by Patty Blount
And it had pierced the target.
Meg gripped Bailey’s hand and squeezed hard.
“Simon, get lost. Nobody here is impressed.” Bailey retorted, her face pale.
Simon’s male-model smile full of capped teeth went tight. Vibrating with fury from the soles of his high-priced tennis shoes to the tips of his designer haircut, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll leave you and your little dyke girlfriend and go find a real woman.” He stalked around the table and motioned for his pals to follow.
Meg’s eyes met Bailey’s and she gave her a signal she knew no one else would see, a raised eyebrow that said, Is that the best you got? Bailey acknowledged it with a tiny close-lipped smile and turned back to Simon to fire off one last taunt. “Simon, you should take lessons from Meg. Unlike you, she knows how to keep me coming back for more.”
Everyone in earshot applauded. Someone’s shout of “Burn!” rippled over the small crowd that watched like it was reality TV.
“You’ll be back. You’re crazy about me.” Simon shot them both one last glare and finally strode away, his pals on his tail.
Onlookers went back to their meals, chattering loudly about the floor show, but Meg just grinned proudly at Bailey.
“Close your mouth, Meg,” Bailey snapped.
“You did it.” Meg giggled. “You really did it. That was…it was—wow—really impressive. But why didn’t you tell me? I knew something was bothering you.”
Bailey sighed and didn’t answer her for a moment. “You didn’t see Facebook last night?” she finally asked and grabbed Meg’s water bottle to blot the stains from her jeans.
Meg shook her head. “No, I was painting. What did he say?”
Bailey put the water bottle back on the tray and pulled out her phone. “Here. Check it out.” She opened her Facebook app and scrolled down, and there it was—Simon’s attempt at being smooth.
I’ve got two tickets to I-CON. One of them has your name on it, Bailey Grant. You know you want it. Meet me at ten on Saturday. Your welcome.
Meg snorted at the spelling error and figured Simon didn’t need brains as long as he had money. Meg’s amusement faded when she noticed the time the message had been posted. She’d been drowning French fries in ketchup and feeling sorry for herself. “Oh, my God, Bay, he didn’t even post this on your Wall.”
She rolled her eyes. “Or apologize. That’s why I wrote this.” She scrolled down a bit further and showed Meg the screen again.
You no longer have anything that interests me even a little. Maybe Caitlyn’s interested. Have you tried her? Oh, I forgot. You already have.
Meg laughed and took Bailey’s phone. She scrolled down, read some of the other comments. “Oh, wow. This got so many Likes.”
Bailey boiled. “Good. I hope it makes him see what an ass he is.”
“Still, I-CON, Bailey.”
Bailey lived for I-CON, the annual science-fiction convention held at a college campus on Long Island. It was a huge multiday event that attracted the biggest names in video and role-playing games, animation, comic books, and sci-fi/fantasy fiction. If there was one thing Bailey adored more than hair and makeup, more than going shopping, more than even boys, it was video games—something that made her very popular with the guys. Dangling I-CON tickets in front of her should have made her putty in Simon’s hands. Meg was even more impressed with her friend’s sudden resolve.
She flopped back into her seat and blew a curl out of her eyes. “You can’t stand Simon. Figured you’d be happy I finally listened to you.” She covered her face.
Meg shifted in her seat but didn’t say anything. True, she wasn’t a huge fan of Simon’s. But she certainly never wanted to see Bailey hurt like this. “I am happy. He treated you like crap, and it’s about time you did something about it. I just wish you didn’t do it so—you know—publicly. You have to think of your safety.” Bailey wasn’t a think-ahead kind of girl, so Meg usually did that for her. “Remember Josh from last summer? He followed you for two weeks. Oh, and that guy Ian from the stables! Didn’t he like…threaten you or something?”
Bailey mashed her lips into a tight line. “Simon wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“No, he’d just run to a hot cheerleader behind your back.” At Bailey’s hiss of pain, Meg gave her hand a squeeze.
Several minutes passed.
“By the way, you might want to talk to Chase.”
Meg tensed. Talk to him? That was never a good idea. “Why?”
Bailey handed Meg her phone again. “Take a look at his status.”
Meg scrolled down and hissed in a breath.
Chase Gallagher is in a relationship.
“I never accepted that request!” Meg’s hand curled into a fist. Bailey pried her phone away, tucked it carefully into her bag.
“Meg, before you freak out, why don’t you—”
“Bay, we’ve been over this.”
Bailey snapped her teeth together and rolled her eyes.
Meg boiled in silence and then remembered the art show flyer. God, could the timing be any worse?
“Uh-oh. Your shoulders are doing that hunchy thing. What do you want?”
And there’s my cue. Meg opened her mouth and then chickened out. “It’s not important.”
“Meg, come on. What is it?” Bailey nudged her.
Meg slid the art exhibit flyer over to her and girded her eardrums for the assault she expected in three…two…one.
“No.” Bailey moaned the word out for one long beat.
“Come on, Bay! I’ll go with you to I-CON if you’ll come with me to the museum.”
She sighed in misery. “Do I have to? I’d rather have flat hair.”
Bailey hated art in all shapes and all forms, and dragging her to Manhattan’s Museum of Modern Art to see the upcoming exhibit on printed art ranked right up there with asking her to wear last year’s styles. In other words: So. Not. Happening.
“Please, Bailey?”
“Megan!” She hit a new high on the shrill scale, and Meg cringed. “I really hate when you do this.”
“It’s called a compromise, Bay. I’m willing to subject myself to guys wearing underwear over tights in exchange for you looking at art with me.”
Bailey rolled her huge blue eyes. “That stuff’s not art. It’s a bunch of posters and advertisements somebody stuck on the walls and sold tickets to.”
“Please?”
Bailey gritted her teeth. “Fine! But you totally owe me.”
Meg shrugged and happily bit into her sandwich. When she looked up again, Chase was heading toward them, carrying his lunch tray. She quickly folded the flyer and slipped it into her pocket, hoping no one noticed her lame Here comes Chase smile, especially him.
“Hey.” Chase jerked his chin toward the rear of the cafeteria, sliding into the empty chair across from them. “What did you do to Simon? He’s crying all over Caitlyn’s shoulder.”
Uh-oh. Meg thought with a worried glance at Bailey.
Bailey nibbled a fingernail. “Crying? Like seriously crying?”
Chase rolled his eyes. “No, not really. He’s just putting the moves on her.”
“Oh—”
“So what did you do?”
“I broke up with him.”
Chase nodded with approval. “Good for you. Guy should get a clue.”
Meg huffed out a laugh and muttered, “He’s not the only one.”
Chase raised his eyes to hers, and Meg stopped breathing. She never got tired of staring at his eyes. They hypnotized her and taunted her to find the hue and tint on a color wheel that could accurately render them, but that color didn’t exist. Flecks of beige, gold, green. Streaks of brown and gray with a rim of black—the colors seemed to swirl as he stared at her, and then Meg realized why.
She’d hurt
him.
“Sorry,” Meg murmured.
Chase lowered those variegated eyes. “Um. Yeah. Whatever.”
Bailey took pity on him. “We’re going to an art exhibit in Manhattan. Why don’t you come?”
The words were out of Bailey’s mouth before Meg could kick her under the table. She gave Meg a bright smile. “And I-CON. You should come to that too.”
Meg’s teeth almost cracked from the strength of her clench.
“Really?” Chase looked to Meg for confirmation, hope glinting in his eyes, and Meg sighed, unable to resist. She hated that.
“It’s up to you.” She shrugged, hoping he couldn’t tell how much she really did want him to come. “You didn’t like the modern art exhibit at the library. You said it all looked like finger paints to you.”
“It did.”
“And what about the last time we went to MoMA? You stared at The Scream and said you—”
“Yeah. I remember what I said, Megan.” He cut her off with a furrowed brow that intensified the color of his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t want to waste your time, so if you have something better to do—”
“Megan, I like hanging out with you. I don’t care what we do.” Chase shrugged, and Meg looked away with a wince. That’s exactly what she was afraid of.
“Chase, it’s not a date.”
He looked away, and she swore she could see him physically deflate. “Why not?”
“Delete your relationship status,” she said abruptly.
He straightened up and glared at her. “I thought we were—”
She cut him off. “We’re friends, Chase. That’s all.”
He sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands, and she wanted to kick her own butt.
“Fine. I’ll delete the status when I get home.”
The disappointment in his voice rattled the gate around her heart, and she wished she were stronger, tougher, with a heart coated in steel.
She had to resist him. It was essential. He was graduating in a few more months and would go off to college. She and Bailey still had another year. She would not be the one who ruined his plans.
And he would not ruin hers.
“Megan?”
“Um. Yeah.” Meg jerked when she saw Chase waving a hand in front of her face.
He smiled, and it was a toothpaste commercial kind of smile that had her looking for the little twinkle that always sparkled at the end of those ads.
“I gotta go. Later?”
Her face burned. However, Meg nodded once and he was gone.
“Meg—” Bailey began, but Meg cut her off.
“Will you stop doing that?”
“What?” She blinked, and Meg glared, not buying the innocent act.
“Stop pushing us together. It’s not fair to him.”
“He really likes you.”
Meg’s eyes dropped. She knew that, and that was the entire problem. She couldn’t afford to like him back, and the more time they spent together, the harder it was to remember why.
“Bay, I don’t want to let him down.”
“Not all guys are like our dads, Meg.”
Meg sucked in a sharp breath. Neither of their dads had bothered to stick around long. Bailey never knew her dad, but Megan had known hers. She missed him. Every day, she missed him so much she was sure she’d choke on the tears. Bailey’s words were a slap, and they both knew it. “Bay, I don’t want—”
“Oh, you are such a liar. If you really don’t want him, why does your face light up like Broadway when you see him?”
It did not. Meg was so done with this conversation. “Shut up. I’m mad at you.”
Bailey pouted and twisted a curl. “You love me.”
She did. But she was really mad too.
Bailey pursed her lips and shook her head. “So. Spill. What did he say the last time you went to the museum?”
Meg frowned, remembering. In February, she and Chase had been partnered up on a research paper. They’d grown close—too close—during the month it took to research their topic, the objectification of women in modern art. She’d been excited by the assignment. Chase had been excited by his assigned partner. “We saw a print of The Scream by Edvard Munch. Chase saw it and said, ‘Hey, this guy’s an artist too? I thought he just produced horror movies.’”
Bailey blinked. “What’s so wrong with that? At least he knew his name. That’s more than I would have gotten right.”
She spoke quietly, but there was a sting in her tone, and Meg squirmed under the sudden attack of conscience. “You’re right,” Meg said quietly. “That was snobby and mean and ungrateful and—”
“Meg, stop! I never said that. Look. I’m just saying, Chase is trying. You should too.”
Bailey scooped her books from the table, snagged her tray, and left Meg standing in the shadow of her own ego.
Chapter 2
Bailey
In the girls’ locker room, Bailey blotted and dabbed and rubbed and wiped at the red streaks all over her True Religion jeans that had cost all of her birthday money, which Meg would totally have a cow about if she knew, and Bailey wasn’t about to press Play on that song. Meg never spent her money unless it was for art supplies. She was all about saving for college and the future and—and her freakin’ retirement. Meg was always planning, planning, planning and wasn’t happy unless she had plans for her plans. Hell, even breaking up with Simon was a Meg Plan!
Her heart hurt when she thought of it. Simon looked so sad under all that tough guy acting. Maybe Meg was wrong. Maybe Simon had a really good reason for flirting with what’s-her-face. He was so pretty, with his blond hair, blue eyes, and movie star life. She’d believed him when he told her she was hot. She’d believed him when he told her she was the only girl in his life. He’d been the one who got her hooked on video games back in ninth grade—first Halo and then Call of Duty and, after that, Portal. When Bailey showed not just interest but actual skill, Simon finally asked her out this semester, and she fell with a splat.
He was so cool on their first date. He did all those gentlemanly things like hold doors open and pull out chairs, and he never tried any moves. He took her to a nice restaurant, asked her a bunch of questions, and really listened to her answers. He walked her to do her door, asked if he could see her again, and promised to call. She walked inside, hurried up the stairs to her room, and flipped on the light, and her phone buzzed. He told her he’d had a great time and couldn’t wait to ask her to breakfast the next morning. Swooning, Bailey agreed. The next morning, he picked her up, drove to Bailey’s favorite game store, and handed her a bagel while they waited for the doors to open. Meg thought that was lame, but Bailey deemed it the perfect date. That was when he kissed her for the first time. Oh, that kiss! She brushed her lips, not surprised they still tingled. It was amazing and romantic and perfect, and every date was just like that one. They’d been great together. Or so she’d thought.
And then somewhere along the line, he’d stopped respecting her. Little things at first. So little that Bailey hadn’t even noticed them. Things like snapping at her, teasing her, rolling his eyes at the things she’d said. But Meg had noticed. And Meg didn’t take any crap from anybody. It was one of the things Bailey loved most about her best friend—and also the least.
She frowned at herself for the traitorous thought. She’d first seen Meg’s courage that day back in second grade on Bring Your Dad to School Day. There were a bunch of kids in their class who didn’t have dads. Bailey didn’t, so she asked Gramps, but he had to work, and there was no way her mom’s skeevy boyfriend would show up, even if she wanted him to, so Gran came instead. Rather than being grateful, Bailey nearly threw a tantrum because she was the only kid there without a male guest. Abby had brought her uncle. Karla had brought her big brother. Marc had his mom’s boyfriend with him, a
nd Shane, a pudgy kid with a buzz cut, had brought his grandpa, who was also chubby and had a buzz cut. Everyone without a dad had brought someone—except Megan. And she stood up there in the front of that classroom and told everyone her dad was there, even though they couldn’t see him.
He was watching from heaven.
Bailey thought that was the bravest thing she’d ever seen and told Megan that at recess, when she’d shared her cookies because Meg didn’t have a snack. Over the years, she’d come to rely on Meg’s courage to say what needed to be said, even when she didn’t want to hear it. But Simon wasn’t that pair of yoga pants Meg warned her not to buy. He was the love of her life, and now…he wasn’t.
Oh, she shouldn’t have listened to Meg! She should have talked to Simon and worked things out, but it was too late. He’d never speak to her again. She’d been so sure Simon was “The One.” Guys never stuck by her for very long. Meg said it was because Bailey was too nice and that guys appreciated a little strong will once in a while.
Bailey moaned in frustration. It wasn’t fair! She just wanted to fall in love. Was that really asking so much? To find someone who loved and adored her in an Edward-loves-Bella way, only in a less stalker-y way, someone who she could fall head over high heels into love with—love song love, movie love. Real, happily-ever-after, to-die-for love.
She thought of Chase and moaned again. Meg had it! She had the kind of love Bailey dreamed about and wished for just a few houses away, only Meg just kept swatting at it like it was some hairy spider. If Chase ever looked at her the way he looked at Meg, she’d never, ever tell him no. He was no Simon, but Chase was strong and quiet and loyal and seriously cute, the way his brown hair dipped over his eyes. Those eyes.
Meg had a little shrine in her room dedicated to Chase’s eyes. Sure, she never talked about it. But Bailey knew exactly what the various shades of green smeared all over Meg’s easel meant. She had it bad for Chase but would rather paint those gorgeous green eyes instead of stare into the real thing. Meg was all about “The Future,” and unless Chase Gallagher came with a Satisfaction Guaranteed! promise, there was no room for him in those plans.
