Page 71 of The Beta Test

31415: You saw things you needed to change, and you did it. I want to do the same.

I chew my lip as I digest his words. I can’t help but feel a little sorry for the guy—unrequited love is one of the worst things in the entire universe. He deserves good things. He’s been there for me and made my life better.

80085 [Me]: Maybe I can help?

An incoming text on my phone distracts me, so I drop the school tablet and take my phone out of my pocket. The number is still not saved in my contacts (oops), but I recognize it because of the previous texts in the thread—Jake.

Unknown number: We can’t start the party without the cookies. Get here asap!

See? Mr. Pi can’t be Jake. It wouldn’t make sense for him to be dumping his heart’s struggles on Connection Services and then immediately dropping it to text me about something as inane as cookies.

My lips curve. Those Taylors are truly ridiculous! I ‘thumbs down’ his text just because, then pick up my tablet to tell Mr. Pi I have to go, but that I hope he enjoys his night and gets his girl. The weird feeling from earlier lingers, but I don't have time to unpack it. I have a party to get to!

After grabbing my bag, I bounce down the stairs, excitement over the evening lightening my steps. The rest of my family is playing a board game at the kitchen table, snacks and drinks scattered around them. My parents look up and smile.

“Have fun tonight! And keep your phone on,” my dad says.

“And no leaving the Taylors’ house. I trust you, but I don’t trust any of those other kids,” Mom adds.

I nod responsibly, finding a kind of comfort in the routine of it all, especially with both of them here. “And I’ll be home by curfew,” I add.

They wave me off, returning to their game. I trace my steps back towards the front of the house and grab the plate of cookies—chocolate dipped espresso flavor this time—off the kitchen counter. I pull the front door open and come to a dead stop. The breath leaves my body and my limbs feel untethered. All the levity I’d felt a second before whooshes out of me like I’m a popped balloon.

Braden.

He’s here. Sitting on a chair on our front porch, just… sitting.

A dark hoodie is pulled up over his head, and his beautiful, soulful brown eyes seem luminescent in the glow from the street lights. His hands are shoved in his hoodie pocket and his shoulders are slumped in a way I’m not used to seeing. Should I pinch myself? Is he really here?

“Avery,” he breathes, his voice breaking slightly.

The sound breaks me free from my frozen state, and I glance behind me to make sure my family hasn’t noticed what’s happening at the front door. After quickly stepping through, I pull it closed. Braden stands and takes a step closer, but I put up a hand.

“What are you doing here, Braden?”

His gaze traces over my features, like he's drinking in every detail. I can see the moment he sees my Rapunzel-esque braid cascading over my shoulder because a faint smile tugs at his lips, but his expression remains heavy with melancholy.

“Can we talk?”

I nod and walk briskly to my car to unlock it. I gesture for him to get in the passenger side. The idea of being in a small, enclosed space with him feels overwhelming, but I also don’t want to chance anyone overhearing our conversation. Hunter might wander outside, or my parents might hear our voices through the door.

We both slide into the car, and I place the plate of cookies on top of the dashboard with shaky hands. It feels strange to be this close to him again—I can smell his soap and that unique Braden smell I used to love so much. His hands nervously scrape along his jean-clad thighs a few times. With his face pointing forward, I can’t see him beyond the hoodie.

“Take off your hood.”

He quickly slides it off, then turns towards me. The look on his face takes me off guard. I’m not sure what I expected. All these months I’ve imagined him callously ignoring me without a care in the world, but his eyes… they glisten with tears and regret. He has dark circles and looks exhausted. A million questions flood my mind, but the words immediately start spilling from his lips before I can voice one.

“I’m so sorry, Avery. I’m so sorry.” He grabs my right hand and holds it delicately in both of his. His touch feels warm and familiar. I don’t pull away but don’t squeeze back either.

“I should have told you. I should have trusted you. I… cracked. I don’t have any other way of explaining. When I came home for Christmas my mom told me you came by, and I wanted to come straight over to talk to you, but I was afraid. I⁠—”

He pauses, and gentle sobs rack his chest. He clears his throat, struggling to pull his emotions together. The urge to comfort or help him rises, but I resist. The fact that he’s been home since Christmas and has only now been brave enough to come talk to me nearly causes me to bolt out of the car. How could he?!

But… I’ve been waiting for Braden to communicate with me for months. So I wait. His sniffles and heavy breathing fill the small space between us, and I can feel his hands start to sweat a little. I still don’t pull away—I want him to tell me why he did this, and I won’t do anything to interrupt his thoughts.

“My parents always wanted me to succeed,” he clears his throat, then continues. “And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. But when it came time to actually go to MIT, I realized… I didn’t even know if I wanted to go. All this time I’ve been trying to fulfill what they wanted for me instead of doing what I wanted for my future.” He pauses a second, looking for words. “I don’t even like math!”

He takes a deep, stuttering breath, as if the mere idea of math is going to send him over an emotional cliff. He steadies himself, then drops his head and uses one hand to stroke the back of my hand.