Crazily, it feels like this is exactly where we’re supposed to be.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lying in Shane’s arms is the best thing in the world.
I mean, it takes us a while to work out the perfect position—and there’s some awkward squirming—but once I settle against his chest, I feel like a bomb could go off and I’d still be safe. I’m not used to that feeling. The last time I had it, I was with my dad. When I was little, he’d always take me to see the Fourth of July parade and he’d toss me up onto his shoulders, so I could see better and I never once thought he’d let me fall. Snuggled up against Shane, that’s exactly how I feel right now. Well, the security part, not the dad part. Not even close.
“Can I ask you something?”
He stirs against me, moving his hand over my back. “I think you just did.”
“What was it like with your mom?” Maybe the question is too personal, but I want to understand him, and this seems like the obvious place to start.
“There were good days and bad days. When she was in remission, I could pretend everything was fine. She did more then. Worked on her songs.”
“She was a musician, too?”
“Yeah. She’s the one who taught me to play the guitar. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t singing … except at the very end.”
“Alto or soprano?”
“Alto. When I was a kid, I thought all moms made up songs about broccoli.”
“She sounds like she was wonderful.”
Shane nods; I feel the movement against my head. That’s how close we are. Maybe it’s easier for him to talk about her because it’s dark and he can’t see my face. “It’s been nine months, but sometimes I forget. Like, I wake up in a panic because I can’t remember if she’s had all her meds.”
“I have bad dreams, too.” Hopefully he won’t ask about them. I also hope he doesn’t think I’m saying that for attention. I just want him to know that he’s not alone.
“Not tonight,” he promises. “Not when we’re together.”
“You either.”
“I feel okay,” he says.
That’s enough to make me smile. “Night,” I whisper.
I expect to have trouble sleeping, but the next thing I know, it’s morning with light shining through my window and birds making a racket outside. (Did I ever mention that I hate birds?) Shane looks cute, even at this hour. He’s grown faint scruff on his jaw and his lashes are tangled, giving glimpses of his blue eyes like glimmers of sky through a canopy of leaves. He’s smiling, I think, as I roll out of bed. I’m a little stiff from staying in the same position all night, but nothing serious.
I’m weirdly nervous and excited at the same time. I’ve never slept with anyone before, not even girls at sleepovers because life with my mom didn’t permit anything like that … and I didn’t have any close girlfriends before this year. Besides, I don’t think Lila would want to spoon in my bed even if she did stay over. I picture her camping out on the floor instead.
“You want some breakfast?” I ask.
According to my alarm clock, it’s 8:10. I can’t imagine Joe will bring my aunt back too early, so we have time. It’s nearly an hour from the city, too. Shane rolls out of bed and scrambles into his jeans so fast that I don’t see much, then I’m left thinking about morning wood. He was holding me away from him, so I wonder—
He interrupts my blush-inducing thoughts with, “Yeah, that’d be nice. Then I need to get home. I have some things to do before my shift.”
As I look on, Shane swaps the U of M tee for his button-up and I suddenly have butterflies in my stomach. His bare chest is … delicious. He’s lean and strong without being too muscled. I don’t let on that I’ve never seen a half-naked guy up close and personal before. It’s my private opinion that I should win an Oscar for being so very cool about all of this.
I search my brain for reasonable response. “When do you work?”
“Three to eleven, Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday.”
I’m pleased to hear he’ll have Fridays free, though I can’t assume he’ll want to do this every week. And he certainly can’t stay over all the time. “Noted.”
In the kitchen, I whip up some scrambled eggs and toast. He eats quickly, but I think it’s a sign that he’s worried about being here when my aunt gets home. Afterward, he leans down to kiss me. For a few seconds, I forget my own name.
I’m dazed when he says, “See you tomorrow?” like that’s a question.
“Yeah. That reminds me … I told my aunt I’d do the shopping for tomorrow’s lunch. So when I show up at the P&K, don’t assume it’s because I’m stalking you.”
“If I was going to think that, it would’ve been when you showed up at my house, out in the middle of nowhere.”
He has a point—and it’s closer to true than I’d like to admit. “Then see you later, maybe.”
“Do you want me to help you clean up?” I shake my head, but he totally gets twenty gold stars for offering. “Later, Sage.”
Shane shrugs into his jacket and he’s out the door at a quick jog. I’d like to say I don’t stand at the window to watch until he turns off my street. That would be a lie. Eventually I get motivated enough to clean the kitchen and hide the evidence of my sleepover. I feel so awful; this is the first truly bad thing I’ve done since I got here. So I work like crazy all morning to make up for it. The house is spotless by the time Aunt Gabby sweeps in at ten; she doesn’t have time to do anything but change her clothes before work. I’m glad Joe doesn’t come in. Though I like the guy well enough, I’m not eager to make conversation on a Saturday morning, especially when I suspect he boned my aunt the night before.
“You have enough money to buy stuff for tomorrow? If not, there’s some cash in the coffee can,” she tells me as she sweeps out the door.
“Bye!” I call, feeling guilty that she trusts me and here I let a boy spend the night.
She can never find out. She thinks you’re better, that you’re good.
I do a couple hours of homework while ignoring the ping of texts from Ryan. Once I finish, I check my phone, still in my bag from the night before. To my surprise, they’re not just from Ryan. I have messages from multiple people, including Lila and the sophomores.
Text from Ryan: did u have fun last night
Text from Lila: will pick u up at 7:15, ok?
I realize then that I haven’t asked my aunt if I can go to a party at the Barn. She thinks we’re making lasagna tonight. Crap. Having a social life is complicated. The other messages are confirming the time for lunch tomorrow. Quickly I send replies: yes, yes, and 2:30, see you then.
If I do some prep work, we can probably put together the pasta before I leave with Lila. So I head to the market to do the shopping, then I get to work in the kitchen.
Later, when Aunt Gabby calls, I say, “All we need to do is finish up when you get here.”
“This much ambition means you want something.”
She’s sharp, my aunt. “Y’know. I forgot to ask earlier, but … is it okay if I go with Lila to a party out at the Barn tonight? Transportation is covered.”
“No drinking to excess,” she says. “And be home by midnight.”
It’s cool that she doesn’t ask if there will be liquor or parental supervision. Since my aunt grew up here, she knows what goes on out at the Barn, and I’m sure she partied out there a time or two, back in the day. Instead she trusts me not to drink until I vomit or do anything ridiculous.
“Done,” I promise.
“And I expect to hear about Shane while we fix the lasagnas. Those are my terms.”
“I accept.”
Just then, I hear the bell jingle, which means she has an actual customer, not an order from the interwebs. “Gotta go. See you in a bit.”
I spend the rest of the day getting ready for the party. This is my first time, but I figure nobody dresses up, so I go with jeans and a sparkly cream sweater. In the dark, I doubt anybody will noti
ce, but I think it’s pretty. Then I put on an apron in case I manage to get red sauce on me. I’ll do my hair and makeup after we finish.
When my aunt gets home, I have everything set out with military precision. She laughs at how prepared I am. “You really want to go, huh?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I’d like to see what it’s all about.”
“I’m really glad to see you branching out, making new friends. I’m looking forward to meeting them all tomorrow.”
“Should be fun.”
“So … Shane,” she prompts, filling the bottom of the pan with lasagna noodles.
Aunt Gabby is a pro at putting all of this together, so I stand back. I’ve done my share by getting it all ready and I’ll handle the salad tomorrow, plus cleanup. Taking a seat at the table, I watch while she spoons in the veggie and soy filling, cottage cheese, mozzarella, then the next layer of pasta.
“He’s phenomenal.”
“Two words aren’t getting you to a party tonight.”
I grin … and recount how the date went. Pretty much the only things I leave out are the kissing and the fact that he spent the night in my bed. I tell her that he’s a gifted guitar player and that he applied at the P&K after she told me about the HELP WANTED sign and that he got the job to help out with family expenses. I don’t share that his dad is a long-haul trucker who doesn’t even live with him. Asshole.
“A musician, huh?” Her smile seems extra curvy. “I dated one in college. Just wait until he writes you a song. That’s a guaranteed panty-dropper.”
“You did not just say that. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to use that phrase.”
She shrugs as she puts the lasagna in the fridge. “You’re sixteen. Get over it.”
So Aunt Gabby only gets awkward and embarrassed when discussing her prospective sex life. Mine is apparently fair game. I mumble something about doing my hair and makeup and escape to my bedroom. As I’m getting ready, I wonder if there will be a bonfire out at the Barn—what it’ll be like exactly. This is what cool people do on weekends instead of seeing movies or hanging out in the square.
Just past seven thirty, Lila pulls up in the promised golf cart. I laugh when I see it because the thing is totally decked out with running lights. It looks like somebody featured it on an episode of Pimp My Ride. Aunt Gabby stares out the window, eyes wide.
“Are you two kidding me with this?”
“How did you think I was getting there?”
“Eh. I figured you probably caved on the car thing.”
I shake my fist, making a supervillain face. “Never!”
Then I shrug into my vintage faux-leather jacket. It has a nicely grungy look to it and a vaguely military air. Overall, I look pretty good, so I’m feeling confident as I peck my aunt on the cheek, grab my bag, and run out to join Lila before she reconsiders this idea.
“How many people honked at you on the way over here?” I ask, climbing in.
“Six.”
“Seriously?” I want to ask if it bothers her, but she’s grinning, so that would be a no.
“Yep. But this thing’s fun to drive. I kick it up to the highest setting and it gets pretty close to thirty miles an hour.” I have no idea if that’s fast, and I guess she can tell. “Normal ones do fifteen.”
I wave to my aunt as we pull away. Lila is careful to take back roads as we leave the subdivision and head out into the country. A few cars honk at us as they pass, but since the drivers are smiling and waving, it doesn’t seem like a big deal. The cops might be less amused, but the farther we get from town, the less likely it is anyone will bother us. Since the golf cart is open, it’s cold as hell, but worth it when the alternative is riding in a car. It takes about half an hour to get to the Barn, and by that time, it’s pretty late. There’s a fire crackling away, sending orange sparks up toward the dark sky. I’m glad to see it, as I wish I’d worn a scarf and gloves. Beyond, there are a bunch of cars parked in the field. Lila picks a spot where she’s not likely to be blocked in. Somebody must be in charge of the music because it’s blasting from one of the trucks.
“This is it,” she says. “Impressive enough for you?”
“I guess.” I hop out of the golf cart, ready to be amazed.
“Let me give you the grand tour. Here, we have the social types.” Lila gestures.
The ones she indicates are clustered around the fire while others run around. By the stumbling, it seems like they’re already pretty wasted. I follow Lila across the uneven ground, glad I opted for boots instead of Chucks. She points at the drunken game of tag.
“Those are the hard-core drinkers. They were probably toasted before they got here.”
“Note to self—avoid the pro drinkers to keep them from hurling on me.”
Lila grins at me. “In some cases, you’ll have to be quick. That guy’s kind of a ninja barfer.”
“Why, God, why?” I mumble.
“Hey, you wanted to come.”
I answer her smile with a smirk. “I feel like Jane Goodall, studying apes in the wild.”
“Take good notes. Maybe you can publish your findings later.” She continues by pointing at the open barn doors. “Inside, you’ll find couples doing things they should reserve for seedy hotel rooms and the backseats of cars. Beware the hayloft.”
“Do you know how scratchy hay actually is?”
“Not firsthand. But I’m not the kind to put out in a barn, regardless of what Dylan says.”
I touch her shoulder lightly. “He’s an asshole. Let’s go see who’s here.”
She ignores the kegs and the coolers full of beer. Luckily I spot some Cokes mixed in with the Budweiser and grab two of them for us. I’d prefer hot chocolate or tea, but this is strictly low-rent. A few people have brought bags of marshmallows and packs of hot dogs. I take the former from a guy who might be in my chemistry class. Because I have nothing better to do, I focus on toasting my marshmallow to the perfect shade of light brown. This feat requires absolute patience.
I’m about to eat the perfect marshmallow when Dylan Smith says, “Wow. I can’t believe you have the nerve to show up here, Lila.”
In the flickering firelight, her face is pale and tense. Given how much he hates her for breaking up with him, there’s no way this doesn’t get ugly.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“You need to leave her alone,” I say quietly.
Dylan doesn’t even notice when I join them; he’s too focused on Lila to see anything else. She wasn’t kidding when she said he was abnormal about their breakup. It’s like he can’t accept that anyone would leave him. I’m unsure if that makes him conceited or insane.
“Fuck off, you fat bitch. This doesn’t concern you.”
The people in our immediate area quiet, not wanting to miss a minute of this. But there’s no way I’m letting this go further. He has no right to screw with Lila when we’re here like everyone else, hanging out on a Saturday night. Dylan Smith has been making Lila’s life hell since she had the nerve to dump his loser ass, but she’s my friend, and I’m not having it. I grab Dylan’s arm.
“Actually it does. Come on.” Shadow Sage surges to the front of my brain, all darkness and destruction. She knows exactly how to break this little shit, and for the first time in three years, I’m going to let her.
“Looks like the Princess is hot for you,” one of his friends calls.
“It’s to be expected.” Surprise colors his tone, despite the cocky words, and he follows me more out of curiosity than anything else.
Once I get him away from the others, I drop his arm like it’s a snake about to bite me. “So here’s the deal. You leave Lila alone. You don’t talk to her. You don’t talk about her. You don’t look at her. You don’t even think about her. Matter of fact, that goes for all my friends. You and your crew just steer clear from now on, got me?”
“You’re crazy—”
“I’m not.” I cut off his bluster with a hard look. “See, even though you’re a
complete dickhead, I suspect you love your mom. Even if she’s banging Principal Warick … the very married Principal Warick. I’m sure you get tired of people telling you what a MILF your mother is. Imagine how much worse it could be, if people found out she’s having an affair—”
“Shut up.” Dylan lunges at me, clamping a hand over my mouth.
There are enough people in view that I’m not worried he’ll do more. If he tries, I’ll show him all the ways I can make him hurt. Because I’m only playing the role of nice girl; I’ve spent a portion of my life as something else entirely.
In a small town like this one, Tamara Smith, the hot school secretary, draws censure for how she dresses, the amount of makeup she wears, and for the way she’d allegedly cheated on her husband—and that’s why he left. Whatever the truth, she’s definitely doing Principal Warick. I’ve seen them kissing, but I never would’ve brought it up if Dylan didn’t made a career of screwing with two people I care about: Lila and Shane.
He applies more pressure, almost enough to bruise my jaw. So I bite him.
Dylan lets go, hate warring with unease in his eyes. He stumbles back a few steps, then he yells to his friends, “These bitches aren’t worth it.”
I take one breath, another, watching him walk away. Time to put the scary back in the box. The athletic crew disappears around the side of the barn, then Lila heads over, looking astonished. “What the hell did you say to him?”
By the time, I turn to face her, I’ve got my mask back in place.
I shrug. “I just made it clear he can’t mess with you anymore.”
“I hope you don’t regret this. Dylan isn’t known for letting shit go.”
“Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf.”
Lila still seems doubtful but I don’t reveal anything. If I tell her, she might repeat it, and then I’ll lose my leverage. My anger at Dylan writhes like a snake twining and tightening around my intestines, but this is where I stop. It takes all my willpower to smile and eat my marshmallow, which has cooled off nicely. The rest of the party is quiet compared to the beginning. I play a game of beer pong, set up on two sawhorses and a plywood board; my team loses, mostly because I suck. After that, Lila and I dance by the bonfire while various guys try to hit on us. That’s … different.