Daphne
When I got home, I grabbed the stash of cherry and strawberry Starburst left over from Micah’s treat bags and camped out at the kitchen table with my homework. Mom texted to ask if I was okay on my own for dinner. I mean, yeah. I shrug, glancing at the pile of candy wrappers. Super healthy dinner.
I’m partway through my AP Physics homework when someone raps on the front door. Suddenly nervous, my face falls a bit. I’m not expecting anyone. Maybe it’s Max. We’d talked about a movie marathon this week to take my mind off of things, but I don’t think he meant today. He’d have texted me if he was stopping over. Releasing a pent-up breath, I set down my pencil and stand, cautiously making my way over to the door.
Out on the front porch, Micah stands facing the street with his fingers laced together on top of his head. My gaze travels from the T-shirt stretched across his broad back down to that firm football-player butt encased in dark jeans. He must hear me flip the lock because he turns toward me as I open the door.
For a few seconds, I’m stunned. His face is swelling, split open right at the cheekbone. I finally stutter out, “Mi-Micah, what happened to your face?” As he brings his hands down from his head, I get a good look at his knuckles too—they’re raw, split-open, still oozing blood. My hand shakes as it lifts to cover my open mouth. I try again when he doesn’t respond. “What happened? Were you in a fight?”
He blinks a few times, as he scans my body, cracking a small smile when he sees Grogu on my chest. It throws me off-balance. “Nice shirt.”
I glance down at it. “I-I didn’t know you were coming over.”
“And you didn’t answer my last couple of text messages.”
I nod. “I know. I was taking some time to think about how I wanted to respond.” I clear my throat. “You didn’t answer my question either. What happened?” My arm begins to lift, wanting to touch his sore cheek, but I pause, uncertain. I have no idea why he’s here. I figured he’d said what he needed to in the text messages. He’s worried I’m into Griffin. Alora is a pain in the ass—we already knew that—and he shouldn’t have listened to her. And … he’s sorry. I don’t know where we go from here.
His shoulders sag and he looks uncomfortable as he asks, “Can I come in?”
Looking up into his eyes, I see the Micah I’d been getting to know, not the asshole who’d flaunted Alora in front of me at the dance. “Yes. I was finishing up my physics homework.” I back up, holding the door until he steps into the house.
“Are your parents here?”
“Nope. They’re at the bookstore. They’re kind of working themselves to death right now, trying to keep it open.”
“Oh.” He grabs at the back of his neck with his hand, massaging. “I’m sorry to hear they’re still having problems.”
I give a curt nod. “I’d be there, except they knew I was a little behind after all the homecoming stuff this past weekend.” My voice hitches a bit, wishing I hadn’t brought that up. “Why don’t you sit down at the table? I’ll get a bag of peas or something for your cheek.”
While I’m in the kitchen, he murmurs, “What’s with all the disgusting Starburst flavors?”
My face colors as I walk back in and hand him the frozen veggie bag. “Uh, so you found my healthy dinner, huh?”
He tentatively holds the ice-cold bag to his face, wincing at first until he gets it settled into a comfortable position. Resting his elbow on the table, he points at the candy. “Yeah. But seriously, what’s that about?”
I roll my eyes, sitting back down. “I gave you all the orange and lemon ones already. Remember?”
“Oh. Right.”
Micah is acting really strange. Obviously, he’s here for a reason but I’m too nervous to speculate what it could be. “So, does the other guy look this bad?”
He shakes his head, smirking a bit. “Worse. Both of them.”
“You were in a fight with two other guys?”
“No. I was in a fight with the whole locker room. But I was really only focused on the two of them. I’ll fill you in on that later. It’s only part of the reason I came over.”
My brow furrows. “Micah, why are you here?” I don’t like the shift this conversation has just taken or the way his jaw is twitching.
The air in the room thickens until I can’t breathe. Why won’t he say something?
“I remember, Daph.” He blinks, his eyes roving over my features, studying me, as if he’s looking at me again for the first time. “It was you.”
I watch a hard swallow work its way down his throat.
He grimaces as he continues, “And I think you know it was me.”
My lips part. “Oh.” The sad way he’s looking at me, sends me way back to that grassy field where I’d lain, curled in on myself, while the eleven-year-old version of him had patted my shoulder, trying to reassure me that I was going to be okay. I raggedly inhale. “You just figured it out?”