On an Edge of Glass

took at the end of our first official date. 
    I blink and let my eyes refocus.  I know without anyone telling me, that each picture of Ben is somehow incredibly intimate.  It’s the equivalent of me hiring one of those skywriting planes to declare my feelings in white smoke to everyone standing below.  And with Ben being a no-show, it sort of seems like having my chest cut open and my beating heart pulled out and left, exposed and bleeding out on the cold marble floor.
                  I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away.  I trap my breath in my lungs and hold it there before releasing it through my teeth.  When I open my eyes it takes me several seconds to put everything together.  I blink once, then twice, then a third time. 
                  Ben is here. 
                  He’s centered in the threshold of the gallery hall staring at my photographs.  He’s wearing a plain white button-down shirt under a tailored black jacket.  Dark corduroy pants cover his long, lean legs.  Everything fits him in exactly the right places.  His chocolate brown hair is loose, brushing his shoulders.  He’s clean-shaven
                  He pivots his head toward me and I stop breathing.  The air in the room stills.  It feels like the walls are full of blinking eyes and they’re all trained on me.
    Ben ’s pink mouth is a straight line slashed across his face.  He’s squinting at me like he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing.  I want to reach out and touch him from across the room.  I want to smooth out the tiny lines around his eyes and I desperately want him to understand—to see the words beyond the photographs .   
                  I walk toward him and offer an unsteady smile because it’s the only kind I’ve got right now. 
    “I thought maybe you weren’t going to make it,” I say quietly, stepping up beside him.
    He looks between me and the photographs framed on the wall.  “I told you that I wouldn’t miss it.”  He lifts his hand and then lets it fall back against his leg.  “I’m glad that I got to see this.”
    I take in a huge breath.  “I’m glad too.  Because, no matter what happens after tonight, I want—no, that’s not right. I need you to know how I really feel.”  I pause.  God, my voice is as shaky as the rest of me.  “What happened before—all of it was…  I-I guess what I’m trying to say is…”
    Oh my God.  Could I possibly botch this some more?  Ben’s eyes are drilling into mine.  His mouth is parted and his chest is rising and falling visibly.  I reach out and brush my fingers over his.  He pulls his hand back.
                  “I’m trying to say…”  I start again.  What am I trying to say?  I know that I mapped out all of this, but it’s like I’ve forgotten everything.  Maybe all of the important words are somewhere else, in some other girl’s head.  I let my eyes fall to the floor—to the toes of my fancy new high heels which are almost touching Ben’s shoes.  Hot tears pinch the backs of my eyes. 
    “I’m in love with you, Ben.”  The sentence comes out of me like a puff of air.  I’m not even sure Ben heard me.  He’s looking down at me with this strange expression.  I watch his throat move and his shoulders tighten. 
    Then, without saying a single word, he turns and walks away from me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
    Heart of Glass
     
     
    If the question is: what’s more mortifying than professing your love to a boy and having him turn and walk away from you?
                  The answer is: professing your love to a boy, while standing in front of your friends, parents and a hundred strangers, and having him turn and walk away from you.
                  My humiliation is complete.  I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Mark’s car.  The exhibit ended twenty minutes ago.  Ainsley and Payton went home.  My parents hugged me before getting in the car and driving to their hotel.  I shook a thousand hands and said a million goodbyes.  I know what everyone was thinking.  I know that they all witnessed my heart get flattened by Ben.  I know that I’m wearing embarrassment all around me like a gaudy winter coat.  I know all of it, but I still can’t be sorry.
                  Because even after what happened tonight, I think that Ainsley was right.  Sure, just now things feel shitty and I’ve got this huge