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Still, he tries to keep a low profile.
“I’ll miss you,” Izzy says quietly, pulling back.
I nod. Smile. “Me too.”
She pushes up on her toes and kisses me, and I kiss her back. I feel the wet tip of a tongue, and flinch back, bugging my eyes at her, before darting a pointed look at the car. Her dad is literally right there.
She just laughs and winks, before whirling away from me, and climbing back inside the vehicle.
Crazy girl.
Just before she slams the door, she throws out, “All for one?”
I grin, and salute her. “And one for all.”
She salutes me back, and closes the door. Behind her, I can just make out Ray shaking his head.
Turning for the house, I take out my phone, hiking my bag up on my shoulder. I tap the screen. Still no messages.
This time I try calling.
“Come on,” I mutter.
It goes to voicemail.
Shaking my head, I stare up at the overcast sky.
And everyone says Izzy is the stubborn one…
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
My phone continues to vibrate along the floor. I don’t have to check to see who it is.
On my bed, I lay sprawled out on my back with an ice pack on my face, staring up at the star and planet stickers still clinging to my ceiling after all these years. It’s still light out, though there are far more shadows creeping along the room than when I first laid down, however long ago that was.
Mom’s checked in on me a couple times since she got home. Asking if I want a drink. Soup. Xanax.
Nope, nope, yes times ten.
Not that I said that out loud. But I did accept one tiny pill and a glass of water I only drank about half of before becoming one with my mattress.
The phone finally stops vibrating for more than a few minutes.
Good. He finally gave up.
Assuming it’s still Mason, that is. He’d texted three times before he tried calling. After that, I threw my phone on the floor and haven’t moved a muscle since.
Music plays softly from the headphones still hanging around my neck. I don’t know why I don’t just put them over my ears, so it’s not as muffled. If I do though, I won’t hear the phone vibrating, so…
Can you be any more pathetic?
With a sigh, I pat my hands around me, until I find my iPod. Bringing it up to my face, I scroll through my list of playlists, before finally settling on an oldie, but fav, and hitting shuffle.
Of course—of course—it’s his song that comes on first.
“You Get What You Give” by the New Radicals.
Groaning, I shake my head, and hit skip.
