Every Little Thing

20

We exit the theatre with Georgie and Hale, just as we had entered it, but something in the air is different. My heart is beating too fast, my eyes are darting everywhere but always managing to fall upon him, adrenaline causes my entire body to tremble, even as we stand in the lobby.

Reed looks relaxed, comfortable. Of course he does. He probably maintains eye contact with girls in movie theatres all the time.

And, predictably, I am now imagining Reed looking at some other girl who isn't me, and anger boils in the pit of my stomach. I shove it down and do away with the unsolicited, unpleasant image in my mind. He turns to me, brows furrowed, and by the way his mouth twitches I can tell he's fighting back a smile. When isn't he smiling?

"Everything okay?" He asks, softly.

No, because I'm kind of scared that I'm just going to be another one of those girls who pines after you.

And then, as an afterthought, Not like I've been pining after you for two years or anything.

"Yeah," I say, in response to his question. I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus on Georgie and Hale, who seem to be arguing in the first time in, like, ever.

I can just barely hear what they're saying- Hale's face is confused, Georgie's full of anger and frustration—as the conversation begins to get heated.

"What's up with you today?" I hear Hale demand, and Georgie just releases a huff of air.

"Nothing," she says, and it sounds as if she's been repeating the word for awhile. "Come on; can we please just go home?"

"But I wanted to invite them—"

"We can go by ourselves," she protests, and my stomach drops.

"Oh," Reed says, quietly, "They want to leave us behind."

"I don't—" I begin, but the words die on my lips as soon as Georgie continues, her voice escalating ever-so-slightly.

"We don't have to invite them to everything, Hale. We just watched a movie, for God's sakes!"

"They're our friends, Georgina." Hale insists, voice calm and soothing, a stark contrast to that of Georgie's. "Friends invite each other to hang out. It doesn't always have to be us."

"And it rarely is," she huffs. "It's just—"

It's then when she lowers her voice, and I turn to Reed, feeling kind of sick. He looks somewhat shocked, brows raised in an air of surprise.

"Well, then," he says, through a weak laugh. "I had no idea that we were such a burden."

"I'm sure she's just having a bad day," I respond, because I don't know if there's much else to say. I want to defend Georgie, but at the same time...

Her voice cuts into my thoughts, a furious whisper directed at Hale. "I mean, just because Evelyn is so attached to Reed doesn't mean he has to come, too!"

My heart freezes in my chest. I feel a breath lodge itself in my throat.

Oh, goddamn it.

I feel Reed's gaze, burning, on the back of my neck. I resist the urge to look at him, to reveal my now completely-reddened cheeks, embarrassment flooding ever fiber of my being. I fight back the angry words I am preparing to hurl at Georgina, stupid Georgina and stupid Hale and-

"Okay," Reed says, tone terse, taut. "I don't know who gave her permission to act like an entitled brat today, but I'm not having it. Let's go, Evelyn."

I look at him, shocked that he doesn't say anything about my "attachment" to him, nor does he pry or ask about what it means. He just takes me by the arm, fingers gentle against my elbow but pace firm and brisk. We cross the lobby and Reed stops directly in front of Georgina.

"We were having a conversation," she says, brows slammed down, "You have no right to interrupt—"

"Oh, don't worry," Reed says, his voice measured, although I feel the muscles in his forearm thrumming with adrenaline and anger, "We'll be out of your way in just one second. Forgive us for trying to have fun while you two go on your private dates and then complain about us when you think we can't hear you."

Georgina, stricken, opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water. Hale puts a hand to his forehead with a small groan. I, however, still can't manage to wrap my head around the whole thing. Georgina Zhang, saying things like this about Reed and me? It's not right; none of it is.

But Reed continues, adopting a tone that teachers use for the misbehaving children in elementary school.

"I hate to get involved with petty drama," he reasons, "But if you don't want us here, at least say it to our faces. No need to act like a sixth-grade girl."

And with that, he pulls me along with him, and we walk to the exit, past the doors, all the way out towards the road and down a block without even looking back.

"Reed," I say, but he shakes his head, a firm no. His hand is sweaty against mine, but that hardly matters at all, because right now I'm trying to stop him and he just won't pause, not even for a second.

"Reed." I insist, and he turns to me, red-faced and breathing hard, his hand undoing itself from mine and falling to his side like a stone.

"It's not fair," he says, and his tone is more dark and angry than I've ever heard it before. "It's not fair that you can just—just let her say that thing about you. That's your best friend, Evelyn? The one who can't see your potential? The one who prioritizes her stupid, submissive boyfriend over you? The one who invites you to her dates with him, and then gets mad when you invite someone else to keep you company? Are you sure, Evelyn? Are you sure that's a friendship?"

"Reed—"

"No," he says, so fiercely that my voice dies in my throat. "Evelyn, you don't—you can't see it. You can't see the amazing person that you are, and the fact that you just take whatever people say about you—"

He shakes his head, fists clenching and unclenching. I don't think he's been this angry in his life, and it's unnerving.

"Reed?" I ask, a choked-out name, about the only thing that I can bring myself to say. He looks up at me, blue eyes still lit with a certain fire that I can't even describe, anger and sadness and empathy and a million other things. It is that gaze that shuts me up. My voice ceases to function. I just stare at him.

"Evelyn," he says, before directing his gaze to the pavement. "Oh, Evelyn."

I'm not sure what it's supposed to mean, the quiet murmuring of my name, but it makes me feel safe. As if someone has just wrapped a blanket around me, tight and snug, the way Mom would whenever I was home with a cold or the flu. As if the weight on my shoulders that I didn't even know existed has been lifted.

As if I can breathe again.

And it is his voice that drags me back to this moment, on some random street in Atlantic City, on some otherwise irrelevant night. It is his voice that says,

"I hope you can see it one day. The way I do."