I dropped my gaze, revealed my disappointment.

Mistake number three.

I sat in the last row of seats in the van, between the twins’ booster seats, because I didn’t want him sitting next to me. I was hurt. His words hurt, and I felt stupid. Pathetic.

He didn’t speak on the way to the movie theater where I’d later find my first place of employment. He didn’t glance in my direction. Not even when Lucy said, “You look so pretty, Lane. Doesn’t she look nice, Luke?”

He shrugged, mumbled, “I guess,” and kept looking out the window.

It was the first time I physically felt my heart sink. Felt it crack.

I wanted to cry but doing so in the car on the way to our non-date would make the actual non-date unbearable, so I kept it together. I should’ve faked sick and asked Cam to take me home. I didn’t.

Mistake number four.

I paid for my own ticket even though Luke offered.

I paid for my own snacks, too, just to reiterate to myself that it was not a date.

I wanted to sit on my own, or at least on the other side of Cameron and Lucy and away from him, but I thought that might be taking it too far. I didn’t hate him. He told me how it was, but my own wants and fantasies turned it into something it wasn’t.

Yep. Mistake number five.

I said I needed to use the bathroom and that I’d catch up with them. That way they could choose the seating arrangements, and yeah, I realized even then that I was overthinking everything, and as I stared at myself in the mirror, my eyes getting redder from my withheld tears, I realized how pathetic I was being. Hurt, but still, pathetic. I yanked a square of paper towel from the dispenser, ran it under warm water and removed what little “fake” make-up I wore, which was just grape flavored Lip-Smacker that turned my lips a light shade of purple to match the dress that was apparently too “overdressed.”

When I got into the theater, Cameron waved at me even though the room was practically empty and the lights hadn’t been dimmed yet. They were sitting in the middle of the last row. It was Cam on the left, Lucy next to him, empty seat, then Luke. I assumed the empty spot was for me. Luke stood when I approached so I could get past him and take my seat. I looked at my watch. We were ten minutes early. I had to sit in silence with the light on for ten whole minutes. A group of girls sat a few rows in front of us, their ages ranging from mine to Lucy’s. They turned around often, giggled to each other, then whispered words I couldn’t hear.

“Are you wearing perfume?” Luke asked.

I should’ve scrubbed the perfume off me when I was removing the purple from my stupid lips. “Yeah. My grandmother gave it to me. I don’t really have anywhere else to wear it so…”

“It’s nice,” he said. “It suits you.”

“It’s not really me,” I admitted, choking on a sob. I whispered, “This really isn’t me at all. I look stupid.”

He didn’t respond for a long time, and I felt that twisting ache in my chest again. “I liked your slogan tees,” he said. “And your crazy colored flip-flops.”

I tilted my head back and looked up at the ceiling, all so my tears wouldn’t fall.

He hated my outfit, and I hated that it bothered me so much.

Mistake number six.

The girls giggled again.

“If they do that through the entire movie I’m going to take a rusty chainsaw to all their heads,” Lucy snapped. “Why do they keep looking this way?”

“Leave it alone, babe,” Cam said, trying to settle her. “If they do it while the movie’s on, I’ll talk to them.”

“Sure,” Lucy said. “You talk to them, babe, and if they so much as even try to hit on you, I’ll stab them in the eye with this straw.”

“You’re very death-to-the-world today,” Cam said.

Lucy giggled. “I’ll strangle them with my Red Vines.”

Cameron laughed. “Stone them to death with your Whoppers?”

Lucy said, “Shove my hot dog up their—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Cam cut in just in time.

Another round of giggles.

“What do you bitches want?” Lucy shouted, her arm raised, hand full of popcorn.

Cameron grasped her wrist, stopping her.

One of the girls, brunette and beautiful, pointed to Luke. “Come here,” she said, laughing with her friends.

Luke pointed to himself, his eyebrows raised. “Me?”

Five heads, hair perfectly straight, nodded at the same time.

Luke turned to me, and I faced him for the first time since he was at my door. “Do you mind?” he asked.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, shook my head, said, “Why would I mind?”

His eyes stayed on mine. He said nothing. I said nothing.

“Luke,” Cam said behind me. There was something in the way he said Luke’s name. It wasn’t to get his attention. It almost sounded like a warning. Like that was his chance to speak to those girls and if he didn’t do it then, he might never get to again.

“He has a name,” said one of the giggling girls.

“Luke!” they cooed in unison.

I dropped my gaze, hid my emotions.

He left, only to return when the movie started.

I timed the release of my tears to match Lucy’s sobs.

She cried over the movie.

I cried over my life.

And when the movie was over and Cam, Lucy and I waited for Lucas to stop talking to the girls just outside the building, his words “I’ll call you,” acting as the final stab wound to my chest, Lucy turned to me, her voice full of pity. “You really do look nice, Lane.”

“Yeah?” I asked, looking down at the prettiest dress I owned. “Because I feel so fucking stupid.”

Chapter Nine

LOIS

There should be a limit to the amount of tears a person can shed within a certain amount of time. Or at least some kind of chart to verify the level of tears to the level of tragedy. For example, losing someone like Kathy Preston should equal infinite tears for an infinite amount of time. Being hurt by the spawn of Kathy Preston should equal, say, three sets of tears for three fuck-ups and then said spawn should be deleted from your life, your mind, for all of eternity.

But there is no chart.

Just tears.

It’s 10:30 pm when the knock sounds on my door.

I answer, but I don’t speak. I have nothing to say.

“Just hear me out,” Luke asks. “She called me over thirty times yesterday, sent me a ton of messages. I went to see her last night to break up with her, and when I got there, she was crying. Her brother was in a car accident over in LA and her parents flew right there and she was alone and she needed me and I wasn’t there. She kept crying, Lane, like non-stop, and I couldn’t get a word in and I couldn’t do that to her. But I will. I promise.” He takes a breath. “You just need to give me time.”

“Don’t,” I whisper.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t break up with her.”

“Laney, stop.”

“Did you stay with her last night?” I ask, refusing to meet his gaze.