Page 24 of The Breakaway

Rob’s nostrils flared. He took a step back, then turned and stalked toward his room.

“Mm. Good idea. Just walk away because?—”

Rob spun back to face me, and I froze. His breathing was heavy, his eyes dark. “I’m walking away so I don’t do something I regret.”

My throat worked, his gaze pinning me in place like a bug on a corkboard. I willed my legs to move. “I have to go.” I shoved my feet into my shoes and grabbed my coat.

"Where are you going?" Rob demanded again, his voice rough.

“Why the hell do you care?”

Rob clenched his pencil so tight I thought it might break. “Because you’re going out alone. We have a game tomorrow. You know how people get.”

I snatched my toque from the counter and stalked to the door, grabbing my coat. “I’m not going to a party. I’m just hanging out with my dorky orchestra friends. We’re playing Super Nintendo. I doubt it’ll get crazy. Probably home around eleven, so if you could finish up in the washroom before then.”

With that, I stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me with a satisfying bang. The cool night air hit my face, and I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside me.

I was halfway down the steps when the door opened behind me. "Sharla!” I didn't turn around, even though Rob's footsteps pounded on the pavement.

"What do you want?" I quickened my pace.

He caught up to me easily, his long legs eating up the distance between us. "Logan called," he said, slightly out of breath. "He has a game tonight. Said he won't be able to talk until the morning."

I stopped short, my heart stuttering in my chest as I turned to face him. “Couldn’t have told me that ten minutes ago?” Rob shoved his hands in his pockets. "How did he sound?" I asked, hating the way my voice trembled.

Rob shrugged. "How does Logan always sound? Like everything's just peachy keen."

That clawing started up again in my stomach. I swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden tears that pricked at the corners of my eyes.

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you," I snapped, then turned on my heel and stalked away.

Chapter

Ten

I mashedthe buttons on the Super Nintendo controller as my Bomberman character raced around the maze-like stage, laying bombs and trying to blow up the other players. The 16-bit music and sound effects blared from Caleb's 20-inch CRT TV.

"Ha, got you, Shar!" Caleb laughed as his white Bomberman exploded my pink one. Pixels burst across the screen.

I groaned and shoved him playfully. "Damn it, I almost had you." I adjusted the bracelet on my wrist. It slipped around, and I was trying not to let it annoy me.

Caleb, his roommate Evan, and a couple of other orchestra friends were crammed on the ratty couch in their grungy apartment, empty cans of PBR and half-eaten bags of Doritos scattered on the coffee table. Not my usual Friday night scene, but I was having fun.

"Evan, quit camping in the corner, you wuss," Breanna called out. She played clarinet and had streaks of purple in her frizzy brown hair.

"All's fair in love and Bomberman," Evan retorted.

We played a few more rounds, yelling, trash-talking, and passing around more beers. The room buzzed with warmth—notjust from the alcohol but from the familiar comfort of being with people who got each other. I surprised myself by getting into it, even doing a ridiculous victory dance when I finally won. It was goofy and over-the-top, but for once, I didn’t care.

Lily flopped onto the battered couch beside me, her long, dark braid falling over her shoulder as she cracked open a soda instead of a beer. Lily always had this quiet, steady energy, like she was anchored while the rest of us drifted.

“You're weirdly competitive,” she said with a grin, nudging me with her elbow.

I laughed. “I didn’t know I had it in me.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "You sure about that?”

I blushed. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t as opaque as I thought. I never said anything about wanting her chair in orchestra, but maybe not saying something was a giveaway of how desperate I was to earn it. I opened my mouth to respond, but she’d already turned back toward the TV, engrossed in the next round.

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