You Didn't Tell Me He Was Back
1277 Words
Amy POV
After I finally stopped reliving my middle school years, I started getting ready real quick. It was time to meet Savannah.
My dark blue 2012 Ford Fusion rattled slightly as I pulled into a spot across from La Petite, a cute french lunch place on the beach.
The thing had more miles than I cared to admit, the air conditioning fought for its life against the Cocoa Beach heat, and the seats were permanently warm no matter how long I let it cool off. Too damn hot for Florida. But it ran. It got me from point A to point B, and that was more than I had most of my life.
Austin bought it for me.
Scraped together money he didn’t really have, because that’s what he does. That was the first time he came to my rescue as an adult, not just a big brother trying to shield me from the world. I’d just graduated high school with no plan, no money, and nowhere that felt like it belonged to me. He told me I needed a job. A real one. Somewhere I wouldn’t feel disposable.
“You know what it’s like,” he’d said. “Those kids need someone like you.”
That was how I ended up applying to work at the children’s shelter. And this car? This was how I got there. Without it, I never would have been hired. When they called to tell me I got the job, I sat right here in the driver’s seat and cried until my face hurt.
So yeah. I loved this ugly, overheated, dependable piece of crap.
I shut it off, took a breath, and headed inside.
Savannah was already there, sitting outside with her legs tucked under the table, tapping her foot like she was late for something even though she was early. Some things never changed.
She looked exactly like herself. Same height as me. Same expressive face that gave everything away even when she tried to hide it. Her blonde hair had grown into loose waves instead of the straight style she wore in high school, and she still wore her glasses—thin black frames she refused to give up because contacts “felt like betrayal.”
When she spotted me, she waved like she was flagging down a lifeboat.
“Amy!”
She stood up and hugged me so hard I almost knocked over her coffee.
“Careful,” I laughed. “You’re going to spill that outrageously expensive drink.”
She pulled back, grinning. “Worth it. Also—you’re late.”
“I’m five minutes late.”
“You’re late.”
I slid into the chair across from her and decided to mess with her. “You chew gum like a cow.”
She froze, slowly peeled the gum out of her mouth, and wrapped it in a napkin. “First of all, rude. Second, you used to chew ice like you were trying to destroy it.”
“Ice is silent.”
“It is absolutely not.”
We stared at each other for a second before laughing, the sound carried off by the ocean breeze. Just like that, my shoulders dropped. Savannah had always done that. She made the world feel lighter without even trying.
A waiter came by, and I ordered a latte and something with a French name I didn’t bother pronouncing correctly.
“So,” Savannah said once he left, leaning forward. “How’s life as a future teacher who refuses to actually graduate?”
“Excuse you,” I said. “I am pacing myself.”
“You’ve been ‘pacing yourself’ since Obama was in office.”
“Education degrees are hard.”
“So is committing,” she shot back.
“Wow. Who hurt you?”
She smiled innocently. “You did. When you chose shelter work instead of college full-time.”
I shrugged. “I needed the job. And they needed someone who understood.”
Her teasing softened. “How are the kids?”
I wrapped my hands around my mug when it arrived, grounding myself. “Messy. Loud. Sweet. One of them asked me if the moon ever gets lonely.”
Savannah’s face melted. “What did you say?”
“That it keeps the stars company,” I said. “And that it watches kids who need extra help sleeping.”
She smiled. “You were always meant for that.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Still dancing like your knees don’t hate you?”
She groaned. “They hate me. But yes. Studio all day, rehearsals all night. My parents think it’s ‘cute’ but I’m still figuring things out.”
I smiled softly. Savannah had always had a solid, middle-class family. Not perfect. Just… stable. Two parents. A house. Dinner at the table. Something I watched from the outside.
She studied me for a moment. That look again.
“So,” she said casually. “You didn’t tell me he was back.”
I stared into my latte. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Benjamin always matters to you.”
“I do not—”
She leaned back. “Amy. I watched him make your life miserable. I also watched him save you.”
I sighed. “You mean those girls.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Exactly those girls.”
Tamera and Heather weren’t just bullies. They were predators in cheer skirts. Older. Louder. Confident in the kind of way that came from knowing people would believe them over me every single time. They mocked my clothes, my glasses, my braces, my silence. Whispered just loud enough. Spilled things on me “accidentally.” Made it clear I didn’t belong.
What made it worse was Bennie.
One day he was dating Tamera. The next, it was Heather. Like a sick game of musical chairs that always ended with me being collateral damage. They loved reminding me I was nothing. Loved using him as a weapon.
Savannah shook her head. “They were awful. And he knew it.”
“He did,” I admitted. “And he still dated them.”
She smirked. “But he still stood up for you even when he stopped talking to you. And that’s where it gets messy my friend.”
“I hate messy.”
“You love messy,” she said. “You dated it.”
I winced. “Low blow.”
She sobered. “That guy didn’t deserve you.”
I swallowed. “He yelled a lot. But he paid for the apartment.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “But it made it easier to pretend I wasn’t going to be left again.”
Savannah reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You weren’t hard to love, Amy. You were surrounded by people who didn’t know how.”
My throat tightened. God, I hope Austin doesn't find out the truth. He just thinks I left because we both agreed to break up.
“And now Bennie’s back,” she added lightly. “So. Good luck with that unresolved chaos.”
I groaned. “You are enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
We sat there longer than we meant to, talking about school, work, and the strange in-between space of adulthood. And even though my stomach flipped every time Benjamin’s name surfaced, sitting there with Savannah, with the ocean stretching endlessly in front of us, it felt manageable.
Like maybe the past didn’t own me anymore.
Even if it still had Bennie written all over it.
- Writer
