Page 37 of The Boy Next Door

Hunter escaped me easily after his revelation left me stunned. In socks and without a coat, I was forced back inside by the cold. Yet my mind stays fixed on the eldest Cruse brother.

Weirdly, I understand how he feels. Because I know exactly what it's like to crush on somebody who never notices you. For him to finally be with the guy he likes and then find out it started because of a misunderstanding... ouch.

While I assume nothing will distract me from contemplating and bemoaning this turn of events, the envelope on the kitchen table proves otherwise. That envelope holds the key to my future. For better or worse.

"Are you going to open it?" Mom asks from behind me.

Ah, I'm not alone! Startled, I rest a hand on the table while recovering from the shock. I keep staring at the envelope. It's small. Oh god. Had I received any acceptance letters as tiny as the mail in front of me? This isn't good—no, no point speculating. Best to open it and find out.

Mouth dry, my hand inches toward the letter. It stops before reaching its destination. Despite my best efforts, my hand goes rogue and won't budge.

"It's tough," Mom says. "When you read it, there's no going back."

"...Am I silly for keeping my hopes alive a bit longer?"

"Not at all."

Huh, not expecting her answer, I turn toward her. She watches me with an amused smile.

"I regret not opening the damn thing immediately," she admits. "But I understand your hesitance."

"You do?"

Mom walks over to the table, her dark burgundy nail tapping the envelope thoughtfully.

"The first man I ever loved broke up with me in a letter," she shares with a laugh. "What am I saying? He broke up with me in a letter. He was a boy, not a man."

She traces the edges of the envelope with her finger, and I tense, half expecting her to rip it open any second while I listen intently because she's never told me this before.

"A boy I never should have given my heart to," she continues.

"But I did. It took me two weeks to open the letter.

I knew what was inside, of course, and we weren't right for each other.

" She scowls, looking more like the woman I know.

"The coward couldn't even face me when breaking up.

" Her expression softens, and there she goes, back to the young woman who received devastating news.

"And it still took me two weeks because I dreaded seeing the words there. "

"Oh."

Mom steps away from the table, straightening and recovering from her lovesick 'silliness.'

"Looking back, I regret spending so much energy on him, so much heartache. He didn't deserve it." She places a hand on my shoulder. "And if they rejected you, they don't deserve your tears either."

Despite understanding how my mother operates, every now and then, she surprises me.

Must be what makes her so effective as a litigator.

She's never totally predictable. The unexpected moments where she acts maternal and totally on my side don't completely make up for the rest, but.

.. I still wouldn't trade them for anything.

And she's right. If they don't accept me, I should save my energy for the place where I do belong. She's right.

Even so, I can't bring myself to open the letter.

~

Maggie and I sit across from each other at lunch, the spot next to her conspicuously empty.

"First," she says. "Let's be clear. What Clay did? Completely awful. He acted like a dick."

"No argument here."

"And I already told him he's a colossal ass—"

Smiling absently, her dragging Clay washes over me like calming white noise while Maggie taps a French toast stick against her tray, determining the food too hard for her teeth and braces.

Breakfast for lunch often isn't even lunch.

I pass her my soft, incredibly greasy, hashbrown.

We trade, though nothing seems particularly appetizing.

"—I don't approve of what he did," she wraps up. "But I should be honest with you. Clay and I are still friends. I'm not cutting him out of my life."

"W-what?"

Did I miss something? Is this a cruel practical joke? She seems serious.

"It's totally understandable if you're done with him," she assures. "Just don't expect me to do the same. I hate what he did, but I don't hate him."

Any appetite I had completely vanishes.

She's gentle, with her watchful eyes and worried smiles, sort of like a guidance counselor, a detached support system. Like she cares but isn't involved personally.

"You're taking his side over mine?" I question, still unable to believe this.

"No, you're both my best friends." She takes a deep breath. "Except Clay's also my oldest friend. We've been friends since kindergarten. I didn't start talking to you until third grade. You were..."

Shy. Awkward. Too afraid to make nice with the other kids.

Waiting to feel anger or indignation, I consider lobbing the sticky French toast sticks toward her when my rage reaches the breaking point, but... it never comes. I only feel sad, and slightly hollow and empty, though that could be because I'm skipping lunch.

"He'll do the same thing to you," I promise, putting on a brave face while rising from my seat. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

I'm not even sure it's true. An undercurrent of competition, comparison, and jealousy runs through my friendship with Clay. Neither of us feel similarly toward Maggie. Maybe it's because we're both boys, both artists, or even because the same guys could like one of us and not the other.

Maggie and Clay were friends first while I struggled to share toys with a classmate, worried about bursting into tears if they announced I played the 'wrong' way.

Will my past always haunt me? Or will the day arrive when I overcome—I remember Hunter's words.

Self-improvement is a process that never ends.

Good advice, but some days it feels like I haven't even started.