Whitney sat in his room, tossing a football into the air. He had stopped paying attention to the ball. His thoughts were somewhere else while his hands caught and threw, caught and threw. Lana's voice played through his mind like a broken record, shouting, angry with him. Disappointed in him. She had been so hurt, so shocked… what else could he have done? Told the truth? Told her everything and watched those hurting eyes look at him for the rest of the week? No, he had to lie. And now she was mad at him for that. Where had he screwed up? His heart was aching because he knew that Lana was alone now, refusing to talk to him but needing someone to talk to. And the part that killed him was that he couldn't talk to her because he was what she needed to talk about.
He barely noticed as the football fell from his hands to the floor. He wasn't sure, and he didn't want to think about it, but Lana probably wanted to break up with him. He wasn't sure why, exactly. What he had done wasn't enough. The only thing Whitney could think of was Clark. She had kissed him on the cheek, after all, that one time, and then she had gone on a date with him, no matter what she said. It was a date. Whitney was trying very hard not be angry about that. After all, overreacting had gotten him into this mess with Lana in the first place. He bent down and picked up the football. Standing, he went to his window and looked out. It was dark, and he couldn't see anything beyond the trees in his yard.
He loved her. He knew that. He had known that for a while now. But he had never told her because he wasn't sure if she felt the same. And now… well, he was almost sure she didn't feel the same. Her face, her smile, her kiss: all as precious to him as his own life. And he hadn't told anyone. Now he sort of wished that he had told her. Maybe if he had told her then she wouldn't have been so mad at him. I hate weekends, he thought. Two days. Lana would avoid him for two whole days. At school she couldn't avoid him because they had classes together and he would try to talk, but last night she had asked him not to call her, or come over. She needed time to think, she said. That was what tipped him off that she might want to break up with him. He knew all the classic lines. Every guy did. I just need some time to think. Our friendship is so important to me. I love you, but not that way. There were more.
Whitney sighed lengthily. It would have been better if she had said they could talk. He wanted to talk. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, and why, and what he was going to do to make it up to her. He wanted to explain everything and make her understand that he never wanted to hurt her. He hated this waiting. He had to sit in his room and wait and wonder what she was thinking and if she still cared for him enough to maintain their relationship. He felt angry, but there was nowhere to center that anger. It wasn't anybody's fault but his own, and he couldn't do anything about it. He left the window and threw the football across the room. It hit his pillow and bounced onto his blanket.
He felt so antsy it was crazy. Ordinarily he would have called the guys and practiced for a game, but the season was over. Besides, he wasn't sure if he wanted all their questions. He didn't want to tell anyone about his and Lana's fight yet. Instead, he went downstairs to watch TV. Maybe there was wrestling on or something. The house was quiet. His mom was working her second shift, and his dad was out back working on the car he was restoring. Whitney searched for the remote, found it between the couch cushions, and turned on the television. He flopped onto the couch and tried to forget that Lana was still thinking about whether or not to forgive him and that he wasn't allowed to call.
Wrestling wasn't on.