Page 102 of Truth or Dare

I avoided his gaze, guilt prickling under my skin. “Neil… I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“That’s what you always say,” he shot back, his voice rising.

I kept my eyes on my laptop, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. Instead, he stepped farther into my room, his presence impossible to ignore.

“No one blames you, you know,” he said softly.

His words hit harder than I expected. My throat tightened, and I forced my hands to stay steady on the keyboard. “I blame me,” I muttered. “I handled it wrong.”

“That’s stupid,” he snapped, his frustration bubbling over.

I glanced at him then, taking in his flushed face and clenched jaw. He was only fourteen—how could he possibly understand the weight of what I’d done, of what I’d failed to do?

“To you, maybe,” I said, my voice barely audible. “I’ll come to the next game. I promise.”

Neil let out a harsh laugh, slapping his mitt against the doorframe. “Yeah, right.”

Before I could say anything else, he turned and stomped down the hall, his footsteps echoing with anger.

I sat frozen for a moment, the weight of his disappointment settling over me like a second skin. Slowly, I stood and closed the door, leaning against it as a whisper escaped my lips.

“I’m sorry.”

But the words, like everything else, felt too little, too late.

“You’re going,”Reagan hissed, her eyes narrowing.

I shot her a look and shrugged, twirling a pen across my fingers. I’d already forgiven her for sleeping with Evan when he was mine—didn’t even care. If she wanted him, she could have him. “Not interested.”

With a sharp yank, she snatched the pen from my hand, stabbing the tip down on the desktop with a loud thud. “What’s wrong with having fun?”

I leaned back, folding my arms. “Who said there was anything wrong with it?”

“You did,” she countered, giving me that don’t-try-to-dodge-me stare. “For months now.”

She wasn’t wrong. Since everything had fallen apart, guilt had been gnawing at me from the inside out. I hurt someone I loved, and now it felt like every little indulgence was just another reminder of what I didn’t deserve. All I could think about was getting away from here.

“Maybe,” I murmured, my gaze drifting out the window.

“Not maybe. You’re going,” she insisted, a fierceness in her voice. “This is it—the last party of the school year. Our last party before we graduate and leave this place behind.”

I snorted. “The field will be packed with summer parties. This is just one of a dozen I’ll be skipping while I’m getting ready for NYU. There’ll be plenty of fun in the city.”

Her lips twisted in a frown, and I knew why. Reagan would be at FIT but commuting from home. She’d once hinted about us rooming together, but I couldn’t bear the thought. I wanted a clean break, a chance to erase every part of this life.

“Come on,” she said, following me out to the parking lot, trailing close as if I might bolt. “I wish you hadn’t signed that lease already. We could’ve looked for a place together.”

I slid my keys out of my pocket, focusing on the silver glint instead of her disappointed expression. “I had to. That apartment’s practically on top of NYU’s campus. Besides, it’s just a one-year lease. Maybe next year we can find something together.”

Her face lit up, the sour look vanishing. “That would be awesome! I hate the train, and my mom’s always on my case. Living with you would be so much better.”

“Yeah, I get it,” I said, slipping into my Jeep and shutting the door before she could keep the conversation going. The idea of rooming with Reagan wasn’t bad—just…not what I needed right now.

She knocked on my window, and I rolled it down. “Want me to pick you up tonight?” she asked.

“No, just text me where to meet you,” I replied, already backing out of the parking lot, leaving her standing there, watching me drive off. If I was going, I’d need my own car. I couldn’t risk being stuck until Reagan decided to leave. That field was too far to walk back if I needed an out.

When I got home, the house was quiet—Neil was still at baseball practice, and Mom was off running some charity drive. I went straight upstairs, pulling a notebook from under my mattress. Not Mrs. Braddock’s, but Evan’s—a collection of secrets he and his buddies scribbled, truths they thought no one would ever see.

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