Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
That’s what I’m afraid of. “My place isn’t very well furnished.”
He turns his head to inspect the sooty bricks of my little walk-up. “Not here for the glamour, Zo. Are we going to figure out how not to embarrass ourselves, or what?”
It’s a conundrum, then. Like a bad game of Would You Rather. Would I rather humiliate myself by letting Chase see my apartment, or by skating horribly with Chase at the jamboree?
It’s awfully cold out, though, so I beckon Chase toward the building’s little front stoop, where I unlock the door.
Inside, I grip the banister as we climb the narrow stairway, but I don’t feel so drunk anymore. The discomfort of showing my drab little apartment to Chase is sobering. “Just remember this was your idea,” I grumble as we reach the landing. I unlock the door and fling it open without ceremony. At least I made my mattress this morning.
We step inside, and I remove my coat, hanging it in the tiny coat closet.
Chase just stands there in the living room, glancing around. “So you’re a fan of minimalism. I never knew.”
“Oh, totally. If you’d ever seen my room in Filbert Hall, you’d understand. I had them take all the furniture out.”
He cups his chin thoughtfully. “Interesting that your bed is in the living room.”
“That’s because the bedroom is freezing. Maybe it’s haunted. Aren’t cold spots a thing?”
Chase disappears into my empty bedroom for a moment. I hear a grunt and a thunk. Then he reappears. “Your window was open an inch or so at the top. I took the liberty of closing it.”
“Thank you,” I say stiffly. “I couldn’t get it to budge.”
He paces over to my mattress in the middle of the floor and sits at the foot of it. “All right. Let’s read Martina’s email. Let’s get this over with.”
Sitting down a polite distance away, I pull out my phone. Sure enough, the message is waiting in my inbox. I read aloud:
My dears, I hope you are both well. So interesting that you would end up skating together after all this time. And to the world’s most depressing song. Do you believe in fate?
Fate. I can’t help it. My gaze jumps to Chase, at exactly the moment when his jumps to mine. Clearing my throat, I persevere.
I used to believe in fate, but then I stopped the moment I watched this video.
Chase hoots with laughter. “God, what did I tell you?”
“Just let me finish, okay?” Martina is never mean. She always has some wisdom to deliver. So I plunge ahead to the end. It’s a very short email.
Look, I don’t know why you two felt the need to email me seven thousand miles away when the diagnosis of the problem is plain to anyone with eyes. Your inability to skate together is because you no longer trust each other as you once did. It’s that simple.
Let me know when you figure out how to fix it.
Kisses,
Martina
I throw my phone on the bed. “Really, Martina? That’s stupid.”
“Is it?” Chase asks.
“Yes! I trust you!”
“Are you sure about that?” He sends me a searching look from his end of my cheap mattress.
“Well…” My voice rises to an unnatural pitch. “I want to trust you. But you left me and never called! Then I was panicked and alone.”
He turns his body to face me. “Zoe, I had reasons.”
My throat is practically closing up, but I still manage to argue the point. “You say that, but I don’t hear any. I was wrecked, Chase. Just wrecked. After we had… that beautiful night together. And you said…” I gulp, because I know I sound hysterical. “It wasn’t right the way you left me.”
He takes the kind of deep breath that people need when they’re trying to control their anger. “I told you before—your mother forbade me to contact you.”
“So what?” Weirdly, this comes out as a sob. “You said you loved me! And I believed you! And then I never heard from you again. Not once.”
He reaches over and takes my hand, flattening it between his.
But I’m not done. “I loved you, Chase, as much as a sheltered eighteen-year-old girl is capable of loving anyone, which is a lot. You made skating fun again, and you made me laugh, and I would have gone to the ends of the earth to see you again.”
“No.” His voice is low but firm. “No, you wouldn’t have, Zoe.”
“What do you mean?” I shout, and my face is really wet somehow. “I would have done anything.”
He shakes his head, looking more sad than angry. “Anything except stand up to your family.”
I gasp, outraged. “Like they ever listened to me! I tried to make it all my fault. You weren’t there!”
“Oh, I was,” he says, his voice thick. “I was ready to lose my job so we could have one night together. You were worth it. But when it fell apart, you didn’t even try to hold the line. The second your mom asked, you folded like a cheap lawn chair. Then I spent the day in a police interrogation room. And my whole life caught fire. So forgive me if it’s hard for me to trust my memory of the better times.”