Curtis stepped in front of Gretchen, shielding her. "Imogen, you don't like it, fine, drop it. Why do you have to be so petty about everything? She's our friend. Can't you just support her?"
I laughed—short, hollow. Looked at him with something close to pity.
"Sure. Then go be her friend."
After that day, I didn't say a single word to Curtis.
I hadn't recovered from watching my dream get ripped apart, and he was too proud to come to me first.
He caved before I did. Stood below my building calling my name, over and over and over.
I wouldn't come down. So he kept going.
He kept going until the neighbors started knocking on our door, asking if anyone was even home.
"I know I was wrong. Please stop being angry with me?"
Curtis watched my expression carefully.
"Weather's perfect tomorrow. Let's go hiking—I've mapped out the whole route. I promise I'll get you to the best view on that mountain."
I stared at the pages and pages of notes he'd put together, and my resolve cracked.
I'd been dreaming about that mountain for so long. Curtis and I had agreed ages ago that we'd go right after exams, that we'd make it all the way to the summit to see the famous painted clouds.