Shift

“It’s fine.” She sniffles, and I stop grabbing papers at the sound of her broken voice.

Shit.

This is about this morning, and the way I just left. I’m still not sure Tommy isn’t right. Me and Ha

If I listen to the onslaught of negativity that streams through my mind twenty-four-seven, it’s an easy choice. I walk away and let Ha

Most of me knows letting her go is what’s best for her. But then . . . she looks at me. And I know nothing.

“Hey,” I croak out, reaching out to her arm, my fingers grazing her skin. She freezes and drops the few papers she’s gathered before falling back on her ass and looking up at the bright florescent hallway lights. Her eyes glisten as she fights off tears—tears I put there.

“Ha

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” She returns her focus to the papers, leaning to the right and sweeping them into the space between her legs then doing the same to her left. I crawl a few feet away to grab the strays that slid down the hall and then hand them to her, noticing the bold PROM written on the top.

Her hands tremble as they straighten out the stack I destroyed. When she gets them semi-sorted, she pulls her bag around to the side of her body and stuffs them inside, almost as if hiding them from me.

“I’ll totally go, if that’s something you want to do. Prom? I could go to prom,” I say. She laughs almost instantly, a quiet one at first that gets louder and messier as she stands. I get to my feet, my hands not sure whether they should hide in my pockets or reach for the girl of my dreams whom I don’t deserve and somehow keep pushing away. She tugs her sweatshirt back down over her shorts, and my eyes drift down her legs—legs that are mine to touch if I want them, if I would only earn them. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I replay my words.

“Gee, Dustin. That’s exactly how a girl wants to be asked. Especially one whose mouth was all over yours last night. Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” She tugs the straps of her backpack tight around her shoulders. Her chest lifts with a cleansing breath, one that seems to dry the leftover tears from her eyes. The redness lingers, though. I made those eyes sad like that. I made them cry and I’m the reason they’re red.

This is what I do.

“Han,” I say in a hushed tone as she turns and walks away. I should fight for her, rush ahead and spin on my knees, my hands clasped in the begging position, but that wouldn’t be right either. She’d laugh me off and have every right to do so.

I didn’t think. Of course prom is important to her. She probably always had plans to go her junior year. I remember her watching movies downstairs with Bailey when Tommy and I got dressed for junior prom last year and his mom gave us corsages to give to our dates. She watched us get to do this stupid rite of passage and when it’s finally her turn to participate, I make a joke of it.

Like I’ve made of my life.

My phone buzzes in the middle of my self-pity session, and though I’m walking toward the math class I swore I wasn’t going to, my mind is lost elsewhere. It’s not on the dollar signs in the text from Alex about a race up in Henderson in three weeks, either. Nothing can penetrate my thoughts, not until I erase the picture of Ha