The Way Things Change

A Fragile Beginning

The next few weeks felt like walking on a tightrope. Betty and I were talking again—casually, at first, like we were learning how to be around each other all over again. Each text felt like progress, even if they were just about mundane things like homework or upcoming school events. It was as if we were building something fragile, and I was terrified of stepping wrong and watching it all crumble.

But slowly, we started spending time together. Short meetups in the park, talking about anything but what had happened. It was unspoken but clear that we weren't going to revisit the past just yet. Not until we could handle it. For now, we were just trying to remember how to be ourselves again.

One Friday, she suggested we go to a café after school, the one we used to go to all the time before everything got messed up. It was the first time she'd asked me to do something with her in public since that night at the party. I tried not to read too much into it, but it was hard not to feel like it was another step forward.

We sat at our usual table by the window, the late summer sun casting long shadows across the floor. Betty had her sketchbook out, doodling idly as we talked. It felt almost normal, but the ghost of everything we hadn't talked about still lingered between us.

"What are you drawing?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

She glanced down at the page, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Nothing, really. Just random stuff."

I leaned over the table to get a better look. It was a simple sketch of a tree, branches twisting and curling in intricate patterns. Betty had always been good at drawing. She used to show me her sketches all the time, but this was the first one I'd seen in months.

"It's really good," I said, meaning it.

She shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's just something to pass the time."

We fell into a comfortable silence, the hum of the café filling the space between us. For a moment, I let myself believe that we could go back to this—to the way things were before. But I knew better than that. Things weren't the same, and they never would be. I had to accept that.

Eventually, Betty looked up from her sketchbook, her expression more serious. "James... can I ask you something?"

"Of course," I said, feeling a flicker of nerves in my chest. I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

She set her pencil down, folding her hands in front of her. "Why didn't you tell me? About Augustine. After it happened, I mean."

I swallowed hard, my heart sinking. I should've known this conversation was coming, but it didn't make it any easier.

"I don't know," I said, my voice low. "I guess I was scared. I didn't want to hurt you. I thought maybe if I just kept it to myself, it wouldn't matter."

"But it does matter," she said, her eyes searching mine. "You keeping it from me—*that's* what hurt the most. I can handle mistakes, James. But I can't handle lies."

Her words cut deep, and I felt the weight of them settle over me. She was right. Keeping it from her had been the worst thing I could've done. I hadn't given her a chance to decide how she felt about it. I'd just taken that choice away from her.

"I know," I said quietly. "I'm so sorry, Betty. I should've told you right away. I just... didn't know how."

She looked down at her hands, twisting her bracelet around her wrist. "I just keep thinking... if you'd told me, maybe things would've been different. Maybe I wouldn't have found out the way I did. Maybe we could've fixed it before it got so bad."

"I've thought about that too," I admitted, my chest tight. "I don't know what would've happened. But I wish I could go back and do it differently. I really do."

Betty was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, less guarded. "I'm not saying it would've fixed everything, but... I just want to know that if something like this happens again, you'll be honest with me. Even if it's hard."

"I will," I promised, meaning it with every part of me. "I'll never lie to you again, Betty. I swear."

She nodded, her eyes meeting mine. There was a vulnerability there that I hadn't seen in a long time, like she was letting her guard down just a little. It was enough to give me hope, even if I knew we still had a long way to go.

We finished our drinks, and Betty put her sketchbook away. As we walked out of the café, the evening air was cool and crisp, the first real sign that fall was on its way. I walked her home like I used to, and for a moment, everything felt normal again.

When we reached her house, she turned to face me, her expression soft but serious. "Thanks for coming with me today," she said. "I... I had a good time."

"I did too," I said, smiling a little. "I've missed this."

She nodded, her eyes dropping to the ground. "Yeah. Me too."

We stood there for a moment, the air between us heavy with everything unsaid. I wanted to reach out, to hold her hand, but I knew better than to push. This was enough for now. I couldn't rush things.

"Goodnight, James," she said, her voice quiet but warm.

"Goodnight, Betty," I replied, watching as she turned and walked up the steps to her front door.

I stood there for a few seconds after she disappeared inside, feeling a strange mix of emotions. I was happy, hopeful even, but there was still an underlying fear that I couldn't shake. What if this wasn't enough? What if no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fix things between us?

But for now, I had to take it one step at a time. Betty was giving me a chance, and that was more than I'd expected. I just had to make sure I didn't mess it up again.

As I walked home, the sky turning from orange to deep purple, I felt lighter than I had in weeks. There was still a long way to go, but for the first time in a while, I felt like maybe—just maybe—things might turn out okay.