Page 53

It's almost eleven when I finally set the guitar down.

If the date's going well, I have no right to feel the way I do about that.

And if it's going badly, I have even less right to the small, ugly flicker of relief I know I'll feel.

I hate both versions of myself equally.

Just then, my phone lights up. This time, it's Riley.

My heart starts pounding when I read her message.

Riley:

Hey. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. Quinn's date didn't go so well.

I'm sitting up before I finish reading, torn between concern, hope, and a relief I have no right to feel.

Me:

What happened?

Riley:

I just know that she left early.

Oh, no. Any relief I felt is immediately replaced by dread.

Me:

Did Adam do something?

Riley:

I don't know, Wyatt. She hasn't told me much.

Fuck.

I stare at the screen, trying to decide whether to call Quinn. She might not want to talk about it, especially not with me. But I have to do something.

My phone buzzes again.

Riley:

You could check on her, you know.

Me:

You think she'd want that?

Riley:

I think she'd be happy to see you.

I read that one twice.

Me:

Thanks, Riley.