One Small Thing. Erin Watt

can’t pretend that we didn’t have se—”

      “Shut up,” he growls.

      My eyes widen.

      Almost instantly, his features twist with distress. “I’m sorry for snapping,” he says roughly. “And I’m sorry for the other night...” He trails off, and I realize that the dark emotion swimming in his eyes isn’t quite remorse.

      It’s shame. He’s ashamed of what we did, too.

      “You regret it,” I mumble.

      This time, he looks right at me, and his stare doesn’t waver. “Yes.”

      I can’t explain the wave of hurt that crashes into me. “Because I’m her sister?” I have to ask. My voice shakes wildly with every word.

      “Yes,” Chase says again.

      That gives me pause. “But if I wasn’t her sister...” I draw a quavery breath. “Would you regret it?”

      He eyes me for a long moment, those blue eyes sweeping over my face, then shifting lower. “No,” he finally admits.

      It’s my turn to feel ashamed. That one tiny syllable—no—brings a flash of relief, a flicker of happiness. Nausea burns my throat and I want to throw up at my response to this guy.

      While I stand there immobile, Chase gently moves me aside and opens the classroom door. He disappears inside without another word.

      I turn and watch his broad back as he makes his way to his desk. He folds his tall frame into a chair and stares straight ahead.

      At the front of the room, Mrs. Russell is talking about Mathematical Practices for AP Calculus, or MPACS, that will dictate our course of study this semester. She notices me in the doorway and a slight frown creases her lips. She glances at Chase, then at me, then says, “Beth, why don’t you take a seat? There’s an empty one in the back.” AKA as far away from Chase as possible.

      I trudge into the classroom, making a pointed effort not to look at him. Our conversation was too short. I have more to say to him. I’m not entirely sure what, but I do know one thing. Chase and I have unfinished business.

      I check my watch. Our next class together is Music History. That gives me two hours to plot. Even a stone can be worn away by a constant drip of water. Well, watch out, Chase. Here comes a flood.