The Way Things Change

A New Normal

The following weeks became something of a balancing act. We had fallen into a rhythm, Betty and I, this strange, cautious dance of rebuilding what we once had. Every interaction felt like a test, each moment weighted with the importance of not moving too fast or expecting too much. But amidst the slow progress, I found comfort in the fact that we were talking again—laughing again.

It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.

One Friday afternoon, after school let out, I found myself waiting for Betty outside her last class. She hadn't asked me to meet her, but we'd been hanging out more regularly, and I figured I'd take a chance. As the bell rang, the classroom doors swung open, and students flooded into the hallways, buzzing with the energy of the weekend ahead.

Betty stepped out of her classroom, her hair tucked behind her ear, her backpack slung over one shoulder. When she saw me, her eyes lit up in a way that made my chest feel lighter.

"Hey," she said with a small smile, walking up to me. "What's up?"

"Thought I'd see if you wanted to hang out," I said, trying to sound casual. "Maybe grab coffee or something?"

She paused for a moment, like she was weighing her options, then nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good."

As we walked to the coffee shop just off campus, I could feel the easy silence between us, the kind that had once been second nature but now felt like an achievement. It was moments like this, small and seemingly insignificant, that reminded me we were still building something. Something that took time.

We got our drinks—her iced mocha, my plain black coffee—and found a quiet table in the corner of the shop. The soft murmur of conversations around us created a bubble of privacy, and for a while, we just talked about the usual things—school, our friends, the weekend.

But after a few minutes, Betty leaned back in her chair, her eyes scanning the room before settling on me. "James... I've been thinking about something."

Her tone was serious, more so than usual, and it caught my attention. I set down my coffee, suddenly feeling nervous. "Yeah? What's up?"

She bit her lip, her fingers tapping lightly on the side of her cup. "I don't want you to feel like you have to keep walking on eggshells around me. I know things are still... fragile, but I don't want you to be afraid to just be yourself."

Her words caught me off guard. I hadn't realized how much I'd been holding back, trying to navigate our fragile friendship with caution. It was true—I had been walking on eggshells, worried that one wrong move would send everything crashing down again.

"I guess I didn't want to screw things up," I admitted, my voice soft. "After everything that happened... I didn't want to push you too hard, you know?"

She nodded, understanding flashing in her eyes. "I get it. And I appreciate that you've been patient. But I don't want to feel like we're stuck in this weird limbo forever. I want to move forward, and I want you to feel like you can too."

Her words made something inside me relax, like a knot I hadn't even realized was there. I didn't have to keep second-guessing every word, every action. Betty was giving me the green light to be myself again, to stop holding back.

"Thanks for saying that," I said, feeling lighter. "I guess I just didn't want to mess it all up again."

"You won't," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "We're figuring this out together. And I trust you, James. I'm trying."

Hearing her say that, hearing the word trust again, it did something to me. It was like a small, steady flame reigniting in the dark. Trust had been the hardest thing to rebuild, and though I knew it wasn't all the way there yet, just knowing she was trying meant everything.

We stayed at the coffee shop for a while longer, falling into easier conversation after that. It was like a weight had been lifted between us. Betty seemed more relaxed, and I realized how much I'd missed the comfort of simply being around her without the shadow of everything that had happened hanging over us.

---

The next few weeks passed in a blur of small steps forward. Betty and I continued to spend more time together, and with each day, it felt less like we were rebuilding something broken and more like we were creating something new. We didn't talk about the past much, but we didn't ignore it either. There was an unspoken understanding between us that we both knew where we stood—cautious, but hopeful.

One afternoon, as we sat by the oak tree in the park, Betty turned to me with a thoughtful expression. "Do you ever think about what would've happened if that party never happened? If none of this... drama ever went down?"

I paused, considering her question. It was something I'd thought about countless times—the what-ifs, the alternate realities where I hadn't made that mistake. "Yeah," I admitted. "I think about it a lot. But I guess... I try not to get too caught up in it. We can't change the past, you know?"

Betty nodded, her gaze drifting to the tree branches above us. "I know. But sometimes I wonder if it would've been easier. If we wouldn't have had to go through all of this."

I looked at her, my chest tightening at the thought of how much I'd hurt her. "I wish I could take it all back, Betty. I really do. But... maybe going through it made us stronger. Or at least, it's making us figure out who we really are."

She was quiet for a moment, then she sighed softly. "Maybe you're right. I don't know if we would've grown as much if we didn't have to go through this."

I could hear the sadness in her voice, but there was something else there too—acceptance. She wasn't just holding on to the hurt anymore. She was letting it go, bit by bit, and I realized that maybe, just maybe, we were getting somewhere.

---

Over the next few months, Betty and I grew closer again, but in a new way. We weren't the same people we had been before the party, and that was okay. We were older, maybe a little wiser, and certainly more careful with each other's hearts.

There were moments when the old pain resurfaced, moments when trust still felt fragile, but those moments grew fewer and farther between. We were learning how to be together in a way that didn't ignore the past but didn't let it define us either.

By the time winter break rolled around, things between us felt almost normal again. Not the old normal, but a new one. A better one. One built on the understanding that we'd been through something hard and come out the other side still willing to try.

And for now, that was enough.