by Cole Gibsen
Mom dropped her purse on the ground. She approached me, her lips pale from being pressed so tightly together. She grabbed me by the shoulders.
I swallowed hard. Here it came.
“Regan, I—” She snapped her jaw shut as if changing her mind and, instead, pulled me against her chest.
The fierceness of her embrace startled me. I tried to pull away, but Mom only tightened her grip. “My baby,” she whispered against the top of my head while stroking the ends of my hair. The warmth of her enveloped me, as did her Chanel No. 5—the same jasmine and rose perfume she’d worn since I was a kid. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d held me like this. Her arms holding me tight flooded me with memories of life when it had yet to become so complicated.
The tears I’d fought so desperately to hold on to finally broke free and spilled down my cheeks. “Mom.” A lump wedged inside my throat. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh,” she whispered against the top of my head. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Regan. The school showed me the video. I had no idea what you were going through. I put too much pressure on you. I struggled so hard to get where I am today. I just thought if you succeeded now, life would be so much easier for you than it was for me. I was wrong.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Forgive her? Surely the drugs were screwing with my ears. “I’m the one who messed everything up. And because I did, everyone at school hates me. And Amber…” I choked back a sob.
“Shhh,” she repeated. “We’re not going to worry about any of that right now—one day at a time. The important thing is Amber’s alive and you’re okay.”
But I wasn’t okay. In a matter of weeks my entire life had slipped out from under me, and I bore the scars from my fall. The things I’d done and the things I’d seen would haunt me forever. I knew this because every time I closed my eyes I saw Jordan’s lifeless feet on the television screen in homeroom and Amber’s thrashing body on the bathroom floor.
I knew Mom only wanted to make me feel better—to give me a glimmer of hope where there was none. She shouldn’t have bothered. At seventeen, I was old enough to know better—to know the truth.
Some things would never be okay.
A knock on my bedroom door made me close my book. “Regan?” Mom cracked the door open and smiled. “How’s it going?” She looked strange in jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt. Her several-years-old tennis shoes didn’t have a speck of dirt on them. I guess she’d never had much use for them before. She hadn’t taken a single vacation day since winning her first election a decade ago. When she’d told me in the hospital she’d taken two weeks off to spend with me, I thought she’d go crazy. Surprisingly enough, she appeared more relaxed than I’d ever seen her.
I set my book aside and sat up against my pillows. “I’m good.” Just like I was when you checked a half hour ago, I mentally added. Still, I didn’t mind the frequent check-ins. They were distractions from the dark memories that waited for me when books, internet, and television weren’t enough to keep me occupied.
She smiled the same overly enthusiastic grin she usually reserved for campaign fund-raisers. “Great. So I guess that means you’re feeling up for a visitor?”
I jerked upright. “It’s not—”
“No.”
I relaxed. This week, Nolan had shown up at the house twice. Both times I’d hidden in my room and begged my parents to send him away. The second time, Nolan waited for more than an hour before he finally gave up and went home. I knew because I kept checking out the window to see if his car was still in the circular driveway. I had no idea what he could possibly have said to my parents in that amount of time, but I also didn’t care. After lying to me like he had—using me—I couldn’t care less if I never saw him again. “Who is it?” I asked.
“Me,” Payton answered, flinging the door open wide. She carried a bulging backpack, which she dropped on the floor with a loud thud. “And I brought a week’s worth of homework. Isn’t that exciting?” She grinned.
Mom grabbed the backpack and lugged it to my desk. “Thank you, Payton. Regan can’t afford to let her grades slip—” She caught herself, biting off the rest of the sentence while shaking her head. “You know what? Why don’t we worry about homework tomorrow? We could catch a movie tonight. Hey…maybe Payton would like to join us? It could be a girls’ night. What do you think, Payton?”
“Er…” She gave me a sideways glance. “Sure?”
“Excellent.” Mom walked to the door. “I’ll go check out some showtimes. Be right back.”
As soon as she left, Payton turned to me. “Who the hell was that and what has she done with your mother?”
I shrugged. “Don’t question it. Alien, demonic possession, or whatever, it’s a vast improvement.”
“I’ll say.” Payton jumped onto my bed. “So when are you coming back to school? I have to eat lunch with my brother. It totally sucks.”
My throat went tight at the mention of him. I shook my head. “Any word on Amber?”
Payton sighed. “She’s alive, that’s about all I know. I tried to visit her at the hospital but she was moved to the mental ward once she stabilized. I went to visit her there, too, but she’s refusing all visits except for family.” She shrugged. “So like I said, at school it’s just been me. I really miss you.”
I fell back against my pillow. “You’re the only one.”
“That’s not true.” She rolled over on her stomach and gave me a meaningful look.
I scowled at her. “I don’t want to talk about him. Besides, I’m not really sure about the whole school thing. The thought of going back and facing everyone…” I shuddered. “I just don’t know when I’ll be ready—or if I ever will.”
“So you’re just going to quit school?”
“Not exactly. Mom and I talked about hiring a tutor for the rest of the year.”
“That would be a real shame.” Payton plucked a piece of lint from my comforter.
“Why?”
She looked up at me. “Things are different now. Since the whole video-Amber thing. We had this assembly with these speakers who talked about tolerance and stuff.” She rolled her eyes. “That part was lame, they were like forty or something. What do they really know about what it’s like in high school now? Anyway, when they finished, Nolan got up and talked about your project. He said the video of you that didn’t get shown was supposed to be phase one, and now he’d like the entire school to help with phase two.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, it was like he connected with the entire gymnasium or something. Everyone got really excited.”
I sat up. “Why the hell would they let Nolan do anything after the whole video incident?”
She looked up at me. “Look, I’m not defending him or anything. I’m still really pissed he broke into my room and took our private messages off my computer. But Blake admitted to the principal that Nolan backed out of the project when you started getting bullied. That pissed Blake off so she went behind his back to continue the project, even going as far as stealing the video you took of Amber and Christy off of Nolan’s camera.”
The part about Blake didn’t surprise me. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out she couldn’t stand me, and now that I knew why, I couldn’t say I blamed her. Hell, I’d done my own fair share of lying and deceiving to get what I wanted. The part that hurt most about Nolan was that because of his lies, I couldn’t be sure he’d ever really cared about me. Maybe all of it had been an act to get the information he wanted. I picked up my book and pretended to read the back cover. “Can we talk about something else?”
“The Snowflake Ball is tomorrow. I don’t have a date, and if you don’t, I thought we could go together,” she said hopefully.
I set the book down and made a face. “You’re joking, right?”
“Aw. Come on. It could be really fun. We’ll get our glam on, dance with a few hotties… Please, Regan.”
“I’m sorry.” I drew my legs to my chest a
nd wrapped my arms around them. “I don’t really feel much like celebrating anything right now. Besides, there’s no way I’d be allowed to attend, with me being out of school and all.”
“That’s not true.” Payton scooted closer to me. “I asked Principal McDill and she said she’d love for you to come. If you don’t believe me, we’ll stay long enough for a song or two, and if you hate it, we’ll leave. I promise.”
“No.” I thought about Amber spending the dance in a psych ward. “I really don’t think that would be a good idea.”
She flopped against my mattress. “You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding out in your room.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“Yeah?” She arched an eyebrow. “Then prove it. Come to the dance with me.”
“Why the hell would I do that? Everyone hates me.”
“That’s not true.” She crawled beside me. “I think a lot of people think you’re pretty amazing. After all, not many people would have the strength to make a video apology for the entire school to watch like you did. That took real balls.”
“Wait a sec.” I jerked back. “How do you know about my video? It never got played.”
“Um…” Payton looked at the floor. “That’s not entirely true.”
“What?”
She twisted her hands inside her sleeves. “I told you about that assembly, right? Nolan played your video—the one you worked on together—before he told the school about your project.”
“It’s not our project,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “I don’t know the first thing about it. And who the hell gave him the right to show that video to an assembly anyway?”
Payton shrugged. “He thought you’d be cool with it.”
I curled my fingers into my blanket. “I am definitely not cool with it. After the last video disaster, I’m done trying to fix anything. Every time the spotlight gets turned on me something goes horribly wrong. I just want to fade away in peace.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Fade away?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Exhaustion crept over me. I leaned forward and raked my fingers through my hair. “I just want to lie low until this whole thing blows over. The less attention I draw to myself, the better.”
My mom walked in before Payton could argue. She stared at the iPad in her hands. “That new romantic comedy is showing at seven. Or there’s that action flick with Bruce Willis at seven thirty.” She sighed happily. “And you know how I feel about Bruce.” She lowered the iPad when we didn’t respond. “Okay, what’s the matter?”
Payton folded her arms across her chest. “I was trying to convince Regan to go to the dance with me tomorrow.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Mom cocked her head. “You never leave the house except to go—” She bit the words off midsentence, not that I needed her to finish. The only time I’d left the house since ending up in the hospital was to visit my therapist. “So what’s the problem?”
“The problem,” I told her, “is I have no desire to go. I’m just not ready to face the people at school yet.”
Mom and Payton exchanged defeated looks. “All right, honey,” Mom said. “Nobody is going to force you to do anything. But maybe take the night to think about it before immediately refusing. We could go dress shopping in the morning and get our nails done. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
I had to admit, it kinda did sound fun. The most girl time I’d spent with my mom over the last year was when we took a weekend to tour Columbia University. Still, there was no way I was going to the dance. “No, it wouldn’t.”
She sighed. “Just think about it. In the meantime, I’m going to Fandango these tickets. Payton, why don’t you call your mom and make sure it’s okay first.”
“Sure,” she said. “I left my cell phone out in my car. Can I use your phone?”
“Right this way.” Mom ushered her out of the room.
Alone, I let out a long sigh. Despite how fun Payton and my mom thought more public humiliation would be, there was no way I was going to that dance. Besides, with the mountain of homework I’d accumulated in my absence, I wasn’t going to be doing much of anything if I wanted to get caught up with the rest of my class.
I climbed out of bed and crossed the room to my backpack. It wouldn’t hurt to look over my assignments so I had a better idea of what I needed to get done. I unzipped it and dumped the contents onto my desk. Five textbooks and several sheets of paper tumbled out. I was stacking the books and papers by class subject when I noticed the corner of a purple envelope sticking out of the pages of my contemporary lit textbook.
Invisible fingers squeezed my heart. I knew without looking at it the letter was from Nolan. I slid it free from the book. The word “Regan” was scrawled across the front in sloppy handwriting. I stared at the envelope for more than a minute, trying to think of anything Nolan would be able to say to make me want to see or talk to him ever again.
There was nothing.
I tossed the unopened envelope into the trash can beside my desk. What would be the point of reading it? The letter, just like the school dance, was only another opportunity to cause myself unnecessary pain, and I’d had enough pain to last me a lifetime.
Chapter Twenty-Two
All across the city, girls were applying one last coat of lipstick, shimmying into sequined dresses, and buckling the straps on their heels. But not me. With zero makeup, I’d slipped on a pair of riding breeches and an extra-soft T-shirt, and now stood in the kitchen looping the elastic bands of my half chaps under the heels of my boots. I had a date with a handsome boy of the equine persuasion.
Mom appeared in the kitchen doorway. Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you dressed like that?”
I grabbed my helmet off the kitchen table. “Because it’s been more than a week since I spent time with Rookie. And after all the popcorn and candy we ate at the movies last night, I figured a little exercise couldn’t hurt.”
Mom nodded. “We did eat an entire year’s worth of carbs. Still, we have plenty of time to hit the gym before next November’s election.”
I made a face. While I appreciated the effort my mom was making with me, it was reassuring in a bizarre sort of way to know my old mom hadn’t completely vanished.
Dad entered the room wearing a suit. “There are the two most beautiful women in the world.” He handed a blue silk tie to my mother. “Would you please do the honors?”
I watched as her nimble fingers folded and tucked the swatch of silk into a perfect Windsor knot. It never ceased to amaze me how she got it right on the first try without ever having to loosen and adjust the length. When she finished, he kissed her cheek and tucked the tie inside his jacket.
I’d never tied a tie for anyone and wondered if I could duplicate my mom’s movements from memory. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine re-creating the movement of my mom’s hands. Wrap. Flip. Tuck. But in my fantasy, when I stepped back to admire my handiwork, it was Nolan’s face smiling down at me.
Ugh.
I opened my eyes and shook my head, hoping to loosen the image from my head. “Where are you guys going?”
Dad sighed. “Another boring political dinner.”
Mom elbowed him in the ribs.
“Excuse me.” Dad rubbed his side. “I meant to say another action-packed political dinner.”
“That’s better.” Mom glanced at the microwave’s digital clock. “And we better get going if we don’t want to be late.” She turned to me. “You know, Regan, you still have time to get ready for the Snowflake Ball if you change your mind.”
I fought the urge to snort. Mom had made such an effort to improve our relationship over the last week, I didn’t want to fall back into old habits. “I won’t change my mind. I called Payton this morning and told her the same thing.” I lifted my helmet. “There’s only one guy I’m going to dance with tonight, and he weighs fifteen hundred pounds.”
“Smart girl.” Dad winked. “If you keep choosing horses over bo
ys until you’re, say, thirty-five, I’d be a happy man.”
“Dad.” I smiled and rolled my eyes.
Mom swatted him with her purse. “Come on, Steven. We need to leave.”
He walked over and squeezed me against him. His cologne tickled my nose—something spicy and warm. “I’m really proud of you.” He pulled away and took Mom’s hand. Together, they left through the kitchen door into the garage.
I stared at the closed door for several moments wondering what he meant. Proud of me? Why? All I’d done over the last few weeks—actually, more like the last couple of years—was screw things up.
I tucked my helmet under my arm and snatched my keys from the table. Maybe he was just being Dad—saying what he thought would make me feel better. Unfortunately, it hadn’t worked—nothing seemed to work, which was exactly why I needed horse therapy. I started for the garage door when the front doorbell rang.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I murmured. I set my helmet and keys back down and made my way to the front door. “Payton,” I called out, “it better not be you trying to convince me to come to the dance. I already told you I’m not going.”
I stopped in front of the door. A shadow shifted on the other side of the frosted glass. “And you better not be a psycho,” I added. “My parents are Republicans. We own guns. Lots of them.” I cracked open the door and Nolan raised an arm in greeting. He wore jeans, a suit jacket, and a dark shirt underneath. His hair was combed back and gelled into place. He held a suspicious box, the perfect size for a corsage.
“No.” I swung the door back in his face. Looked like I was right about the psycho.
Nolan stuck his shoe in the doorjamb before it had a chance to shut. He winced when the door met his foot and it bounced back, opening wide. “Is that what you’re wearing to the dance?” He motioned to my riding breeches. “I like it. You get definite points for being original.”
He really must be insane if he’d shown up thinking I was going to the dance with him. I folded my arms across my chest. “No. Whatever you’re doing here, just no.”
