Page 83 of Take Care, Taylor

When I looked back at Savannah, her smile had already vanished.

“He wasn’t being serious about me still bullying him,” I said. “That was a joke.”

“No, a ‘joke’ is you having the audacity to come here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play stupid.” She narrowed her eyes. “You like Taylor, and you’ve been obsessed with him for years.”

“You must be drunk.”

“You’re here because you want to see if you still stand a chance. Like you’re stuck inside some romance novel, right?”

“I suggest you stop wagging your finger in my face—unless you want me to break it.”

“He’s moved on from high school and your silly yellow letters, okay?” She stepped back. “He has me now.”

“I didn’t come here to get into a pissing match with you.”

“Because you’d lose.”

“Because I didn’t even know you existed.” I stood and slung my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll be at the wake and all the other events. I’ll talk to Taylor then.”

“If I allow you to.”

“You know…” I held back a sigh. “You’re talking pretty bold and reckless for someone who’s known him for what—six months?”

“Eight.”

“Right. Well, between you and me, his relationships hardly ever make it past the year mark, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” I paused. “Also, snotty bitches aren’t really his type.”

“Get out.”

“Gladly.”

I shoulder-bumped her as I stormed out through the front door.

My heart ached with every step. When I slid into my car, I looked up and saw Taylor sitting in his window again.

The ache in my chest wasn’t jealousy exactly—it was something heavier, older, the kind of pain that remembered every word we’d never said.

Pulling off, I told myself I’d text him later that night—but I couldn’t find the right words.

I attended the funeral that Sunday, hugged him in line with everyone else, but his eyes were glazed over the entire time.

When I returned to campus, he’d sent me a text:

It was good seeing you. You still owe me a catch-up session, though… Dinner with me and Savannah sometime this week?

I didn’t respond.

Icouldn’t.

BULLY YEARS: JUNIOR YEAR

AUDREY

The letters between us became sporadic and sparse—emotionless and vague.