by Ann Aguirre
Dammit. I finally see his point.
“And if you back off Shane and Lila after our private convo, they’ll see it as weakness.”
He nods. “Blood in the water. So we can go down this road, but I guarantee I’ve got more practice being bad.”
“You might be surprised.”
“I doubt it. What’s it gonna be, Princess? Do we call a truce, you forget what you know and things go back to normal, or do I start digging for your secrets?”
My blood chills. Though I’m not sure, my case file should be confidential. Since everything happened when I was so young, the records are sealed and they’ll be expunged when I turn eighteen. I’m terrified, but I can’t reveal my vulnerability to Dylan. Right now, he’s just guessing that I have something to hide. I shouldn’t confirm it.
Silently, I shake my head.
“Bad move,” he says softly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my mom.”
Ignoring him, I pull my bike off the ground and ride away, half expecting him to come after me with his truck. But he doesn’t. If nothing else, I’ve learned the key to Dylan Smith tonight. He’s not a bully for the fun of it, and I don’t think he’s a sociopath, either. He’s just driven by the desire to defend his mother. I’d almost feel sorry for him, except for the dread churning in my gut.
He’s not playing. He’ll search for anything he can use to discredit me. Logic dictates I should wreck him, shoot first, so to speak. If the whole school’s talking about what a slut his mom is, they won’t listen when he shit-talks me later. But … I don’t know if I can.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The next day, I expect there to be immediate fallout, where Dylan challenges my resolve by going back to his old habits, but instead we maintain a cautious truce. This can’t last, however. Once he has some bullets for his figurative gun, I’m going down. It’s only a matter of time before the peace I’ve won for Shane and Lila runs out. So now I have to decide what kind of person I am—the good girl I’ve been pretending to be or Shadow Sage, bad enough to ruin someone else’s life. The idea horrifies me, but I’m nearly frozen over the idea of everyone learning my secrets. Rock and a hard place, devil and the deep blue sea. At this point, my two choices seem to be bad and worse.
At least Shane’s leveled up socially. One of the girls from the Coffee Shop recorded a few songs on her phone and posted them on YouTube, then she forwarded the link to everyone she knows on Facebook. He has almost two thousand views on his Good Charlotte cover already, and today, people know his name as he walks me to my next class. They chin-lift at him, call his name, and say “sup” when I can tell he has no idea who they are.
“This is so weird,” he says, shaking his head.
I shrug. “It’s a small school.”
“Better than getting shoved around on a daily basis,” he decides.
With a quick kiss, he darts off to his next class since we only have math together. He has to work tonight, and I don’t, so this will give me a chance to catch up on homework. So I think, until I find Lila waiting at my locker after school. Today she’s a goddess in black; nobody should make leggings, boots, and a belted sweater look that good.
“You ditched me at lunch yesterday.”
“It was just a bad day.”
“I ended up sitting with Shane, your freshmen, and those random sophomores.”
“Sorry. Want to hang out today?”
“I’m pissed at you.”
“So that’s a no?”
Her scowl eases up. “Just don’t do it again. I want to hear about it if you’re having a shitty day or fighting with Shane.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. I’d like to say that’s a lucky guess on her part, but I’ve made no secret that I think he’s awesome. So I just nod. “Come over. My aunt’s making soup.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
I grin. “I hope so. I’m not in the mood for drama … and besides, remember how happy it makes your mom when you hang out with me.”
“That’s true. She gives me forty-six percent less shit these days.”
“You did the math?”
“Obviously. Let’s go.”
She rides on the back of my bike again, and I pedal over to my place. If we keep doing this, I’ll lose weight, hopefully in my butt. I don’t have the chest to spare. We hang out in the living room because my aunt isn’t home yet. We’ll probably migrate once she gets back.
“I’m trying to decide why you live with Gabby,” Lila says.
It’s not what I expected to hear. “My parents aren’t around anymore.”
“Like…” I can see her trying to find a tactful word. “Passed on?”
I nod, grateful that she’s too uncomfortable to pursue this line of questioning. She’s curious if it’s a recent loss, but afraid of making me feel shitty. Good thing she’s a nice person. Otherwise, she’d definitely be digging to find out why I’m an orphan. God, that’s such a stupid word. It conjures visions of pasty-faced children in Victorian clothes with tin cups, dining on gruel. The reality is depressing in a different way.
“So what do you wanna do?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Homework, if you can talk and write at the same time.”
“I can manage. Wait, let me call my mom. She likes the new, improved responsible me.”
While she dials, I make popcorn. I hear snatches of conversation over the ping of hot kernels hitting the lid of the pot, and Lila sounds slightly annoyed. There’s a lot of sighing from her end, anyway.
“Everything good at home?” I ask, coming back to the living room.
“Yep. Speaking of which…” She sighs. “Would you mind coming over to prove you exist? I swear my mom is starting to think I’ve hired someone to play my friend on the phone. Plus, I need to repay the times I’ve come to your place. My mom’s cooking isn’t as healthy as your aunt’s, though. Butter is her best friend.”
I laugh. “Sure, when?”
“Tomorrow night, after Green World.”
“Are you sticking with it?” I’m doubtful, even though the meetings have gotten bigger and more productive lately.
This week, we’re planning a recycling drive. We still need to agree on a drop-off point … and convince the school to let us include the event in the morning announcements. I don’t know how many people will bother, but I intend to talk to my social studies teacher about offering extra credit if they do. The class is supposed to teach us to be responsible, right?
“It’s better than spirit squad. And I need a few meaningful activities on my college apps or my parents will never shut up.”
I open my backpack and dig out my math notebook; it seems best to start with the worst of my assignments. “Well, I know it’s not most people’s idea of a good time. But it’s more entertaining when you’re around.”
“Everything is.” Lila tosses her hair like the especially vapid girls do when they’re trying to attract some guy’s attention.
Which reminds me.
“Are you ever going to tell me exactly what happened with Dylan?” It’s a non sequitur, but anything I can learn about him might help me later.
She frowns, chewing on her pencil so that she leaves neat rows of teeth marks in the yellow paint. By the look of the wood, this isn’t the first time. “That’s ancient history. Why?”
“He hassled me after work last night.” I figure it’s safe to tell her that much. “I was just wondering how bad is he really?”
How seriously should I take his threats?
“That asshole,” she snarls. “Did he scare you?”
“He tried to.”
“If he’s screwing with you, then I guess I owe you the full story. But I expect some Shane gossip afterward to wash the taste out of my mouth.”
“Deal.”
“Dylan and I got together freshman year. He wasn’t as bad then.” Here, her gaze softens, like she has some good memories. “He was … sweet. I know it’s hard to imagine now.”
/> I barely remember anyone but Ryan from that period. Back then I shadowed him so hard that it’s a wonder we didn’t fuse together. Eighth grade had been a battle of epic proportions and my freshman year I was struggling to find a balance. Mostly, I went to school, did my homework, and tried really hard to be perfect, so Aunt Gabby wouldn’t dump me back in state care. I’m still doing that, to be honest. Sometimes it’s hard to feel safe.
“He wasn’t on my radar,” I admit.
“Something happened between our freshman and sophomore years. I have no idea what … he wouldn’t say. But he changed. Suddenly he wanted to know where I was every minute. He tried to tell me who I could talk to, how I was allowed to dress…” Lila shakes her head and sighs.
Given what I know about Dylan’s relationship with his mom, I suspect this has something to do with her. “That’s bizarre.”
“Right? But it gets weirder.”
“I’m listening.”
“We’d been dating for nine months or so … and I wanted to sleep with him. I was stupid. I thought it might reassure him that I loved him.”
At this, my brows shoot up, because I thought they broke up because he told everyone they did it when they really didn’t. “Not what I was expecting.”
“I guess not. So one night, we had his place to ourselves. His mom was out with her flavor of the month. We started messing around, but when I touched him through his jeans, he pulled away and started crying.”
“Holy shit.”
“I hugged him and said it was no big deal. But I could tell something was bothering him, like, a lot. He basically kicked me out. And the next day, he was claiming we hooked up.”
Now I understand why Dylan hates Lila. She witnessed a weak moment, so he had to ruin her at school, so nobody would believe her if she told anyone the truth. In other words, he shot first. I’m willing to bet something happened that summer, end of innocence, or some shit like that. Too bad. I might have liked the sweet Dylan that Lila dated two years ago, but he’s gone and I’m left to square off against the asshole who’s taken his place.
“And he was mean about it,” I guess.
She nods without looking at me. “I never told anyone what really happened—like they’d believe me. In the official record, he gets to be a player who popped my cherry while I’m the slut who gave it up, then went batshit and broke up with him because I didn’t want everyone to know.”
“You loved him.”
“Yeah. Shows what poor judgment I have. Now you owe me something good. Spill.”
So I tell her about Shane and the Coffee Shop, how he seemed like he was singing just to me. Next I mention that he spent the night here, and by this point, she’s bouncing. “Christ, Sage. I never would’ve guessed. You look so innocent. But you’re sneaky!”
“Who’s sneaky?” my aunt asks, coming in the front door.
“Uh,” I say.
But Lila covers smooth as silk. “She’s got the smartest plan to get people to bring in their old newspapers and magazines. Extra credit! Provided we can get the teacher to agree.”
“That is sneaky.” But from Aunt Gabby’s tone, she approves, so I’m clear. “Are you staying for dinner, Lila?”
“If you don’t mind. We’ll feed Sage tomorrow night.”
“Sounds good. Just let me change and then I’ll dish up the soup.”
“I can do it,” I offer, dropping my math notebook.
“Thanks.” Aunt Gabby heads down the hall to her bedroom.
I jump up and hurry to the kitchen and get three bowls. Lila follows, looking bemused. “She doesn’t seem like the type to beat you if you aren’t super efficient, super helpful, all the time.”
There are so many things I could say, but I don’t offer anything honest. I hate myself for it, too. “Isn’t this exactly how you pictured the Post-it Princess acting at home?”
“Yeah. But now I’m starting to wonder if that’s the real you.”
Lucky for me, my aunt comes in before Lila can say more or I’m forced to acknowledge or deny her insight. Dinner passes quietly, and half an hour later, Lila’s mom comes to pick her up. I think she just wants to get a look at Aunt Gabby and me, so we come to the front door to wave as she backs out of the drive.
“I’m glad you’re having people over and making friends other than Ryan. Lila seems nice.”
“She is,” I agree.
“What’s going on with Ryan, by the way? He didn’t seem to be brokenhearted when he was here on Sunday.”
I shrug. “You’re asking the wrong person. I don’t know if he’s moved on, or if he’s covering his feels better.”
“Talk to him,” Aunt Gabby advises.
“I’ll text him now.”
After washing the dinner dishes, I carry my backpack to my room and close the door. My aunt respects my privacy; she doesn’t rummage in my stuff, but a closed door is comforting. It says, This is my space, and you can’t come in unless I let you. I also know how fragile that barrier can be.
I get out my phone and send, im ready to talk.
A few minutes later, he replies. We ok?
Yep. I forgive you.
I don’t know if that’s enough to patch the rips in our friendship but it feels like a beginning. That night, I fall asleep feeling pretty good, and there are no bad dreams.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Dinner with Lila’s family goes well, though I’ve never seen so many chicken-fried foods in my life. Mrs. Tremaine seems to think that if she fries it enough, it’s not meat anymore. But the mashed potatoes are delicious and I rearrange the beef on my plate enough to make it look like I’m enjoying it. If Lila told her I’m a vegetarian, she doesn’t care, and that’s a Midwestern attitude. People seem to think if they offer meat often enough, you’ll be seduced by your salivary glands or something.
“So, Sage,” Mr. Tremaine asks. “What does your future look like? It’s never too soon to start planning.” He aims a pointed look at Lila, who sighs.
“There’s a college in Maine that looks right for me.”
“What do you plan to study?” Mrs. Tremaine asks.
“Adventure-based education.”
I can see they have no idea what I’m talking about, so I try to explain, and now Mr. Tremaine is frowning. “That sounds like you want to be a camp counselor.”
“Dad,” Lila protests.
“It’s okay.” For the rest of the meal, I clarify the difference—and about how we can change the world if people are taught young about conservation, green practices, and natural resources when they’re young.
Mr. Tremaine gives a grudging nod. “That’s true. If there had been a program like that at school when we were growing up, it wouldn’t have taken us so long to start recycling.”
“Exactly.”
When we ask to be excused and I follow Lila to her room, she’s looking at me like I’m magical. “I’ve never gotten my dad to see my point of view on anything.”
“Did you really try, or did you stomp off when he failed to get it the first time?”
“Shut up,” she mutters.
We work on homework—and gossip—until eight, then I cover myself in reflective tape. She shakes her head at me. “There’s no way I’d be seen like that, dude. I’d just get in a car even if it violated all my principles.”
I ignore that. “Night. Thanks for having me over.”
“You already said nice things to my parents. It’s cool.”
She stands in the doorway, watching until I turn the corner. It’s not a long way from her house, but I’m nervous, mostly because I’m keeping an eye out for Dylan’s truck. When I ride onto our gravel drive, my heart is racing. I hate that I’ve let him make me feel this way; I remember what it’s like to live with fear constantly gnawing at you, and I refuse to go back. After stowing my bike in the shed, I slide in the back door. Thoughtfully, my aunt has left a snack on a plate for me.
I carry it into the living room, where she’s watching a movie on D
VD. “Have fun?”
“Yeah, it was fine. Lila’s mom doesn’t cook as well as you, though.”
Aunt Gabby grins. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“How are things going with Joe?”
“Really well,” she answers, both surprised and cautious. “He’s a great guy. Funny. Quirky.”
“Quirky how?”
“Well … he’s a huge Star Trek fan. Not the original, The Next Generation. Apparently he has a Star Fleet uniform that he wears to sci-fi conventions.”
“Really?” I have no idea why, but I’m startled to learn this. Joe is a fairly big guy, good build, and he looks somewhat athletic. Plus, he drives a silver Ford. In other words, he’s a pretty standard manly man, and I’m delighted to find out he’s a secret geek.
“Yep. I told him I’ll go to Indy with him this summer for GenCon.”
Whoa. If she’s willing to make plans ten months out, things must be going extremely well. “I haven’t talked to him that much, but I like him.”
“He holds up to closer scrutiny,” she says, then she laughs, because she seems to realize how suggestive that sounds.
We talk a little more about Joe, then she asks, “How’re you doing with Shane?”
“Good. We’ve had a few hiccups, but nothing serious.”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” There’s no way to be sure what she means, whether she’s talking about my past or the fact that I haven’t dated much.
I lean toward the latter because Aunt Gabby tends not to rock the boat, where my dark side is concerned. She figures if the therapist said I had talked it all out, then it’s counterproductive to dredge it up again. I’m so grateful for that. It doesn’t help to have it on my mind constantly. I’m coping. Time is supposed to make things easier, so I just need to breathe and wait.
“He’s wonderful,” I say softly.
That word doesn’t begin to encompass him. I eat the cheese, crackers, and fruit while she tells me about the weekend Joe has planned. “He wants to take me to Chicago, get tickets for the theater, but I’m not sure—”
