Page 22 of Unloved

Freddy looks at my outstretched hand, hurt rolling across his features as his shoulders slump. Does he know how openly he’s wearing his emotions in this moment, without his perpetual flirty smile?

He shakes his head, muttering, “Right,” beneath his breath. He doesn’t meet my eyes, his gaze drifting to the ground like he’s working something out in his head, before finally grasping my hand in a quick, halfhearted shake.

As I flip open the folder, he stands so abruptly his chair gets knocked back. My eyes go wide.

“Where are you going?”

He has his backpack already tipped onto one shoulder, giving me an awkward salute before heading out the door and into the empty silent floor of the library.

“Wait! We haven’t even started!” I shout, somewhat too loud, flustered as I chase him down.

I grab his backpack strap and stumble back a little with the accidental force of my pull. I’m surprised he manages to stay upright, but I’mnotsurprised that I can’t. A squeak bursts from my mouth as I crash backward onto the floor.

He flicks his eyes over my now-prone form, sprawled embarrassingly across the terrible nineties-patterned carpet. I wait for him to leave, tempted to shut my eyes not to see the mocking smile I’m sure he’s sporting.

But instead, he bends over me, his palms gripping my waist over the billowing fabric of my too-large shirt, and lifts me up, setting me steadily on my feet. As if I weigh nothing—like I’m some tiny girl, and not the five-nine lanky girl that IknowI am.

There’s a moment where his hands linger a little, and I swear I feel themsqueeze—

Freddy takes off again, and I startle.

“Wait, Freddy. Where are you going—”

He snaps his fingers and spins to answer. “I forgot— I have, like, hockey stuff,” he says, a fake smile spreading over his lips. “You get it!”

I shake my head a bit to keep his charm from settling over me. “No— I—”

“I’ll see you next Tuesday!” he shouts, getting another sternshh!with a wagging finger from the summer librarian.

“It’s on Thursday,” I shout back, rolling my eyes as the librarian gives me a shocked expression. There aren’t any other students here currently, no need to be silent.

He leans against the door and shrugs with a cheeky smile. “I’m dyslexic.”

He pushes out the door before I can evenbeginto come up with a response to his self-deprecating humor.

Day one of tutoring Matt Fredderic and I’ve already lost all control over our dynamic.

CHAPTER 8Freddy

My entire plan hadn’t helped.

Texts unanswered, or with quick, apologetic responses—but I’m still alone in this house.

Mostly everyone I’d usually invite over for company was busy doing other things, being with their friends—enjoying the ease of the beginning of the semester.

I’m glad they’re busy, but it doesn’t make the slight feeling of abandonment hurt any less.

Even now, as I heat up microwavable bacon and scramble several eggs in the one pan Bennett allows me to use, I hope that I’ll return to excited responses on my phone. At least one “I miss you Freddy” or “On my way!” to mend the hollow ache starting to grow in my chest.

I slam my bedroom door shut behind me and the echo of it sounds in my head.

I’m alone. The house is empty. Rhys comes back tomorrow, and Bennett isn’t here—he never came home last night. Still, I feign ignorance to dampen the sting as I sit in my empty room.You’re fine. Everything is great.

Forcing a quick smile like it might liven my spirits, I eat everything on my plate before curling up under the covers and trying to sleep. Even ashervoice plagues me again.

I think you’d be really easy to love.

I’m on time today, a rarity for me, but I’ve barely been able to think of anything except this upcoming tutoring session—be it in the form of anxiety or anticipation, or both.

---