Have I mentioned how much I hate Ohio?
“Ruby?” He nods his chin in the direction of my phone. “Sounds like not much has changed.”
I tuck my phone into my purse even though I want to throw it at him.
You’d think after ten years apart from someone, they’d lose the ability to bring you to violence with a simple nod. But not Nathanial Adams. No, everything about his stupid, symmetrical face is utterly punchable.
I’m not sure if it’s because he’s wearing a cable-knit sweater in June or because he’s aiming the same smug smile he tortured me with in high school at me, but all of a sudden my mind is empty save for every single wrong he’s ever done me. And why, if I hate Peter with the fire of the sun, I hate Nate with the power of two.
I guess that’s what happens when the guy you thought was your best friend goes away one summer and completely ghosts you when he gets back.
Time, in fact, does not heal all wounds.
“A lot has changed, actually.” I try to present an air of confidence I most definitely do not feel. “But she’s still Ruby.”
“I bet.” He steps to the side as an older man sidles by. “I can’t imagine either one of you ever changing too much.”
Poison laces the innocuous words. Nate thinks he’s smarter than everyone around him and has somehow tricked the masses into going along with it. He’s the type of person who can insult people with such ease, they end up thanking him. Whereas I struggled to make friends growing up, people naturally gravitated toward Nate.
The urge to tell him to fuck off is on the tip of my tongue, but my mom has eyes and ears everywhere. The last thing I need is one of the Karens bringing hot gossip about me causing a scene outside Cool Beans to Bible study.
“Yeah, unfortunately, we can’t all experience such radical growth.” I let my eyes travel the length of his body—which looks better than it has the right to, encapsulated in khakis and a pullover—before meeting his stare. “Accountant chic, living in the burbs? Who would’ve thought?”
Bullseye.
His hazel eyes narrow and the tips of his ears flame red. It’s so much more fun to go head-to-head with a person when you’re aware of their tells.
“And you? Are you finally visiting your parents? I know you couldn’t be bothered to come to Mr. Carter’s retirement party.” He leans in, his voice dropping despite having nobody near us. “Or did you have to move back home because you couldn’t hack it in LA?”
The wound is still too fresh. I flinch as his words slice straight through the oozing hole I’ve been trying to fill with tequila shooters and Netflix movies.
He knows he hit his mark, and much like my reaction, his sadistic grin widens.
The really messed-up part is that I’m not even mad about his jab; I’m angry I let him see that his words affected me. Pissed I reacted.
I’ve gotten soft.
I blame Mom’s love of inspirational quotes.
But this is a wake-up call. If I’m going to be living in my own literal hell, I have to be prepared for the devil to strike at any moment. And by the devil, I mean Nate.
Obviously.
“Well.” I push past him and pull open the glass door to Cool Beans. “As much as I’m enjoying standing around and pretending like it’s good to see you, I’d rather be doing literally anything else.”
“Real nice, Collins.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key fob. “Classy as ever.”
He clicks a button on the fob and the lights on a midsized sedan blink.
“Really? A Buick?” I yell with one foot in the coffee shop. “Are you eighty?”
His steps don’t even falter as he crosses the pothole-riddled parking lot and tosses his parting shot over his shoulder. “At least I have a car.”
Quick and effective.
Just like he was when he changed his number and pretended like he didn’t know me when I saw him at the movies with his new cool friends.
I forget all about my mom’s church friends. I lift my middle finger straight into the air and hold it steady for him to see as he drives away.
I knew coming back home wasn’t going to be fun, but not even being the internet’s favorite tragedy could have prepared me for this. Nathanial Adams is the one person I didn’t account for, and I’m now realizing what a grave mistake that was.
Chapter 3
I planned on drinking my coffee at Cool Beans, but that quickly changed once I sat down. The familiar burn of humiliation as judgmental gazes lingered my way thanks to my little show with Nate was too much to handle. Even though things aren’t as bad as they were in LA when the video first came out, I’m not sure the feeling that comes with everyone staring and laughing at you ever fades.
I try to take the long way home, but there are only so many detours you can take in our tiny subdivision. I pull into my parents’ driveway and grab my iced coffee from one of multiple cup holders in the minivan. The melting ice has diluted the espresso-and-milk concoction, but the bitter aftertaste is still notable. It’s the perfect pairing for my attitude after my run-in with Nate . . . and my life in general.
I’ve known Nate since I was in sixth grade and he transferred into my class during the middle of the semester. Everyone always wants to meet the new kid, but there was something different about him. He stood out for many reasons—his clothes weren’t as nice and he lived with his single dad—but he never seemed to care. At eleven, the arrogance I hate so much now seemed like a quiet confidence so elusive to most middle school kids.
And I wanted it.
I just didn’t know that he’d eventually turn on me. I didn’t realize one day I’d regret experiencing the warmth and contentment being near him caused. That I’d feel so stupid and betrayed, I’d still be reeling from it more than a decade later.
I check the clock, not sure if I’ve been gone long enough for my parents, and decide to stay in the car for a few extra minutes. Even though gas prices are a bazillion dollars and the only thing I’m contributing to the house is my winning personality, I crank up the AC and leave the engine running as I try to forget my entire interaction with Nate.
Reclining the seat, I take stock of my surroundings.
It’s wild. I moved away years ago, yet at first glance, so much of the neighborhood is still frighteningly familiar. The houses I grew up riding my bike past have barely changed. The white shutters Mr. Johnson paints every spring still adorn his beige house. The American flag Mrs. Fowler hung the day her son joined the army still waves proudly outside her front door. Even my parents haven’t replaced the swing they installed on our front porch when I was in third grade. It’s like this little bubble in the middle of Ohio is safe from change. Stuck in time for better or worse.
But when you look a little closer, the differences can’t be ignored or overstated. Whereas the buildings don’t age, the same can’t be said for the people.
The elderly couple that lived across the street and always gave me Popsicles passed away a couple of summers ago. Their children didn’t hesitate before conducting an estate sale and putting the home on the market. My mom called me every day for a week, filling me in on neighborhood gossip I wasn’t even remotely interested in. The kids I babysat for to make a little money during the summer are now speeding through the neighborhood, on their way to graduating. Mr. and Mrs. Welch sold their house a month ago—ditching Ohio for Arizona—and now the moving van I passed earlier is parked in their driveway.