The Way Things Change

Slow Steps Forward

The weekend came and went with a quiet sense of anticipation hanging over me. Betty had agreed to start over, to try again, but the fragile nature of it all made me cautious. I was terrified of doing something wrong—saying the wrong thing, moving too fast, pushing too hard. I'd been given a second chance, but there was no guarantee of a third.

We didn't see each other much over the weekend. I wanted to text her, to ask how she was doing, but I resisted. She'd said we needed to take things slow, and that's what I was going to do. It was like learning how to be around each other all over again, with an unspoken rule that this time, we couldn't afford to make the same mistakes.

On Monday, I finally saw her again.

I was at my locker, the same routine as every morning. The crowded hallway buzzed with energy, a mix of voices, laughter, and lockers slamming shut. I wasn't sure if she would stop by, but there she was, standing just a few feet away.

"Hey," Betty said softly, her voice barely rising above the din of the hallway.

I turned to face her, surprised but glad to see her. She wore her usual comfortable, laid-back clothes—jeans and a light sweater—but the tension in her shoulders told me she wasn't fully at ease.

"Hey," I replied, trying to keep things light. "How was your weekend?"

She smiled faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was good. Quiet. I thought a lot, though. About us. About what we talked about."

I nodded, leaning against the locker, trying not to seem too eager but grateful she'd brought it up. "Me too. I didn't want to push, but I'm glad we're talking again."

"I am too," she said, her gaze steady but careful. "I thought about how we can do this... how we can make sure we don't fall back into the same old patterns."

I could sense her hesitation, like she was trying to find the right way to express herself. "I don't want to make things harder for you," I said quickly. "I'm willing to follow your lead."

Betty smiled again, this time a bit more genuinely. "That's the thing, James. I think we need to figure it out together. But maybe we can start by just... hanging out, like we used to. No pressure."

"Yeah, of course. That sounds good," I said, the knot of anxiety loosening just a bit. "We can start slow. No expectations. Just be friends, you know?"

She nodded, relief flickering across her face. "That's exactly what I need. I miss you, but I want us to feel real again. Not forced."

I smiled at her, and for the first time in what felt like ages, it wasn't weighed down by guilt or uncertainty. "We'll figure it out."

---

That afternoon, we decided to meet at the park again after school. This time, it felt different. Lighter. Like we weren't dragging around all the baggage from the past few months but rather walking forward with something new. I could feel the cautious hope between us—fragile but present.

We sat by the oak tree again, where we'd had so many important conversations. The leaves rustled gently in the breeze, the late afternoon sun casting warm light across the park.

Betty was quiet for a moment, staring out at the open field before turning to me. "I think one of the hardest parts is trusting again."

Her words hung in the air between us, and I nodded slowly. "I get it. I broke your trust, Betty. I don't expect it to come back overnight."

She glanced down at her hands, twisting the bracelet on her wrist like she always did when she was nervous. "I know you're sorry, James. I know you mean it. But it's hard for me to forget how much it hurt."

Hearing her say it so directly still stung, but I knew she was right. Trust wasn't something that could be fixed with apologies alone. It was built over time, through actions, through showing up when it mattered most.

"I don't expect you to forget," I said quietly. "And I don't want you to. I just want to show you that I'm better than the person who messed up. That I'm worth trusting again."

Betty's eyes softened as she looked at me. "I want to believe that, James. I really do. But I need time."

"I'll give you all the time you need," I said, my voice steady. "I just want to be here for you, even if it's just as friends."

She smiled, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like we were on the same page. There was no pressure, no expectation. Just two people trying to figure out how to reconnect in a way that felt safe.

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking about easier things—school, our friends, the upcoming football game. It was like the old days, where everything felt easy and natural. We laughed about stupid inside jokes, shared random stories, and, for a little while, I let myself believe that maybe we really could get back to something good. Something real.

---

The next few weeks went by in a blur of tentative progress. Betty and I saw each other more often—sometimes at school, sometimes at the park. We even started hanging out with our group of friends again, though we were careful not to make things too awkward. Everyone seemed to notice the shift, the way we were around each other, but no one brought it up. They let us have our space to figure it out.

There were moments when I wanted to ask if we were ready for more, but I held back. Betty had been clear that she needed time, and I wasn't going to ruin the delicate balance we'd found by rushing her. Besides, it felt good just to be around her again, to rebuild something that felt real and solid.

One Friday after school, Betty texted me unexpectedly: Wanna grab ice cream?

It wasn't anything grand, but it felt like a small victory. She was reaching out, inviting me into her world again. I jumped at the chance.

We met at our favorite ice cream shop, the one we used to go to all the time when we were younger. Walking inside felt like slipping back into a familiar rhythm, the scent of waffle cones and chocolate filling the air as we scanned the menu.

"Double chocolate chip, right?" I asked with a grin, already knowing her answer.

"Obviously," Betty laughed, nudging me with her elbow. "And you're still going to get vanilla, aren't you?"

"What can I say? I'm a simple guy," I said, chuckling.

We took our ice cream and sat outside, the late summer sun casting golden light across the street. The conversation flowed easily, like it used to, and for the first time in a while, I felt like we were back on solid ground. It wasn't the same as before, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe we were building something new—something better.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Betty turned to me, her expression more serious. "I know we're taking things slow, and I'm glad. But I just wanted you to know... I'm not closing the door on us. I'm just making sure we do it right this time."

I felt a wave of relief wash over me, but I kept my voice steady. "I'm with you, Betty. I don't want to mess this up. Whatever pace you need, I'll follow."

She smiled, her eyes warm, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like we were really moving forward—together.