be back in my room after four years. Everything is the same as I left it, but it feels different.I’mdifferent.

Standing in the center, I let my gaze roam around. I almost forgot about the shark posters splattered all over the walls. I like all species of sharks, but my favorite is the great white. Dad used to tease me when I was little that if I had it my way, I’d turn into one and live in the ocean. Who knew that only a few years later, I reallywouldwant to run off into the ocean? Just to escape everything that happened four years ago. When my life changed forever.

I just came back from living with my grandparents in Boston. I moved there the summer before seventh grade because Mom and Dad felt like I needed to get away. I don’t think they thought I’d be there for four years. Heck, even I didn’t think so. Truth is, I never thought I’d be back, either, yet here I am.

I don’t really know why I’m back in Edenbury. Maybe because I miss my parents and family, maybe because I want to be back to my old self, even though I know I’ll never be. Or maybe because it’s time I face the past.

Sighing, I push some of my long dark bangs out of my eyes. Grandma wanted me to cut them before I left, but I refused. She and Grandpa were sad to see me go, but at the same time, they knew I needed to go back to my life. If that’s even possible.

There are so many boxes lined up against the wall, but I’m not in the mood to unpack. Being in this room makes all the memories crash down on me, and no matter how many times I squeeze my eyes shut, they don’t go away.

This is why I’ve been avoiding coming back home. This among other things, but I’d rather not think about them, either.

Since my bedroom door is open, I can hear Mom and Dad talking downstairs. Probably about me. They didn’t say much when they picked me up from the airport and drove us home. I guess they figured I needed time to process everything. But knowing them, they’ll want me to talk about my “feelings” and stuff soon. I’m not looking forward to that conversation.

As I’m trying not to let the memories that happened when I was twelve wash over me, a weird sound comes from downstairs. It takes me a few seconds to realize they’re footsteps. Footsteps that don’t sound like Mom or Dad’s.

I don’t have a chance to think about it a second longer because a blur rushes into my room and then someone flings their arms around me.

It’s a girl with curly brown hair.

The girl who used to—and still does—mean the world to me.