Free Rites of Spring by Diana Peterfreund Page A

filled his apartment with rats. Way worse than crickets.
    I felt so left out that on Wednesday, when Brandon asked if I wanted to skip my Geology lecture in favor of taking a short afternoon nap with him, I acquiesced to his demands. After all, maybe this time we’d finally cross the line we’d set back on Valentine’s Day.
    We didn’t. And we didn’t again on Thursday after my society meeting, nor on Friday when neither of us were skipping any classes at all.
    Meanwhile, every kiss we didn’t share made the next one that much harder to resist. I was lying there beside him during these indulgent—yet platonic—afternoon naps, knowing that it would take little more than a swivel of my hips to bring our bodies into alignment, to cross that invisible and all-important line between right and wrong. So I dared not move, because I was terrified of what his response would be. I knew, somehow, that if anyone was to cross the line, it had to be Brandon, just like it had to be Brandon who came over that night, had to be Brandon to be the first to admit that he missed me, to say that he still wanted me, regardless of our past.
    On Saturday, Lydia waylaid me outside my bedroom door.
    “I’m worried about you.”
    Because I’d turned into a hermit? “I know I haven’t exactly been a social butterfly lately—”
    “No, Amy. Brandon. ” She sat down. “When he came over the night of the Valentine’s Day Ball, I was so excited. Everyone had seen his girlfriend storm out of the dance. I thought they were through, or as good as through.”
    “So?”
    “So Clarissa apparently told Josh that they’re not.” She gauged my reaction, and I fought to keep it under control. “Josh thinks you don’t care. But I said that couldn’t be so.”
    Why did I feel a sudden stab of guilt for disappointing her? “Thanks for discussing me behind my back.” Again.
    “You’re welcome. Isn’t it nice to have friends who care? Now tell me what’s going on. Are they broken up? And if not, why not?”
    What was going on was that Lydia had gone and gotten herself a perfect boyfriend and had suddenly forgotten how complicated the battle of the sexes could be. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. Maybe they weren’t broken up. Maybe they were, and he was just practicing some sort of…mourning period before becoming involved with someone else. Did I really want to know that answer? “It’s complicated.”
    “Bullshit,” Lydia pronounced. “It’s easy. He wants you, or he wants her. They aren’t married. They don’t have shared property or children. They’re dating . Sure, there are going to be hurt feelings, but that doesn’t make it complicated. Awkward and potentially hurtful, but not complicated. ‘Hi, Felicity, you’ve been grand and we’ve had a really good time together, but I don’t think it’s fair to keep dating you, since I realized I still have feelings for my ex—as you know—and she wants me back—as you may not know. I’m sorry; I’m a shithead, but you’re fabulous and beautiful and I’m sure there’s a line of amazing guys waiting for the day you’re single.’ See? Easy.”
    Felicity was indeed fabulous and beautiful. I didn’t need Lydia or her imaginary suitors-in-the-wings to remind me of that.
    “So I can’t see why he’s spending so much time hiding out in your bedroom and still dating her.” Lydia shrugged. “Why doesn’t he make a choice? If it makes sense to you, please explain.”
    “It’s just that…” Okay, choose my words carefully here. “We’ve had such a rocky past. We don’t even know if what is going on between us now is a sexual, romantic kind of thing.”
    Lydia blinked. “It’s not sexual?”
    I ducked my head. “Well, no. It’s, uh—”
    “Don’t tell me. Complicated. ”
    “Yes. For now.”
    “He’s not being fair to either of you. But especially not to Felicity.”
    “So now you’re the patron saint of girlfriends?” I said. Figures. Get a real