Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(65)

Remember the 333 method, she told herself. Focus on what you can see, hear, and touch. I see a rocking chair blocking the hallway, waiting there until the nursery renovation is done. I hear a fire engine siren through the cracked window. And I can touch my cameo ring, which witnessed me get absolutely wasted tonight. Great. This is having the opposite effect.

She lay there, trying to ride out the violent attack. When it didn’t work, she climbed out onto the fire escape, dangling her feet over Barry’s garden, her head tilted back against the scratchy brick of the building. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she shook uncontrollably and wrapped her arms around herself.

The night air washed over her, carrying the powdery-sweet scent of honeysuckle and freesia from Barry’s garden. She breathed in and released, breathed in and released, until she finally started calming down. Her hands stilled. Her breathing slowed. And then her phone rang.

Bash.

“Hi!”

“Hi. I’m so sorry…”

“No, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s me, it’s my fault…”

“It’s mine. If I hadn’t told you about Ellison, you wouldn’t have gotten into that fight, and I wouldn’t have ignored my phone, again, and tonight wouldn’t have happened.”

“No,” he said with quiet composure. “No. It was me. I have a habit of messing things up. I feel terrible that your mom got so mad at you. I know how close you two are, and how much she means to you. I should’ve been taking better care of you.”

“Taking care of me? But I don’t need to be taken care of, Bash. The whole point of the Challenge Experiment was to stumble and fuck up and make mistakes. And to learn from it all. My mom is mad at me, yeah. But when I write an amazing book and get into Stanford, she’ll be proud again. She will.”

“Do you have to be getting an A-plus in life for her to love you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never not gotten an A-plus in life,” she said honestly. “Until now.”

“Until me.”

No. She couldn’t have Bash thinking that tonight’s blowup was his fault. This was about her and her mom, and years of a codependent relationship that functioned beautifully when Audre was at her mom’s service but imploded when she went her own way. It wasn’t about Bash. And more importantly, she didn’t want this to chase him away. Especially not before they could figure out what they were. Why the emotions were so high, why it felt like the air between them was shimmering, moving, sparking every time they were together.

“Listen…”

“No, you listen.”

Audre stopped talking because she’d never heard Bash take such a firm, stern tone.

“I think you were right before,” he said. “We shouldn’t hang out anymore.”

The bottom fell out. Audre’s mouth went dry, she sat up too fast, the world was spinning. She dropped her forehead to her knees, folding herself in half.

“What do you mean?” she whispered into the phone.

“I like you too much to start ruining your life,” he said, unconsciously dropping his voice to a whisper, too. “I’ve done this before.”

“What do you mean?”

He said nothing—she could barely hear him breathing.

“When did you do this before? With who?”

“It doesn’t matter. But I can’t do it again,” said Bash, who sounded more like he was talking to himself than to Audre.

“Is this about Clio?”

“No.”

“Why is she always calling you?”

Silence.

“I’m sick of this. Why are you such a mystery? Why won’t you just tell me who she is? Why won’t you tell me whose life you ruined? And what really happened with your dad? Who are you? I know your name isn’t Bash Henry. It’s Sebastian Wallace, and you’re one of the top five high school sprinters in the country. So, what are you doing here? Not running, and not even planning to go to college? What happened to you?”

“How did you find that out?”

“Google is free, genius.”

“Did… did you find out anything else?” He sounded panicked.

“No. Do you hear yourself? What don’t you want me to find out?”

“Nothing. It’s just… better for you if we don’t talk for a little while.” His voice was choked, strangled. It was as if someone had written a script and they were forcing him to read his lines. He didn’t sound convincing. He sounded lightweight, flimsy, and fragile, like a strong wind would’ve blown him miles away.

“Don’t do this.” She’d always told her clients not to beg for someone’s affections. If he wanted you, he’d show you. If it was real, you wouldn’t need to convince someone. But maybe she wasn’t as wise as she thought she was.

Fuck it, she thought.

“Please,” she whispered. “I’ve never had a friend like you.”

Audre wished she had the guts to go further, to say Please tell me you like me as much as I like you; please tell me that Clio and all the other girls don’t matter; please tell me I haven’t imagined something between us; please please please don’t move all the way to Myrtle Beach. But she wasn’t that brave. Or crazy.