God, he has good taste.
“I just don’t want to offend you.” He sets down his sandwich but picks at the poppy seeds on the bread. “I mean, any more than I already have.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Cricket.You’ve never offended me.”
“But I hurt you.” His voice grows quiet. “I wish that I hadn’t.”
The words are tumbling out before I can stop them. “We were so close, and then you just dropped me. I felt like such an idiot. I don’t understand what happened.”
He stops flicking poppy seeds. “Lola. There’s something I need to tell you.”
The acceleration of my heartbeat is sudden and painful. “What is it?”
Cricket faces me with his entire body. “When we talked at our windows that last night,” he says, “I knew something was wrong. I could tell you were hurt, when I thought I was the one who was supposed to be hurt. But I was so upset about the moving thing that it took me weeks to put the pieces together.”
I draw back from him. Why should he be the hurt one? He’d excluded me.
There’s an excruciating pause as his fingers tense and flex. “My sister lied. I didn’t know about the party until we got home and a crowd of people jumped out and yelled ‘surprise.’ Cal told me that she’d invited you, and that you’d turned her down. I believed her. It wasn’t until later that I realized you were hurt because she hadn’t.”
Anger swells inside of me. “Why would she do that?”
He looks ashamed. “She dodged the question, but it’s obvious, isn’t it? She claimed she was trying to do something nice—throw a party for me, not for her or for the both of us. Sometimes . . . I get overlooked. But she did it out of fear, because she thought she was losing me.”
“You mean, she did it out of spite, because she’s a bitch.” My own fury startles me.
“I know it seems that way, but it’s not. And it is.” Cricket shakes his head. “It’s been the two of us for so long. Her career hasn’t given her much of an outside life. She was scared of being left behind. And I’m just as guilty; I let her get away with acting like that, because she was all I had, too.”
No. She wasn’t.
He stares at his hands. Whatever word he wrote there, it’s been crossed off. There’s only a black box. “Lola, you were the only person I wanted there that night. I was crazy about you, but I didn’t know what to do. It was paralyzing. There were so many times when I wanted to take your hand, but . . . I couldn’t. That one small move felt impossible.”
Now I’m staring at my hands, too. “I would have let you take it.”
“I know.” His voice cracks.
“I had a present for you and everything.”
“I’m sure I would have loved it. Whatever it was.” He sounds heartbroken, and the sound breaks mine. “I had something for you, too.”
“On your birthday?” That’s so like him. There’s another sharp pain in my chest.
“I made this mechanism that could run between our windows, and I thought we could use it to send each other letters or gifts. Or whatever. It sounds stupid now, I know. Something a little kid would think up.”
No. It doesn’t sound stupid.
“It was supposed to be ready on your birthday, but I wanted it to be perfect. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. But I was stalling. I blew it. I messed up everything.”
I rip off the end of my hummus wrap. “Calliope messed up everything.”
“No. She never would have been a problem if I’d told you how I felt. But I didn’t, not even when I knew we were moving—”
“You knew you were moving?” I’m shocked. For some reason, this news is worse than Calliope’s betrayal. How could he keep that from me?
“I couldn’t tell you.” His body twists in misery. “I thought you’d give up on me. And I kept hoping the move wouldn’t actually happen, but it was confirmed that night.”
He waits for me to look at him. Somehow, I do. I’m overwhelmed by sadness and confusion. I can’t take any more. I want him to stop, but he doesn’t. “I’ll only say this once more. Clearly, so there’s no chance of misinterpretation.” His eyes darken into mine. “I like you. I’ve always liked you. It would be wrong for me to come back into your life and act otherwise.”
I’m crying now. “Cricket . . . I have a boyfriend.”
“I know. That sucks.”
It surprises me, and I give a choked laugh. Cricket pushes a napkin toward me to blow my nose. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Was it wrong for me to say that?”