| published! under the new title MEET ME IN THE MIDDLE | Eden knows she can't love Truman, the boy with the angelic smile and devilish eyes. Why? He's her best friend Katie's older brother, who she strictly promised she'd stay away from.
But when a...
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E D E N
I pushed Truman away. Actually pushed him. So hard that he fell over and landed on the couch. Right on top of my painting, which was thankfully dry. How long had we been kissing?
Santana cleared her throat.
"We were—" I began, the same time Truman said, "It's my—"
"I brought us lunch," Santana said, cutting us off. She walked right by us and dropped two paper bags onto the kitchen table. "It's Chinese. Figured you'd two be hungry after painting. Was I wrong?"
I blinked at Truman, who was staring at Santana like she grew a second head.
"You—What?" he said, slowly standing up.
"I said," she began, turning to face us, smiling, "I brought us lunch. Are you hungry?"
I was already walking around the room, shoving the bottles of paint into my school bag. I didn't even bother to wrap up the wet paintbrushes. I just shoved it all down, not caring. With the canvas tucked under my arm, I said, "I should go," breaking the silence.
"No." I froze. Santana's hand was curled around my wrist, holding me away from the door. "Stay for lunch," she said.
I stared at Truman, who was still speechless, idling beside the couch.
First I thought that maybe, somehow, she didn't see us kiss. But that wasn't true. As soon as the door opened, our eyes had met. And Truman's mouth was still firmly locked on mine. The worst part was that I didn't feel guilty knowing Santana was standing there, her boyfriend's mouth on mine, his hands locked on my waist. Instead, I was mad. Angry that she walked in and interrupted us.
"I should go," I repeated, tugging my arm away from hers. This was probably the time I should apologize. All I could do was reach for the door.
"Truman," Santana called, spinning to face him. "Tell Eden to stay."
"She should go—"
"Tell her to stay," she repeated.
He must have seen the way the smile disappeared from Santana's face, because he turned to me and mumbled, "Stay, Eden."
And maybe it was the way my name sounded coming from his mouth, but for whatever reason, I did. I placed my bag on the floor. I leaned the canvas against the wall. And then I took a seat at the wooden table as Santana placed forks and plates down, Truman opening the bags and taking out the food.
"I asked for extra fortune cookies," Santana said with a smile, pinching Truman's arm. Turning to me, she explained, "He's never happy with his first fortune. Always has to open three before he's satisfied."
"I don't think it works like that," I mumbled.
"A lot of things don't work out properly, Eden." The smile on her face made me freeze, chopsticks midair. I dropped the food back on my plate and pushed my chair back, crossing my hands on my lap. I wasn't hungry anymore.
