Page 58 of Let It Be Me

A girl who knows what she wants. The label beams back at me enticingly. I’ve always thought of myself as someone who had no clue what she wanted and with zero ability to make life happen. What if I was wrong? Because I do know what I want. I want to be free to make mistakes without being shamed for them. And I want Brad to get out of my face.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so,” I say as I move past him. As soon as Brad is behind me, I’m thinking about what else I want.

Lorenzo.

I want Lorenzo. It dawns on me what I’ve done. I’ve told myself I’m unworthy of him so many times that I’m denying myself the only person I love with all my heart and pushing him toward the one girl who wants me out of his life. A girl who might be picture-perfect but who’s never made Lorenzo smile the way I can. She might be his type and I might be anything but, butthe way he’s looked at me ever since I kissed him tells me there’s more to love than being his type.

Brad is right: I know exactly what I want. Is it too late to claim it?

It takesme a long time to get ready for Reeve’s party because I’m not sure exactly what I’m getting ready for. I want to tell Lorenzo the truth, but I don’t know when I’ll work up the courage or how he’ll respond. In the end I settle for dressing like it’s any other summer night out—a black sundress, loose hair, glossy lips, and lots of mascara—but I hope I’m wrong.

I text Lorenzo to tell him to let me know when he’s on his way, and I finish getting ready, spritzing on perfume and smoothing down the frizz at my temples, but every time I glance at my phone screen, my stomach churns a little harder to find he hasn’t replied.

I’m ready by nine, and even though we didn’t say that was when he was picking me up, that’s when the party starts, and Lorenzo is nothing if not annoyingly punctual. For twenty minutes I sit on my bed and play a block-blaster game on my phone that does nothing to stop my brain from conjuring up vivid images of what might be keeping Lorenzo. Then I call him. He doesn’t answer. I put my phone down and stare at the ceiling and half listen to my upstairs neighbor bang out some crashing beats on their drum set while I let my imagination do what it wants. Lorenzo’s spent the last few hours with Alli, so busy he can’t spare five seconds for a text. There are only so many things that can keep a man occupied like that, and all of them make me seethe with regret.

I go to the party alone, and even though I told myself Lorenzo wouldn’t be there, my heart sinks when it’s confirmed. All the simmering anger that’s been building inside me boils into resolution: I have to stop pretending. I hardly know what the truth is between him and me anymore, but I’m going to find it, and I’m going to say it. And if I’ve just lost him to Alli again, I won’t pretend that doesn’t crush me.

TWENTY-TWO

lorenzo

Ruby hates me tonight.

“I know, I know. I’m late,” I say when I finally find her leaning against the back-porch railing of Reeve’s place. It’s his birthday and Ruby’s always a good sport about showing up for my friends, but she’s never totally comfortable in this scene. She doesn’t get “meathead culture”—her words, not mine—she has no time for jersey chasers, and she thinks my friends’ girlfriends don’t like her. With a few exceptions, she’s right. But only because unless she’s pouring all her effort into fitting in, Ruby radiates “fuck you” vibes. She can’t help it.

Her mouth is fixed in a straight line. “Way late.” True, but only because I was busy making a different girl hate me.

“I told you I’d pick you up. You could have waited at home.”

“If I waited much longer, it wouldn’t be Reeve’s birthday anymore.” She stares ahead, refusing to make eye contact. So I guess my plan to get our friendship back on neutral ground isn’t going to be easy. Especially not when she’s wearing that little dress that shows off her tan lines so well I know exactly which bikini left them—the black one with the crisscross straps over the cleavage.

“I’ll make it up to you. I always do.”

Her eyes shift to me. No, wait, she’s looking past me, where Cash has just appeared in the door.

“Fucking finally, dude!” Cash says. “I was starting to worry you busted your other shoulder or some shit. Wait, is that actually a drink in your hand?” He hoots. “Grandpa Lor gettin’ wild.”

“It’s one beer,” I say irritably.

“So that makes ... two this summer?”

I give him a look, wishing he’d go away.

Cash’s gaze slides from me to Ruby and her crossed arms. “Everything okay out here?”

I look at Ruby, whose flat gaze is now on the wall of the house. “Everything’s fine.”

Cash hesitates. “Right. Well, get inside then, both of you. Reeve’s been looking for you, Lorenzo.”

When he goes inside, I try for a joke. “See? Cash is still wearing clothes, so I’m not that late.”

Ruby brushes past me into the house like I don’t even exist. I stare after her, bewildered. She must have had areallybad day at work.

Things don’t improve from there. Ruby’s been mad at me before, but usually I know exactly why, because she can’t stop telling me all the ways I fucked up. Tonight she’s ignoring me, not even looking at me, and as much as I hate hearing her bitch and moan, this is a hundred times worse.

Thirty minutes into the party, I’ve had enough. I’m not going to spend the night searching her face for clues. If she wants me to fix something, she’ll have to ask. At least that’s what I tell myself. Then I spend the next thirty minutes trying not to look at her. And when I can’t stand it anymore, I corner her on the back steps after seeing her head outside. What can I say? I hate when people are mad at me.

“I came out here to be alone,” she says when the door closes behind me.

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