Love You More(11)

— The weeks after Homecoming melted into nauseating hallway PDA. Time dulled the edges of my heartbreak, but it never went away.

Mick still called occasionally, but our conversations weren’t the same.

Erin kept repeating, “Flash in the pan. Wait it out.”

I wanted to believe her, but I no longer did.



* * *



— That winter dragged—each school day heavy and gray. Even my weekends were blue, my heartache stretching across those months like a dark shadow.

Then, one day in early spring, just after Erin started dating Brett Bishop, she came to me with what she called exciting news.

“Paul Morgan likes you!” she said, like it was the best thing she’d ever heard. “Brett told me he wants to ask you out.”

I gave her a dubious look. Paul and Brett were close friends and cross-country teammates. It felt a bit too convenient.

“C’mon, Billie. He’s perfect for you. You’re both brainiacs—and he’s cute, don’t you think?”

I hesitated, then nodded. He wasn’t Mick cute, but there was something appealing about him in a serious, bookish way.

“Give him a chance,” Erin said. “He’s a good egg.”

I decided she was right.

So when Erin and Brett organized a double date, I went along with it. Paul was quiet and even more straitlaced than I was, but he was funny and kind.

After our second date, he walked me to my door and asked if he could kiss me. I said yes, and he leaned in, quick and nervous, for a two-second kiss.

By early summer we were officially a couple. It didn’t feel like love, but I was happy knowing that I was someone’s first choice.

The best part: I was finally off the Mick roller coaster.



* * *



— The school year snapped into view, and suddenly, we were seniors, beginning our bittersweet year of “lasts.” Paul and I grew closer, emotionally and physically, though we’d agreed on a no-sex boundary. Our priority was getting into a top college, and as fall slid into winter, we spent much of our time fretting over applications, essay prompts, and guidance office visits.

We found time for fun, too. Erin and I went to all the cross-country races, cheering on our boyfriends, while the guys and I attended every performance of Grease, watching Erin dazzle as Rizzo. We went on long hikes at Devil’s Lake with Eliot and Lucy, canvassed with Sam and Anna in their mission to “get out the vote,” and spent ski days at Ausblick.

Then spring arrived. The days were still short, the wind sharp, yet beneath it all lingered a quiet anticipation. Senior year was winding down, and the world beyond high school was just within reach.

One day in March, a thick envelope arrived in my mailbox. It was from Yale. I hesitated, afraid to open it. My parents hovered at my side, excitement in their eyes. I slit the envelope open with a butter knife, my fingers trembling. I skimmed the first line, then looked up, my breath catching. Years of late-night studying distilled into one letter.

“I got in,” I whispered, barely believing it.

“Holy cow!” my dad shouted, scooping me into a hug while my mom teared up. The cost flickered at the edges of my thoughts as Dad squeezed my shoulders and said, “We’ll find a way.”

Paul had gotten accepted to Georgetown a few days earlier and we went out for pizza to celebrate, our futures real enough to touch.

My news spread fast, and a few nights later, my phone lit up with Mick’s name.

“Congrats,” he said as soon as I answered. His voice was warm, almost reverent. “I’m so proud of you.”

The word caught me off guard. Did he really get to be proud of me anymore?

“Thanks,” I said. “Did you decide on your plans?”

“Not yet. I got into Madison, though.”

“Congratulations,” I said, genuinely happy for him.

A silence stretched.

And then—“I’m going to break up with Kristy.”

It was the last thing I expected to hear. My pulse jumped. “Why? Did something happen?”

“It was a lot of things. But the last straw? She used the R-word. As an insult.”

“Oh my God.”

“She tried to defend it—said it just slipped out.”

“Ugh. She really doesn’t get it.”

“She doesn’t get a lot.” He hesitated. “Like the fact that guys and girls can just be friends.”

I swallowed, knowing what he was getting at.

“I feel like she tried to end our friendship.”

A flash of resentment rose up. “No one can end your friendship but you.”

“I know. And I’m sorry for letting us drift apart.”

“It happens.”

“I’ve missed you, Billie.”

My breath caught. I wanted to say it back. But I thought of Paul and held my tongue.

He kept going. “I made a mistake dating her. It should have been you. I had feelings for you, but I didn’t want to mess up our friendship. I know you’re with Paul, and it’s too late, but I couldn’t not say it.”

Memories rushed in—study sessions, whispered calls, and lazy summer days. All those moments. All those chances.

And now he was saying this?

My chest squeezed with anger, sorrow, and longing.