Free Back When You Were Easier to Love by Wing Smith Emily Page B

he kept saying: “I have to get away from this. All of this.” And my mind must know he said other things. My mind must hold them tight in its deepest creases. Because all my ears know, all my eyes know, all my heart knows is that he had to get away from this. All of this.
    It’s never just one thing. It’s a combination of things so small that if they weren’t all stacked together nothing would change at all. Small things stacked on top of each other made him leave, but I wasn’t one of them, was I?
    Was I?

WEDNESDAY NIGHT
    I come to Mattia’s house with a sleeping bag, a weekend’s worth of clothes, and a convenience-store-in-a-duffel.
    As I expect, she doesn’t notice. Instead she says, “I was wondering when you’d get here!” as we head downstairs to her bedroom.
    I’m late because I had to call Noah with the new plan. I don’t tell Mattia this.
    Mattia has a huge bedroom, the “second master” with its own bathroom, a walk-in closet, and a window seat wide enough—and just barely long enough—for me to sleep on. I love the window seat, plus it has the added benefit of being on the ground level. I’ve told Noah to knock on the window tomorrow morning instead of honking or ringing the doorbell, so as not to arouse suspicion.
    “Okay,” she says. “Now that we’re here alone, in person, without any interruptions, will you finally tell me about what’s up with you and Noah?”
    I start unrolling my sleeping bag. “There’s nothing to tell about me and Noah. He’s just like . . .” What is he just like? He’s not just like anything, or anyone. “I still don’t like him,” I finally say, which is, for the most part, true.
    “Riiight,” she says, glancing over at my makeshift bed. “Come on. We’re going on a walk.” Only now do I notice her hair’s braided and she’s wearing a pair of trendy-but-not-too-trendy athletic pants.
    “Now?” I say, yawning.
    Mattia raises an eyebrow. “It’s eight thirty.” She lifts up a corner of her bed skirt to reveal a pair of Nikes. “Noah lives a few streets over. I figured we could casually walk by his house while you fill me in on things. Like when we do drive-bys, except on foot.”
    Drive-bys. We do them for the guys anyone in our group likes. Or the guys Mattia thinks we should like. We’ve driven past the houses of about a dozen guys she’s seen as potential prospects for one of us.
    We drove past Zan’s. We were crammed into the Rabbit and we laughed, and we kept the windows down and the radio up. I saw a lit window and wondered if it was his; wondered if he was thinking of me.
    “We’re not doing some drive-by/walk-by for Noah. Drive-bys are reserved for guys who hold romantic promise.”
    “Um, yeah. Like Noah.”
    “No.”
    “Then why did he call you yesterday? Don’t try to lie. I already know it was about something important, or you would have told me about it long ago.” She stops tying her shoe and stares at me. This is the most attention I’ve had from her, like, ever.
    “Okay, fine. Here it is: tomorrow morning I’m going to Claremont. With Noah. He needed my number so we could discuss the details.” I’m expecting an explosion and Mattia does not disappoint.
    “You’re going to Claremont with Noah and not me?” she shrieks. Then her face drains of color and she repeats it, slower and softer. “You’re going to Claremont with Noah and not me. Because you want to see Zan. This isn’t a college visit at all, is it? You’re not going to Claremont—you’re going to see Zan.”
    She makes it sound like I’ve been lying to her. “No, I am going to Claremont. And we are going on a college visit. And we’re going to find Zan there.”
    “ Find Zan? Why? Zan doesn’t need to be found. You already know where he is. You’re going there to stalk him!”
    “I’m going there to help him!” He needs to remember what he left behind when he took off. He needs to remember me.
    “He doesn’t want your help! Face it,