Every Little Thing

04

All too quickly, French class has ended, and suddenly Reed Bishop is sliding out of his seat and extending a hand towards mine.

"Nice talking to you again," he says, and I try my hardest to fight back the blush as I reply,

"You, too. See you tomorrow, I guess."

"Sure thing, partner."

With one last trademark smile, he saunters off, and I'm left to just stand there in disbelief. Reed Bishop just talked to me. Holy hell, Reed Bishop is my partner.

I thought this stuff only happens in movies, but apparently I was wrong, because here it is. Happening. To me.

Georgie will just have to forgive me, I think, smiling to myself as I pack up my books.

I laugh to myself as I imagine her face, full of shock and then excitement when I tell her that Reed freaking Bishop is my French partner. Surely, she'll be able to find someone else to work with. She's a sociable person.

It takes everything I have not to text her right now, on my way to class, but I decide to wait. I want her to hear it in person.

________

"No."

"Yes!"

"You're lying, Evie. There's no way."

"It happened. I swear to God, it happened."

Georgina's face breaks into a wide grin as she proceeds to shriek, seizing me by the shoulders and shaking me vigorously.

"Oh, my God!" she squeals, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

"I know!" I laugh. "I know; it's—I can't even—"

I have to stop myself, putting my hand to my mouth and smiling into my palm.

"He chose you. Don't you see that?" Georgie says, shaking her head. "He could have picked anyone in the entire class, and he chose you. That, my dear, is an accomplishment."

I grin despite myself, lowering my hand.

"I know."

"We should celebrate," she says immediately, and that's when I feel something inside me deflate.

"What?" I ask, hoping I misheard her. Hearing the uncertainty in my voice, Georgina rolls her eyes.

"Evelyn."

"It's a school night," Is my attempt at reasoning, and she waves a dismissive hand.

"Tomorrow's Friday. It doesn't even count as a school day—everyone's just focused on the weekend. Come on, Evie, there's this party—"

I hold up an index finger at this, shaking my head.

"Nope. No parties."

"There's this party," she repeats, "That Hale Forrester is hosting. It's in this little campsite, and everyone's going, and we all sit around and have a bonfire and play games. No kegs. No streamers. No cops."

"Maybe, but there will be a bunch of hormonal teenagers in the middle of the woods."

Georgina rolls her eyes.

"I swear, it's innocent. Really. I asked about every single detail, making sure there wouldn't be anything illegal going on. Please go with me, Evie. Please."

I know it won't be hard to convince my mom; she's working today and has always wanted me to have more fun, more of a "high school experience", but the real problem lies within myself. The thing is, I want to go to this party—I really do—I just can't bring myself to imagine it. Will I suddenly become shy and not talk to anyone, being officially dubbed "the quiet one"? Or will the exact opposite happen? Will I do something instantly regrettable?

"Anxiety forces us to rethink every little thing," the therapist that Mom hired years ago, after she'd told me the truth about my father, had told me. "It makes things that are meant to be harmless and fun seem terrifying. It makes opportunities for happiness feel like opportunities for failure and mistake. The only way we can truly beat it, Evelyn, is if we take the chances anyways and see what happens. It's like taking a leap into a deep, dark hole. You're scared to death and you don't want to jump, but once you do, you realize that someone's there to catch you. We never truly live unless we truly try."

I have the words written down in a journal somewhere, and I still remember them even though I don't see him anymore. As the panic attacks lessened, and my mom started working more, I didn't really need to see him anymore.

Which is a shame, because he taught me a lot.

I glance up at Georgina, who's watching me expectantly, and I feel a tug of sadness in my chest as I see that she's already half-expecting me to say no.

"Okay," I tell her instead, and she smiles.

________

The campsite is tucked away in the middle of Willow's Creek Campgrounds, and it's a huge gravel lot with a fire pit, several trucks parked with their tailgates open and beverages laid out with ice, mainly sodas and water. I begin to calm down when I realize that I recognize the people spilling out of their cars as they pull up, that they're generally nice kids from school and there doesn't seem to be an overload of activity.

Georgie parks as soon as music starts playing, and I glance over at her, wanting to laugh. She's dressed really nicely, too nicely-in a tight minidress and red lipstick and nothing to warm her bare shoulders. She realizes this when she takes in the people dressed like me—in flannels and jeans and T-shirts. I look over at her, waiting for a reaction.

"To hell with it," she says, grinning at me. "I've always liked being best-dressed."

With that, she gets out, and so do I.

Here goes nothing.

"Georgie!" Someone says, and we turn to face Hale Forrester, a rugged-looking guy who hugs Georgina. She hugs him back, I notice, kind of tightly. Shaking my head, I turn away, and as he releases her, she smiles and says somewhat breathlessly,

"Hale, this is my best friend; I'm sure you've seen her—meet Evelyn Moore."

"Of course," he says, extending a huge hand. I take it, offering up a small smile.

"Hi. Nice to meet you."

"You, too," he says, and then turns back to Georgina. "Do you guys want a drink? A coat, maybe?"

The last words, obviously directed at bare-shouldered Georgie, cause her to smile gracefully and wave him away.

"I'm good for both. You want anything, Evie?"

"No, I'm fine. Thanks, though."

"No problem," he says. "Thanks for coming. I'll see you guys around?"

There's a distinct note of hopefulness in his voice, and I can see Georgina's blush from a million miles away.

"Maybe," she says coyly, smacking her lips in mock thought, "Or maybe not."

"Holding onto that maybe," he says, with a good-natured smile. "Bye, Georgie. See you—Evelyn, was it?"

"Yeah," I say, suddenly on the defensive. "Bye."

He walks away, and I turn to Georgie immediately, tapping her on the shoulder as she watches him go.

"Hmm?" she asks, and I release a breath.

"Dude. He's totally into you. And you're into him!"

"What? No." she laughs, and even though I can tell she's lying, I let it go.

"Whatever." After a beat, I add, "If you like him, though, you should go for it."

I wait for the snarky reply, some form of shoving my words back in my face in accusation of hypocrisy, but she doesn't say a word. She just bites her lip, nodding. After a second, she draws in a shuddering breath and says,

"Come on. Let's go mingle."