Page 45 of The Last Special Thing

He dragged his fingers through his hair, his voice desperate. “I did. I just didn’t realize it until I saw you with him.”

“So, what, these feelings were dormant until some sort of twisted jealousy activated them?”

“Yeah, there’s probably a science behind it.” He nodded as if she was getting it.

Her eyes met Weston’s. He was MIT-bound, respectful, and got along with her parents. She understood what her mom meant by 'husband material.' He was great on paper, but in real life, “You’re not it for me.” Her words were soft. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t love her then or that she didn’t love him now.

“How do you know?” He leaned closer, his face pained.

“I can’t explain it, but I know.” It was the exhilaration she felt around Art. The comfort in someone knowing you, without needing to teach them who you are. It was the lightning strike on the lone tree that set the world ablaze.

“Answer me this: you said you loved me only a few months ago.” He studied her face. “What changed?”

She gazed out the window of the coffee shop. A small child in pigtails was pulling on her mom’s leg, her lip quivering. She looked back at Weston. “I changed.”

He scoffed. “People don’t change that fast.”

She bit her lip. Their conversations were never resolved, and she didn’t want to spin in circles tonight. “Can you take me home?”

His eyes dipped to her nearly full bowl of yogurt, but he didn’t address it.

“Okay, Amelia.” His tone was hollow as he collected both their bowls, dropped them into the silver trash can by the door, and led her outside.

“Promise me something?” He paused as they reached the car.

“Sure.”

“Can we keep being friends?” His eyes were clouded.

She’d enjoyed his company throughout the years, and she didn’t want to give it up either. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He gave a weak smile.

She was sure he’d find someone new, too, and then he would understand what she meant. Everything would work out for both of them.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

True to her word, Madisson had reached out to Reyna. As they hypothesized, sleeping with her friend’s boyfriend exiled Reyna from her normal group of friends. And, shocker, Brandon and Genieve stayed together. Which is how Amelia found her own group expanding, with Max, Art, Madisson, and now Reyna, all sitting in a loose circle in the apartment.

Reyna looked comfortable in the group, the type of girl who fit in anywhere. She had a dancer's build with toned limbs, a small chest, and a compact frame. Her hair was so dark it had a blue tint in the right light.

“This is the craziest shit,” Max said in warning, but a grin formed from ear to ear.

“Where do you get it?” Amelia turned over the clear package in her hands as she had for the marijuana. The drugs, neatly packaged, offered the illusion that they were safe.

“The smoke shop down the street,” he responded.

She and Art passed the shop regularly on their way to the beach. A blush crept up her cheeks as she recalled their last visit. She still found sand particles in her sheets, brushing up against her legs in the dark of the night.

“It’s the craziest shit, and yet they sell it legally?” Her face twisted. The rules on drugs varied. Meth, heroin, and cocaine were bad. Pot was acceptable. Shrooms were natural, so that was fine. Acid was chemically made, so it was bad? Salvia slipped into its own dimension. Maybe it was acceptable since it also comes from a plant? She turned the box over again as she considered.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.” Max interrupted her thoughts.

“I’ll go first,” Art offered, hand outstretched to her. She palmed the box of salvia over to him.

“You’ve done this before?” An uncertainty was building in her chest.

He squeezed her knee reassuringly. “I’ve done it, and it’s over like that.” He snapped his fingers.