Page 31 of Don’t Let Me Go
“No plans tonight?”
I glance up from my bed and see my dad leaning in the doorway. He’s nonchalantly cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief,
a move I’ve seen him use in court whenever he wants to appear casual or disarming to the witness he’s about to question.
“Nope,” I answer, turning back to my phone on which I’ve been half-heartedly scrolling through TikTok since dinner. “No plans.”
“You’re not seeing your friends?”
I shake my head. Audrey and Tala are on a double date with Duy and Caleb tonight. They invited me to tag along, but I figured
the only thing more pathetic than staying home on a Friday night was going out and being someone’s fifth wheel.
“You want to watch some Doctor Who ?” Dad offers. “It’s been a while since we’ve cracked open the Blu-rays. I was thinking either Jon Pertwee’s fourth season
or Sylvester McCoy’s third?”
It’s not lost on me that the seasons he’s suggesting are two of my favorites. Just like it’s not lost on me that Dad has been
going out of his way to cheer me up for the last week. Not that he has any idea why I need cheering up. I’ve been too mortified
to tell him (or anyone else) what happened between Jackson and me, so I’ve just been letting him think I’m in one of my teenage
funks. Given my history, it’s not a hard sell.
“Maybe some other time,” I tell him.
“Oh.” Dad’s brows furrow in disappointment. “You sure? We can watch the extended cut of The Curse of Fenric with the updated CGI.”
“I’m actually really tired,” I answer, forcing a yawn. “I’m just going to go to bed early. Can you close the door on your
way out?”
Dad bites his lip. I can tell he wants to say something. But whatever it is, he decides it’s not worth pressing the issue.
At least not right now.
“Sure, I’ll let you get some rest,” he says. “Maybe we can watch some Who together later this weekend.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Dad shoots me a weak smile. Then, with some reluctance, he leaves and shuts the door behind him.
I let out a tired sigh and collapse back against my pillow. It’s exhausting having to pretend that nothing’s wrong—that I
haven’t been sick to my stomach thinking about Jackson.
Not that my brooding has been particularly subtle. Aside from going into the ACLU office every morning (where I do the bare
minimum to avoid getting fired), I haven’t left my room all week. I’ve been sullen and uncommunicative at dinner. And I’ve
barely responded to any of my friends’ texts.
I know I need to pull myself together and stop acting like the goddamn world is ending, but I can’t.
It’s been five days since I tried to kiss Jackson. Five days , and I haven’t heard a word.
He must really hate me. Not that I blame him. He had literally just finished telling me in no uncertain terms that I was his
friend and that he never wanted anything to jeopardize that—and what did I do? Nuked our entire relationship by attempting to shove
my tongue down his throat.
How could I think that was okay? Or that Jackson would want that?
When I close my eyes, I can still see the horror on his face when his aunt walked in on us. He couldn’t even look at me. That’s how disgusted he was.
Is it any wonder I haven’t heard from him?
I betrayed his friendship. I betrayed his trust. I betrayed him.
Of course he’s never going to speak to me again.
I’ve ruined everything .