28 | nancy wheeler

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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT | NANCY WHEELER

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          Speaking to Emma's parents is something that requires plenty of mental preparation coming from me, so I decide to postpone it until after the new year, when I'll finally see Doctor Albott again. Naturally, this also gives me yet another excuse to avoid talking to Xavier, which we're both secretly glad about, but it also leaves me terrified of Betty and her reaction to this development.

          Though we all go to a New Year's Eve party—yes, even Betty, even though she kicked and fought her way towards the house while threatening to run Callum over—and I should be using this as a distraction from every negative thing plaguing my thoughts, I feel restless. The fact that I have been to more parties in the span of one cold season than I have in most of my life isn't lost on me; while people are busy mourning their children, I, the sole survivor of the night that claimed their lives, am out there partying like a college student.

          Granted, I am a college student, but the point still stands. It feels in very poor taste.

          I've had an entire week to think about how I'm going to tell Betty and Odette I'm, once again, deciding there's something more important than talking to Xavier, and I have yet to come up with a satisfactory answer. Even confronting my mom about how casually she was able to ruin my night was easier, and she was as understanding about it as I thought she would be, so there's no reason to be so scared to talk to my two close friends. If anything, they're the ones who are supposed to understand my hesitation.

          "You look stressed out," Callum comments, slumped on one of Odette's bean bag chairs. It's just us in the room, with Odette and Betty having moved to the walk-in closet next door so Odette can pick out a dress, and it's been nice having a moment of peace and quiet for once.

          "Let me guess," I retort, checking my reflection with the aid of my phone's front camera, "it's distracting you." He's lying behind me, so I can easily see his reaction. He simply looks up at the screen, propped up on an elbow, easily finding his cue to non-verbally answer me by staring back at our reflections. "Sorry. I'll stop."

          "Running the risk of potentially offending you by intruding in your personal life, do you . . ." He clears his throat, like this entire conversation is paining him to the point of genuinely considering flinging himself out of one of the top floor windows, but I know now it's all in good fun. A few months ago, I certainly would've been offended. "Do you, like, want to consider talking about it? Just so we all get to experience the new year drama-free? I'm mostly just trying to make sure you won't head straight to the bar as soon as we get there."

           I wince, locking my phone and tossing it aside so I won't have to stare back at my own judgmental expression, and let my head fall to the back of my bean bag chair. Stupidly, I find myself wishing and praying—though I'm hardly religious—people will finally let that night fade into oblivion; it's been two months since that disastrous Halloween party, and I think I've already done my sentence. Just thinking about it is enough to make my skin break out in hives.

          I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm stable. I haven't touched alcohol since that night, having completely learned my lesson, and, though I know Callum is just messing with me to show affection like the emotionally well-developed young man that he is, this is still a sore spot for me.

          "It's probably not that big of a deal, now that you're making me say it aloud," I admit, embarrassment flushing my cheeks a deep scarlet tone. They're burning even without me touching them, and I'm secretly glad I have my back turned to him. "I just have a lot of important and awkward pending conversations, and I don't know how to even start having any of them. I need to talk to Betty and Odette about one, but I'm scared they'll take it the wrong way and think I'm postponing it for the sake of comfort."

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