Tears flood my eyes and I blink like crazy to keep them from falling. When Chase’s gaze returns to mine, his eyes are wet, too.
“If it means we can’t be friends, it’s a harder pill to swallow.” He gives me that killer half smile and slaps his hand on the roof of my car. “You should probably go home. I’ll catch you later.”
And with that, he leaves. He says those words—those thoughtful, heavy words—and then runs into his house!
I can’t believe it.
“Coward,” I mutter under my breath.
I start the engine and drive home. Not that I remember the drive. All I can think of are his words and how he mixed the bitter with the sweet.
At the side entrance, I stop and rest my forehead against the door. I don’t know what I’m going to find inside. I’m a bit scared, actually. It doesn’t sound like my parents are yelling at each other, but maybe they’re saving the yelling for my return. Maybe they’re standing behind this door, arms crossed, feet planted firmly on the ground, ready to go to battle.
But I don’t want to fight. I really don’t. Ten minutes with Chase and his impenetrable composure succeeded in relaxing me, in making me see reason. My parents crossed the line today, there’s no doubt about that. But screaming like a maniac and speeding off like an even bigger maniac isn’t going to win me any points.
We have to make peace. I know this. I just... I’m too tired to deal with the loud, angry words I know will come before the peace part.
When I walk inside, however, I’m not greeted with anything even remotely loud. I’m welcomed by grim silence and a staredown from my father.
He looms in the kitchen doorway, his dark, expressionless eyes making my knees feel weak. He holds his phone up, and even from five feet away, I can make out what he’s showing me. The screen shows a map and a green dot.
“Dad,” I start shakily.
He holds up his hand to silence me.
I shut up.
Barely restrained fury echoes in my father’s voice when he finally speaks.
“Stay away from Charles Donnelly or I’ll have him thrown back in prison.”
24
The next morning, Scarlett corners me at my locker before I can spin the combination lock.
“I don’t have the energy to fight right now” is the first thing I say, and we can both hear the fatigue in my voice.
I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. I just lay in bed, thinking about Chase and my dad’s threat to send him back to jail. I don’t know how he’d ever even accomplish that, but my father is resourceful when he needs to be.
“I don’t want to fight,” Scarlett answers flatly.
“Good.”
“Good,” she shoots back.
I gently nudge her out of the way so I can open my locker. With my back to her, I grab my calculus textbook from the top shelf. “Go ahead. Say it.”
“Say what?”
“What a horrible person I am for defending him yesterday.” My back remains staunchly turned.
I hear a soft sigh, then feel a small cool hand on my shoulder. I stiffen, but Scarlett’s touch is soothing, not aggressive.
“I get why you did it, okay?”
I quickly face her. “You do?”
She smooths her reddish-brown hair, moving all of it so it hangs over one shoulder. She flat-ironed it today. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I love her big bouncy curls. For that matter, so does she. Scar always says how much she prefers curls to straight hair.
“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “He’s a rescue to you. Like those dogs you love so much at the animal shelter. You try to act like you’re all tough, but I know deep down you’re just a big softy. I mean, you cry at the drop of a hat. But...”
I knew there was a but.
“He’s not an animal. He’s not some abused dog who just needs some love in order to be cool with humans again, or some bitch-ass cat who hisses at you when you walk up but purrs once you start patting it. He’s a delinquent. He stole a car and ran someone over. You can’t forget that, Li—Beth.”
“You think I’ve forgotten?” I ask in disbelief. “God, I think about it at least twenty times a day, that I’m going to school with the guy who hit Rachel.”
That I lost my virginity to the guy who hit Rachel.
That I have feelings for that guy.
That I think about him way more often than I think about what he did.
“Good,” Scarlett says firmly. “You have to think about it. The next time you think he needs rescuing, remember who he is.”
I nod weakly. I know what she’s saying. I know why she’s saying it. But I also know that if Chase ever needs rescuing again, I’d be the first person running to save him.
What is wrong with me?
“Anyway, Macy’s still pissed at you—”
“Seriously?” I frown, because Macy’s not the type to hold grudges.
Scar sighs. “She thinks you think she’s stupid.”
Guilt pricks my heart as I remember accusing Macy of being gullible and flaky. I mean, she is, but I didn’t have to be nasty to her about it. “I’ll talk to her after class,” I murmur. “What about Yvonne?”
My best friend waves a hand. “You know her. She gets over shit fast. And Jeff’s cool with you, too. He came over last night and I calmed him down.”
Jeff’s cool with me? She calmed him down? Fuck that. I’m not cool with him, and someone should be calming me down. He and Troy tried to frame Chase for the fire alarm stunt. Good guys don’t do stuff like that.
I open my mouth to point all this out to Scarlett, but, speak of the devil, Jeff strides up to us with a big grin on his face. It’s like déjà vu. This exact same thing happened yesterday—me and Scar at my locker, Jeff sauntering over like Mr. Big Man on Campus and then all hell breaking loose.
“Nice. You two worked everything out,” he says with a nod. He glances my way. “Scarlett told me about the whole savior complex you’ve got going on, yeah? I get it, but I don’t think Manson is someone you need to save, Beth.”
First of all, his fake British accent is stupid and annoying, yeah? I don’t know why all the girls in the senior class think it’s so sexy. It’s not.
Second, savior complex? Okay, Scarlett really tried to paint a picture of me as some kind of bleeding heart who hates injustice and stands up for the little guy. On one hand, I appreciate her trying to help. On the other, I don’t get why she’s making excuses for me.
Maybe she wants me and Jeff to get along so that her relationship with him is smoother sailing? But I’ve got nothing to do with them as a couple, if they even are a couple. Jeff doesn’t seem at all interested in her.
“I think the best thing for everyone is if you stay away from that asshole,” Jeff informs me. “I know you agree.”
I do, do I?
I’m about to retort when Scarlett gives me a pleading look.
Argh. This is bullshit. Jeff is being a condescending jerk right now.
But is there any point in arguing with him? Probably not. So I swallow the comeback and close my locker.
“Scarlett is having people over tonight,” Jeff says. “Did she tell you?”
I arch a brow at her. Is he her mouthpiece now?
“I was just about to mention it,” she says quickly. “My parents have this banquet thing to go to and they won’t be home ’til super late. You can come, right, Beth?”
“Nope,” I say glumly. Though honestly, I’m not too glum about it. I don’t want to hang out with Jeff at all. “I’m grounded again.”
Jeff’s eyes glitter in disapproval. “It was the police station stunt, wasn’t it? Of course Dave and Marnie wouldn’t be happy about that, Lizzie.”
Don’t call my parents by their first names, I fume inwardly. God. Was Jeff always this pretentious or d
id he become that way in London?
“If you were my daughter, I’d punish you, too,” he says, his tone cavalier.
“Good thing I’m not your daughter,” I snipe.
Scarlett’s mouth tightens. “Beth.”
I tamp down my annoyance. Seriously? He can throw out shitty comments but I can’t respond to them?
“Anyway,” I say stiffly, “they informed me this morning that I’m not allowed to see any friends unless you guys come over to my house. And I lost my car again, but not my phone.”
“Then we’ll go to your house tonight,” Jeff announces.
Scarlett and I both turn to stare at him. Excuse me? He’s inviting himself and other people to my house now?
Scar doesn’t like that idea, either, judging by her deep frown. “I’d rather stick to the original plan,” she tells Jeff.
He spares her a quick look. “Why? Beth has the bigger backyard, and it’s supposed to be a nice night. We can start a fire in the fire pit. We’ll all sit around it and roast some marshmallows. It’ll be a good time.”
Scarlett’s unhappiness is written on her face. I’ve known her long enough to be able to read her mind. If everyone comes over to my place and hangs in the backyard, she and Jeff obviously won’t be able to sneak off to her bedroom and make out.
“No,” she says firmly. “I’d rather chill at my place tonight.”
Jeff’s expression clouds with annoyance. I expect him to dig in and be an ass about it, but after a long beat, he relaxes and beams at her.
“Okay. Beth will just have to miss out. We’ll chill at her place another time.”
“Gee, thanks for including me in plans involving my own house,” I say sarcastically.
He ignores that and leans closer to rumple Scarlett’s hair. “This looks great, by the way,” he drawls, his approving gaze sweeping over her stick-straight hair. “Real sleek.”
Her eyes turn brighter than the fluorescent lights over our heads. I get it now. Jeff likes straight hair. Scarlett straightens her hair. Oh brother.
“I’ll see you guys at lunch,” he adds before strolling off.
Scarlett is blushing as she watches him go. I haven’t seen her look at anyone like that since Matty Wesser moved away, and it brings both a pang of joy and a jolt of panic.
A part of me understands why she’s so drawn to Jeff. I’ve seen his charming side—I know what that dimpled grin and laid-back manner can do to a girl. But I’ve also seen his mean side. I’ve listened to him berate me outside a party and then watched him drive off, leaving me alone on a dark, unfamiliar street.
I wish I knew which Jeff is the real one. I wonder if Rachel knew. She had never said a bad word about him. Ever. But she also didn’t talk about their relationship much.
“You really like him,” I say slowly, trying not to sigh.
“I really do,” Scarlett says, her cheeks turning even redder.
“Are you guys a couple now?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
Crap. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her my doubts, to share my uneasiness about Jeff, but I don’t have the heart to ruin her good mood.
“C’mon, let’s go to Calc,” I finally say.
We reach the classroom just as the bell rings, and I’m disappointed because I was hoping I might get a chance to talk to Chase in the hall before we went in. But he’s already at his desk when Scar and I walk in. His blond head is down, but it rises slightly at my approach.
Hooded blue eyes meet mine, just briefly. I swear I see a hint of a smile before he ducks his head. It’s his way of saying hello or good morning, and I wish so badly I could say it out loud to him. I can’t, though. Not after what happened yesterday. Standing up for Chase resulted in all my classmates turning against me. In my friends getting mad at me. In my parents searching my room and grounding me for life.
A public stand for Chase right now would probably send me into exile.
So I offer a ghost of a smile in return, and then we both duck our heads and pretend we don’t know each other.
But when Mrs. Russell is at the whiteboard and everyone is bent over their notebooks trying to solve the problem she just gave us, I take a chance and pass a note to Chase.
My heart beats wildly as the tiny folded-up square lands on his desk. I hold my breath, but nobody notices what I’ve done. Nobody but Chase, whose long fingers unfold to drag the note toward him.
I bite my lip anxiously as I wait for him to read the three words I scribbled on that paper.
Come over tonight.
He doesn’t look my way to acknowledge the note or offer a reply. But he tucks the paper in his pocket, and that’s all the answer I need.
25
“I shouldn’t be here,” Chase says for what seems like the hundredth time.
“If you say it again, I’m going to kick you out.” It’s an empty threat, though. I still can’t believe he even came over. Last thing I want him to do is leave.
He stares intently at the blue television light that’s flickering in my family room window. Mom and Dad are watching Gold Rush reruns. Dad enjoys instructing the television how the crew is screwing up, while Mom makes a lot of disappointed sounds in the back of her throat along with the occasional “Do they have to curse so much?” exclamations.
Satisfied that they’re not coming outside, he rests his elbows on the plaid blanket I stowed behind the tree earlier. Ten feet away, Rachel’s swing sits motionless, shrouded in darkness. During the ten o’clock news, the meteorologist said it’d be a chilly night, but he must’ve been mistaken because I’m warm inside and out.
“You can’t kick me out. We’re not inside.” He gestures toward the night sky.
A dog barks in the distance. Another answers. The light over the Rennicks’ back porch flicks on.
“Fine. I’ll set Morgan on you and he’ll chase you off,” I suggest.
“Nah, dogs love me.”
Mrs. Rennick calls for her mutt to stop barking and come inside.
“This is true.” From what I’ve seen, the shelter dogs all pant after Chase. “I feel betrayed.”
“Don’t. Whenever you leave, they whine. They miss you.”
I study him from under my eyelashes. If it was the middle of the day, his broad shoulders would block the sun. Instead, the moonlight halos his form, making him look otherworldly. “Aww. Okay. You can stay.”
“Sweet. I was planning on it anyway.”
I’m glad it’s dark and he can’t see the stupid grin on my face. To be safe, I tuck my legs closer to my chest and rest my chin on my knees. This way I can hide my face and stare at him at the same time.
“I know how they feel.” He sticks a blade of grass in the corner of his mouth. I watch his mouth and jaw move with way too much interest. “Because it’s a lot more fun when you’re around.”
“I’ll have to increase my hours.”
“I work Monday, Wednesday and Sunday,” he volunteers. That deadly half smile makes an appearance.
“Good. I’ll ask for Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”
I don’t see him coming. He moves like a blur, and suddenly I’m on my back with him looming over me. I shriek and then clap a hand over my mouth. Chase’s head jerks up and he eyes the back door. His whole body is tense, as if he’s ready to flee into the night at a moment’s notice.
But no sound comes. Not from my mom or dad. Not even a bark from a neighborhood dog. Chase hovers over me in a vague reenactment of how we were our first night. Him above me. Except that time there wasn’t so much space. And I had my arms around his neck. And there were a lot fewer layers of clothing between us.
I hold my breath. I think he does, too. I want him to kiss me. I want him to brush aside the wisps of grass and replace them with his hand or arm or chest. I want to feel the heat of him agains
t me.
“What do your parents think you’re doing?” he says finally.
“That I’m thinking about Rachel,” I say tactlessly. “That’s her swing.”
Immediately, he rolls off me to lie on the ground, putting distance between us.
I swallow a sigh of disappointment and curse myself for bringing her up. He already has a hard time managing his guilt. In his head, it’s okay for him to be my friend. It’s not okay to be my boyfriend. It’s not okay to want to hold my hand or kiss me.
I gesture to the wooden seat dangling in the air. “Dad built the swing for Rachel, and when I was old enough we fought over who would get to use it. We’d race out here and she’d always beat me. I’d have to push her until my arms were spaghetti noodles, and then she’d climb off and say, in a super tired voice, ‘I’ll push you until I have to go to practice,’ which, by that time, was about all of five minutes.”
“How much would you give to argue with her again?”
“So much.” Chase makes me talk about Rachel more than anyone else. Even my mom doesn’t like talking about her, because it means that she’s gone.
“What else did you argue about?” He rolls over onto his side and braces his head on a bent arm.
“What didn’t we? She’d get mad when I borrowed her stuff without asking. She had this super cute powder blue bomber jacket from Forever 21. I swiped it from her closet and wore it to a Darling football game.”
“And she didn’t find out?”
“Oh no. She found out. I was dumb enough to think I could avoid her the whole time, but I ran into her at the concession stand before the first half was over. She let me wear it but warned me that if I got so much as a raindrop on it, she’d beat me into tomorrow.”
“And?”
“I escaped punishment. The Forever 21 jacket was returned and she ended up spilling a red slushie on it in the spring. Mom couldn’t get the stain out, so Rachel threw it at me and said it was mine now.”
He chuckles. “Do you still have it?”
“No. I was mad and threw it away. I wish I kept it. I also got in trouble for using her lipstick brush in her eyeliner pot. They look really similar, if you were wondering.”