The Apple Tree (Sunday Morning, #2) (51)

She followed me into my bedroom. “Mom wants you to take dinner to Kyle and Josh so you can let Josh know that you’re not mad. Kyle called to apologize while you were in the shower. He said Josh was crying on the way home because he felt so bad.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” I said, putting on my bra and underwear.

“Check them well so you don’t put them on inside out.”

I glanced up at Gabby. “I need to know right now if you can keep this secret or if I need to tell Mom and Dad and risk getting kicked out. But I won’t let you hold this over my head. And let’s be clear; if you can’t be more mature about this, then don’t ever expect me to be there for you or take your side on anything.”

She narrowed her eyes and tipped up her chin before spinning the other way and exiting my room while slamming my door shut. I overreacted, and I knew it the second she shut the door. Fear made me nervous and irrational.

After eating a partial chicken leg and two bites of scalloped potatoes, I took the food my mom had packed to Kyle’s.

He opened the door, and a regretful smile marred his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said, taking the bag of food from me while I slipped off my shoes. My hair was still damp from my shower, but my jeans and red button-down blouse were clean, and that’s all that mattered.

“Stop apologizing. He didn’t get sick on purpose. Where is he?” I poked my head into the living room, but he wasn’t there. Kyle had a football game on the TV.

“I gave him a little ginger ale when we got home, and now he’s upstairs taking a nap. I told him you were coming over with dinner, but he couldn’t stay awake.” Kyle removed the foil-wrapped plates. “Did you eat?”

I nodded, sliding my hands into my back pockets. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m going to homecoming with Drew?”

He kept his chin down while removing the foil. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know the answer.”

“How can you possibly know the answer? Because you built me a hut?”

“No, Eve.” He rested his hands on the counter’s edge and glanced over at me. “If you’re emotionally still in high school, that’s fine. Embrace your youth and enjoy your last two years as a teenager. But I’m out. You can be my babysitter, and I’ll pay you a fair wage, but that’s it.”

“Is that an ultimatum?”

“It’s a fact.” He pulled open the drawer in front of him and grabbed a fork.

“Why are you being such a jerk to me?”

Like I’d been to Gabby.

He set his fork on the counter next to the plate, and it seemed to take everything inside of him to control his response. I had that effect on people.

“Why are you so angry and confrontational with me?” he asked.

“Because I feel like …” My face scrunched as I shook my head. I didn’t know how to explain it, and that frustrated me. His insisting I try to explain my feelings bothered me even more.

“You feel like what?”

I shook my head. “I-I don’t know. Just … just like you’re waiting to see if I’m worth your time. I feel like I’m being judged, like you know I’m going to mess up, so you can say I’m too young for you.” My words came out faster and louder on a wave of panic. “And that’s a lot of pressure. I always feel like everyone around me is waiting for me to screw up because that’s what I do.”

“Just chill.”

“I CAN’T CHILL!”

He winced, and our gazes shot toward the stairs as we listened for Josh.

“I’m not a chill person,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s not in my genes to chill. If you must know, I’m needy and sometimes whiny. I nag until I get what I want. You’re on my mind twenty-four-seven.” I pointed in the direction of my house. “I look for you through my bedroom window—with binoculars. Every song I hear is about you. I can’t shower without touching myself and thinking of you. When I go for a run, I imagine I’m chasing you. My life went from boring to amazing because you moved into this house with the world’s cutest little boy. I watch Josh and make dinner or an apple dessert, and I pretend that this is my house too, and he’s my son.

“So, if you need to know why I asked about homecoming with Drew, it’s because I like you so much, and when you changed Denise’s toilet, I went crazy jealous. And I wanted you to show me a teeny-tiny fraction of jealousy.”

I felt fairly certain that I had ended us.

Whiny? Check.

Jealous? Check.

Needy? Check.

Immature? Check.

Desperate? Double check.

Psycho? Absolutely.

We weren’t “going together,” but had I been in his shoes, I would have sent me home, changed the locks, and filed for a restraining order.

I showed him the worst version of myself because I had no chill. Which was worse? Being oblivious to my least desirable traits or seeing them flashing like a neon sign without feeling control over them?

“Eve—”

I covered my ears because some childish behavior remained in me. “Don’t. I know you’re going to lecture me. You’re going to be an adult. And we are over. I know. I really do. You’re too mature to say or do anything as stupid as I just did. So save me the embarrassment of you being perfect. I’ll just go.” I turned, closing my eyes for a second and berating myself on the way to the door.