Page 107 of Bad Crush
I hold the envelope with the official award letter. It feels light in my hand. Unbelievable. I was sure after everything that happened that night, there was no way I was getting the money. I don’t even remember half of what I said when I gave my speech.
I obsessed over that thing for weeks, and then I got up there, and it just didn’t matter. I wasn’t even nervous because I wasn’t there. Not really. I was a million miles away while standing in front of a group of people who mean next to nothing to me. I respect them, sure, but they aren’t a part of me like Reagan is.
“I need to apologize to you.” I set the envelope on her desk in case she wants to snatch it back in a moment. “I lied about being engaged. Reagan is, or she was my girlfriend, but we were never engaged. I asked her to be my date, and well, we thought it would help my chances with the committee if we exaggerated our relationship. She’s a hell of an actress.” I smile, thinking back to that night of the mixer. How damn convincing she was. How much I liked it. “I should have come clean immediately, but I was afraid it would cost me the scholarship.”
“Anything else?”
“All things considered, I should probably tell you to give Janine the money. She played fairly, and she deserves it as much as I do. Maybe more.”
“I was surprised to learn you weren’t engaged, but your relationship status did not sway the committee either way. I’m sorry you felt the need to lie to better your chances. Reagan explained everything when she stopped by yesterday.”
My head snaps up. “Reagan came to see you?”
She smiles. This one is definitely the biggest I’ve ever seen from her. It even makes her eyes twinkle a little. “Medical school is hard. It helps to have people who will be there for you. Engaged or not, it’s clear you do. Anyone who would go to such lengths to help you achieve your dreams is worth keeping around.” She nods toward the envelope.
I swallow thickly. I do have people like that. A lot of them. Who does Reagan have?
“Please don’t let this leave the room, as I haven’t talked to Janine yet, but I was able to find another scholarship for her. You both deserve to be here, and I’m doing my best to make sure that happens.”
“Thank you.”
Another four years of going head-to-head with Janine—yeah, that sounds about right. I leave Dr. Salco’s office smiling. I did it. I really did it. My chest expands as I breathe in, and relief floods through me. I’m one step closer to getting everything I want.
Or almost everything. I pull out my phone and consider texting Reagan. A week ago, she would have been the first person I told, and now? I think it’s highly likely she’d ghost me even if I did reach out. I have no idea where we stand. I miss her, but I can’t shake that feeling that maybe it isn’t right. Maybe we are better off ending things now and protecting whatever friendship we can salvage from here. I don’t want to hurt her—that much I know.
Instead of Reagan, I text my mom and dad. One text, both parents. I’m tired of tiptoeing around their divorce. They promised us that we’d still be a family, and I’m holding them to that. If not for me, for Ginny. But, if I’m honest, mostly for me.
Their responses come almost instantly. Mom hearts my text—she just learned to do that and does it every chance she gets—and says,Congratulations!From my dad, I get the applause emoji andWay to go!
Look at me, bringing people together. I smile, and then it falls. I pocket my phone and head to class, the gloominess I felt earlier slowly creeping back in.
* * *
When I’m donefor the day, I head back to the apartment. I linger outside of Reagan and Dakota’s door. Texting feels wrong, but I can’t just go over there. And if I knock and Dakota answers, she’s likely to slam the door in my face.
I’m standing there trying to come up with a plan when Rhett opens our door and steps out.
“She isn’t there.”
“Who?” I ask.
He laughs. “Reagan. That is why you’re standing out here creeping in the breezeway, right? Because if you’re standing out here trying to find a new girlfriend, I’ve scoped out our other neighbors, and you won’t do any better.”
Of-fucking-course I won’t do any better. There is no better.
“Where are you going?”
He’s in jeans and a sweater. I think he even combed his hair.
“Going out. You want to come?”
“You’regoing out? Why?”
“Carrie and I broke up. For good this time.” He lifts his arms to his sides. “I’m single.”
“It isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I mutter and then ask, “Where are you going?”
“Does it matter?”
