I was embarrassed all over again. I turned my back on him and concentrated on watering the yard.
What a fool I was! What a complete idiot! And I had just built up a nice head of angry steam when I heard, “It’s looking good, Juli. Nice job.”
It was Bryce, standing right there on our driveway. And suddenly I wasn’t mad at me anymore. I was mad at him.
How could he stand there like my supervisor and tell me, Nice job? He had no business saying anything after what he’d done.
I was about to hose him down when he said, “I’m sorry for what I did, Juli. It was, you know… wrong.”
I looked at him—into those brilliant blue eyes. And I tried to do what Chet had said—I tried to look past them.
What was behind them? What was he thinking? Was he really sorry? Or was he just feeling bad about the things he’d said?
It was like looking into the sun, though, and I had to turn away.
I couldn’t tell you what we talked about after that, except that he was nice to me and he made me laugh.
And after he left, I shut off the water and went inside feeling very, very strange.
The rest of the evening I bounced back and forth between upset and uneasy.
The worst part being, I couldn’t really put my finger on what exactly I was upset or uneasy about.
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