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Authors: Sarah Addison Allen
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soon jogged up and fell into step with her.
She cut her eyes at him. “Did you actually run after me?”
He looked indignant, like he’d been caught doing something uncouth. “I wouldn’t have had to if you had waited.”
“What do you want?”
“I told you. I want to talk to you.”
“So talk,” she said.
“Not like this.” His hand wrapped around her arm and made her stop. “I’ve kept my distance since you’ve been back, because I thought that’s what you wanted. When I heard you were moving back to Mullaby, I had … hope. But the moment I saw you again, and you gave me a look that could kill, I knew it was still too soon.”
“I haven’t moved back,” she said, wriggling her arm free.
“But I’ve been doing us both a disservice,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “This has gone on too long. I want to talk about it, Julia. I have some things to tell you.”
“Talk about what?” she asked.
He was silent.
She tried to laugh it off. “Does this have something to do with thinking I’ve been baking cakes because of you?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
They stared at each other for a moment before she said, “I have nothing to say to you. And I doubt you have anything to say that I want to hear.”
Undeterred, he said, “Have dinner with me on Saturday.”
“I have plans on Saturday,” she said.
“Oh?” His hands went into his pockets and he rocked back on his heels with surprise. This was a man who wasn’t used to being turned down. “With whom?”
“I was thinking of taking Emily to the lake,” she said, off the top of her head.
“You’re showing a remarkable amount of interest in this girl.”
“Does it surprise you that much, Sawyer?” she shot at him. “Really?”
She could tell that hurt him. And it didn’t make her feel as good as she thought it would. He hesitated before asking quietly, “Are you ever going to forgive me?”
“I forgave you a long time ago,” she said as she turned and walked away. “That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.”
His voice carried after her. “Neither have I, Julia.”
THE WEIGHT of Julia’s unhappiness took her breath sometimes when she was sixteen. It had been building for years, brick by brick: adolescence, her father remarrying, her unrequited love for the cutest boy in school, the misfortune of having Dulcie Shelby as a classmate. Still, up until she entered high school, she’d always had friends. She’d always been a good student. She’d always been able to function . But then a gradual depression settled over her like someone flipping out a bedsheet and letting it float down to cover her. By the time her sophomore year rolled around, she’d given up on trying to compete with her stepmother, Beverly. Her pink hair and black makeup were attempts to fight the overwhelming sense that she was disappearing. Her friends started avoiding her as her appearance changed and she became more sullen, but she didn’t care. She would gladly lose them if it meant her father would just look at her.
It didn’t work.
Sometimes she would hear Beverly tell her father not to pay her any attention, that it was just a phase, that she would grow out of it. And of course, he did exactly as Beverly suggested.
Then the cutting started.
Her unhappiness and self-loathing got the better of her one day when she was in her World History class. Mr. Horne was writing something on the whiteboard and Julia was sitting in the back of the room, Dulcie Shelby a few seats in front of her. Julia looked up from doodling in her notebook to see Dulcie whisper something to one of her friends, then take something out of her purse. Seconds later, a small canister of flea powder rolled down the aisle and stopped at Julia’s feet.
Dulcie and her friends laughed and Mr. Horne turned around.
He demanded to know what was so funny, but no one in class said a word. Julia kept her eyes down, staring at the canister touching the toe of her Doc
She cut her eyes at him. “Did you actually run after me?”
He looked indignant, like he’d been caught doing something uncouth. “I wouldn’t have had to if you had waited.”
“What do you want?”
“I told you. I want to talk to you.”
“So talk,” she said.
“Not like this.” His hand wrapped around her arm and made her stop. “I’ve kept my distance since you’ve been back, because I thought that’s what you wanted. When I heard you were moving back to Mullaby, I had … hope. But the moment I saw you again, and you gave me a look that could kill, I knew it was still too soon.”
“I haven’t moved back,” she said, wriggling her arm free.
“But I’ve been doing us both a disservice,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “This has gone on too long. I want to talk about it, Julia. I have some things to tell you.”
“Talk about what?” she asked.
He was silent.
She tried to laugh it off. “Does this have something to do with thinking I’ve been baking cakes because of you?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
They stared at each other for a moment before she said, “I have nothing to say to you. And I doubt you have anything to say that I want to hear.”
Undeterred, he said, “Have dinner with me on Saturday.”
“I have plans on Saturday,” she said.
“Oh?” His hands went into his pockets and he rocked back on his heels with surprise. This was a man who wasn’t used to being turned down. “With whom?”
“I was thinking of taking Emily to the lake,” she said, off the top of her head.
“You’re showing a remarkable amount of interest in this girl.”
“Does it surprise you that much, Sawyer?” she shot at him. “Really?”
She could tell that hurt him. And it didn’t make her feel as good as she thought it would. He hesitated before asking quietly, “Are you ever going to forgive me?”
“I forgave you a long time ago,” she said as she turned and walked away. “That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.”
His voice carried after her. “Neither have I, Julia.”
THE WEIGHT of Julia’s unhappiness took her breath sometimes when she was sixteen. It had been building for years, brick by brick: adolescence, her father remarrying, her unrequited love for the cutest boy in school, the misfortune of having Dulcie Shelby as a classmate. Still, up until she entered high school, she’d always had friends. She’d always been a good student. She’d always been able to function . But then a gradual depression settled over her like someone flipping out a bedsheet and letting it float down to cover her. By the time her sophomore year rolled around, she’d given up on trying to compete with her stepmother, Beverly. Her pink hair and black makeup were attempts to fight the overwhelming sense that she was disappearing. Her friends started avoiding her as her appearance changed and she became more sullen, but she didn’t care. She would gladly lose them if it meant her father would just look at her.
It didn’t work.
Sometimes she would hear Beverly tell her father not to pay her any attention, that it was just a phase, that she would grow out of it. And of course, he did exactly as Beverly suggested.
Then the cutting started.
Her unhappiness and self-loathing got the better of her one day when she was in her World History class. Mr. Horne was writing something on the whiteboard and Julia was sitting in the back of the room, Dulcie Shelby a few seats in front of her. Julia looked up from doodling in her notebook to see Dulcie whisper something to one of her friends, then take something out of her purse. Seconds later, a small canister of flea powder rolled down the aisle and stopped at Julia’s feet.
Dulcie and her friends laughed and Mr. Horne turned around.
He demanded to know what was so funny, but no one in class said a word. Julia kept her eyes down, staring at the canister touching the toe of her Doc
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