Violetta Craft's Arc

Chapter 44 of 65

By the end of the first week, the whole school knew about Greg and Violetta. That was the easy part. The hard part started Thursday night, when Greg knocked on her door at seven with takeout and a movie. Violetta was at her machine with pins in her mouth and the skirt panel half pieced. She let him in because she wanted to. She lost two hours because of it. Friday he came again. Saturday he wanted to walk in the park. Sunday he brought coffee and stayed through Elowen's nap. Violetta smiled every time she saw him. Then she went upstairs at ten p.m. and looked at the dress form and counted what she had not finished. Sixteen roses left to sew. Three panels uncut. Four months, minus a week she would not get back. Monday she asked him to meet her at the gazebo in the park after school. She left Elowen with her mother. She walked over with her hands in her pockets and found him already there, leaning on the rail with two coffees, wearing the navy hoodie. "Hey," he said. He held out a cup. She did not take it. "I have to stop seeing you every night." He set the cup on the rail. "Okay. How many nights?" "None. Until the showcase." He stared at her. "Four months." "Four months." "Violetta." He laughed once, not funny. "I waited a year for you to say yes. Now you want me to wait another four." "I want to finish my dress." "You can finish it and see me on a Friday." "I tried. I lost the week." He looked out at the grass. His jaw moved. "So I'm the problem." "You're not the problem. My time is the problem. But you're what's using it." "That's the same sentence." "Then it's the same sentence." He pushed off the rail. "I kissed you at your locker in front of everyone. I sat through your baby's nap. I didn't ask you for anything." "I know." "And now you're picking a dress." "Yes." He waited for her to soften it. She did not. The wind moved the wooden trim above them. He picked up his coffee and hers and dropped both in the trash can by the steps. "Then we're done," he said. "I'm not a pause button." "Okay." He walked down the gazebo steps and across the grass. He did not look back. Violetta stood at the rail until he was gone. Her chest hurt in a clean, narrow way, like a pin sliding in straight. She drove home. Lymber looked up from the couch and read her face and did not ask. Violetta went upstairs, washed her hands, and sat at the machine. She threaded the needle and started the next rose. By midnight she had sewn four.