It took a lot of willpower not to roll my eyes. “Girls love you, JC. You know that. Take your pick.”
“I choose you.”
I closed my eyes. We’d had this conversation so many times. Guess it was time for my old line: You could do so much better than me. But I was tired of saying that, tired of putting myself down so he could feel better.
He must’ve misread my pause, because something sparked in his eyes. “Maybe we could get to know each other again as friends. Hang out, the group of us. And then . . . see where things go.”
No freaking way. I knew what he was saying. He was saying that if I hung out with him again, he’d let me back into his circle of friends.
The sad part was, I could almost buy into it.
Almost.
I saw the hope in his eyes, saw a glint of something else . . . triumph? He knew my weak spot and was using it to reel me back in.
“I can’t.” I got up and walked over to my dresser, pretending to arrange things in my jewelry box.
“Gabby, I saw your face when your mom was talking. Don’t you want that to be us? Every relationship has its rough patches; your mom said it herself. Do you want to throw away—”
That was when I lost it.
My head whipped around. “It’s not gonna happen, okay? Let it go.”
He got to his feet. “Me let it go? You’re the one looking at me with those puppy dog eyes like you’re desperate to have me back!”
My mouth fell open. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on. You’re always staring at me at school. This is all a game, isn’t it? To make me want you.”
Had I been staring at him? I didn’t think so. I mean, I looked at him when he passed me in the hallway, but . . .
He was doing it again. He was making me second-guess myself.
“It’s not my fault no one wants to hang out with you,” he said. “I’ve always tried to help you. Tried to give you friends, give you a life. But if you want to be a loser, that’s your call.”
I couldn’t believe it. Was JC Suarez, supposedly the nicest guy at St. Anthony’s, calling me a loser now? Had the breakup turned him into an asshole?
“You’re speechless,” he said, standing over me. “Finally Gabby Perez is speechless. It’s about fucking time.”
I wished I could slap the smirk off his face. “Get out of my room! Go!”
He opened his mouth to retaliate, but then his lip quivered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I—” He reached out his hand.
“Don’t touch me!” I sidestepped him, slamming into my mom, who was standing in the doorway.
Her eyes were huge. It dawned on me that they could probably hear us fighting downstairs. Hear me.
“Be quiet, Gabby,” Mom whispered. “I don’t know what this is about, but this is not the time. You’re embarrassing us.” She looked at JC. “I’m so sorry, JC.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Perez,” he said, hanging his head. “It’s my fault . . . I shouldn’t have come.”
Mom’s sympathy for JC tore me up. Forget that I had any feelings, that I needed her on my side. She’d heard me shouting and assumed I’d started the argument.
I knew that if I stood here one more second, I was going to tell her exactly what I thought of her. So I pushed past her, ran down the stairs and out the door. And kept on running.
It felt good to run. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I didn’t care—it was dark out; no one would see. I ran all the way to Aunt Sarita’s, the place I’d been running to ever since I was a kid. But it was dark, of course. She was still at the party, or maybe she’d ghosted by now and was out on her date.
Letting myself into her backyard, I went over to the swing and rocked back and forth until I had calmed down. It was all so clear. JC had been using guilt to try and control me ever since we broke up. He’d used people’s sympathy for him to make them isolate me, and now he was trying to manipulate me into giving him another chance. I wasn’t going to play his game one second longer.
He might be able to influence everybody at school, and even my own parents. But not me, not anymore.
Fuck him. Fuck the so-called nicest guy in school.
I was done.
I opened my eyes at 9:47 a.m. This was odd—my parents hadn’t woken me up for church. I went downstairs. Dad was at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, still in his pajamas, his black-gray hair uncombed for once.
“We’re not going to church today?” I asked.
“No.”
“Is this because of last night?”
“Ask your mother.”
“C’mon, Dad. Just tell me.”
“Things didn’t end well last night after you left.” He spoke in typical Dad style—factual, like he was reporting a dry piece of news. “JC’s parents were upset about the things you said to him.”
“The things I said?” I told myself not to lose it, not to let JC keep doing this to me. “What did I supposedly say?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “They didn’t elaborate.”
“Dad, I’m so sorry your party was ruined. I feel horrible about it. But it’s not my fault. JC was trying to—”
Dad put up a hand. “No need to get into it. It’s over now. I’d prefer to move past it.”
In Dad’s defense, he looked more worn out by the whole thing than angry. Emotionally sticky stuff took a lot out of him.
Then Mom walked in, wearing her bathrobe. “You might as well go back to bed, Gabby.” Her tone was more along the lines of get out of my sight. She crossed the kitchen to pour herself some coffee.
I stood my ground. “Can I please tell you guys what happened?”
“Fine,” Mom said tightly. “I’d love to hear why you felt you could treat a guest that way.”
The intensity of her anger jolted me.
I sat down at the table. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but I lost all my friends when I broke up with JC. Everybody hates me now. And then at your party he has the b—I mean, the nerve to say to me that if I give him another chance, he’ll let me have my friends back. He was manipulating me. When I refused, he called me a loser.”
Dad frowned. “Really?”
“Really.”
Mom’s lips flattened. “You could try to be understanding of him, Gabby. He was deeply hurt by the breakup.”
“Trust me, Mom, JC’s been making sure nobody lets me off the hook for breaking up with him.” Couldn’t she, just once, try to see this through my eyes? “Think about it. JC doesn’t speak to me for months, then shows up at your anniversary party with some crazy strategy to convince me to start seeing him again. He came into my room. Called my new friends freaks. Called me a loser. And then you come upstairs and just assume that I’m the one who started it? That’s total bull.”
Mom put a hand to her forehead. “Look, I don’t know what happened in there. All I know is that when I came in, JC was very upset. Whatever he might’ve said, it’s up to you to keep hold of your temper, Gabby.”
“So he gets a pass, then?” I shook my head in disgust. “He crashes your party and I get blamed. That’s what I’m hearing.”
Mom gave me the I’m so disappointed in you look I knew too well. “You should treat him with special care. Teenage boys are extremely vulnerable. His—” She broke off, as if debating whether to continue. “His mother told me he sees a psychiatrist. He’s been depressed.”
A psychiatrist? That threw me off. Whenever I saw him at school, he didn’t seem depressed at all. He and Liam were always laughing their asses off. Was I supposed to buy that he was laughing on the outside but crying on the inside?
My mom went on. “Now do you see why you have to be careful with him? Why you can’t let your temper control you? JC was crushed last night, Gabby. You can’t take the name-calling seriously. He’s clearly feeling desperate. I’m going over to the Suarezes’ this afternoon to apologize. They left so quickly I didn’t have the chance to do it properly. I’d like it if you came with me.”
After everything I’d just said, she wanted me to apologize? “No. Way.”
Mom looked deflated. “Well, if you change your mind . . .”
“I won’t change my mind. But feel free to give JC a message for me. Tell him to man up and leave me the hell alone. Thanks.”
And I walked out of the room.
THE CLUB
THERE WERE WORSE WAYS TO spend Tuesday lunch hour than at a meeting of the Revelations Club. Started by Adriana and Caro, the club was supposed to study the Book of Revelations, but it was really a cover for the Zombie Apocalypse Survival Club. Thankfully, no staff member had stuck around long enough to suspect our real purpose.
We met in the basement chapel that the nuns had once used for early-morning and late-night prayers. Containing an altar and four pews, it was piled high with desks, boxes of old textbooks, and random school junk. Adriana had asked to use this room, claiming religious significance. The truth was, she wanted it because it was private, almost devoid of natural light, and overall fit the zombie apocalypse mood.
Adriana started the meeting with an update of the latest zombie sightings. One in Maryland, one in upstate New York, one in California.
“That last one needs further investigation,” Alistair Zellin said. “I hope the CDC is collecting tissue samples.” Tall and reed thin, he looked a bit zombie-like himself. Alistair was new to school this year. Though his inventions had won him the state Engineering Olympics, they didn’t help with social acceptance. The poor guy had tried to find friends among the senior boys, only to get atomic wedgied by Liam Murray in the locker room. After several more humiliations, he’d stopped trying. He’d wound up in Adriana and Caro’s orbit, as I had. It turned out he was a natural fit for the zombie club.
“So what do we do if the shit hits the fan?” Adriana asked. The shit hits the fan, I’d learned, was basic doomsday prepper terminology. “How will we find each other?”
“We could meet here in the chapel,” Rory Kovick answered between crunches of Doritos. “It’s central. We could all walk here if we had to. Or steal a car.”
Rory took this apocalypse stuff way too seriously. It shouldn’t be surprising. This was a guy whose online persona was Roar, God of Gaming.
“Then we’d better stockpile some supplies,” Alistair said. “Nonperishable food, for starters.”
“I’m sure we could hide supplies in here without anyone knowing,” Adriana said. “But we’ll have to remove them next summer in case they finally clean it out.”
“It’s getting the stuff in here that could be the problem,” Caro pointed out.
“I can smuggle in some boxes under the guise of engineering equipment,” Alistair said.
Rory pumped his fist. “Great! We’ll need weapons too. I’ll bring my knife collection, a Taser, and my dad’s vintage Colt 45.”
Uh-oh. That’s all I needed—to be part of a group hiding an arsenal of weapons in the school basement. My parents would so not approve.
“Don’t bring in any weaponry,” Alistair cautioned him. “There’s too high a chance an enemy could access our stash and use our weapons against us. Keep everything at home under lock and key.”
“Okay, cool,” Rory said.
I caught Alistair’s eye, and gave him a nod. Rather than tell Rory he was insane to suggest bringing weapons to school, he’d talked him down in just the right way.
“Now, for the demonstration.” Rory got up from a pew, hoisted his army pants around his chubby middle, and grabbed a long metal serving spoon from his bag. “Who wants to help me? Gabby?”
“Sure, pretend I’m the zombie.” I got up and did a jittery zombie walk, making the others laugh.
“Here’s how to impale a zombie with any household object. Saw this technique on YouTube.” Rory came at me with the spoon, pretending to impale my stomach with the handle. I bent over, making the appropriate moaning noises. “Now that she’s bent over, you finish her off. Go for the head.” He pretended to bonk me several times on the head. I sank to the ground dramatically.
The others clapped.
“Good job, Zombiegirl,” Rory said.
“Anytime.” I dusted myself off and sat down again. I wondered what X would think if he saw me participating in this stuff. He’d probably laugh that gorgeous laugh of his. No matter what I was doing, he was always there, in the back of my mind. I should get over him already.
“It’s your turn next week,” Adriana told me, bringing me back to reality. “What are you going to do?”
“Um.” I was still thinking about X, and my senses were taking a while to return.
“Since you’re into radio, maybe you could research radio communications during the apocalypse,” Alistair suggested. “Staying in touch with other survivors is going to be crucial.”
“Sure, I’ll put something together for that.” Maybe I’d ask Caballero his thoughts on the matter. I was sure he’d crack up.
“I’m starving,” Caro said. “Let’s go to the caf.”
They all agreed. I’d been hoping to avoid the caf again today, since the dirty looks I’d been receiving since JC had spread his version of Saturday night’s events were worse than usual. But I was enjoying myself with these guys, and I didn’t feel like spending the rest of lunch hour by myself.
The five of us went upstairs and found a table near the concession. I was careful not to look in JC’s direction. God forbid he accuse me of staring at him.
We all bought slices of pizza. I wasn’t picky about pizza—thick or thin, oven or delivery, meat or veggie—but today’s was downright disturbing. It was white, flat, and tasted like the flavor had been surgically removed.
“How’d your parents’ party go last weekend?” Alistair asked.
Unfortunately, he was probably the only senior at school who hadn’t heard about it.
“Drah-ma.” Adriana did a mock shiver.
“JC showed up,” I said. “There was a bit of an argument.”
“Sorry to hear that. JC’s an asshole. All those guys are.” Alistair’s face darkened. He was probably remembering the atomic wedgie.
Had JC been a part of that? I’d never known him to be a bully—he was just the opposite, always going out of his way to help people. But after the way he’d been acting lately, it wouldn’t surprise me.
“Yeah, he’s a total asshole,” Rory agreed, turning to me. “JC was telling everybody in the locker room yesterday that you’re frigid. I even said, Really? Gabby? And he was like, Yeah.”
“Rory.” Alistair gave him a look of disgust, while Adriana and Caro had stopped mid-chew, ready for my reaction.
I put down my pizza, my hand curling into a fist. That was a brand-new low for JC. I wanted to jump out of my seat and go tell him he’d earned the title of Douchebag of the Year.
But I remembered that Mom had said he was seeing a psychiatrist. If he was in a funk of some kind, I should probably leave it alone. And if Mom heard I’d confronted him at school, she would freak.
I lifted my chin. “I’m not even gonna respond to that.”
Everybody looked at one another as if this was a very un-Gabby-like response.
“I know why he’s lashing out,” Adriana said. “The breakup messed with his manhood. He couldn’t handle that you rejected him sexually, so he’s going to insult you sexually.”
“True that,” Rory said, nodding eagerly. “He talked like you’re not interested in guys at all. Like he suspects you’re a lesbian. Personally, I see nothing wrong with lesbians. I think they’re sexy.”
Under other circumstances, I might’ve laughed. “Picture that, huh? If I’m gay, then JC wasted way too long trying to convert me.”
“No one thinks you’re gay,” Alistair said, “especially if they listen to your radio show. I really enjoyed it Sunday night.”
So much that the mention of it made him blush, I could see.
Good thing I hadn’t chosen to rant about bad breakups and unsupportive families. After Saturday ni
ght’s disaster, it had been very tempting. But instead I’d talked about what it was like to be captivated by someone. To be unable to get that person out of your head. And my listeners had responded with stories of love at first sight and crazy hot attractions.
I couldn’t help but wonder if X had been listening. He’d been all over my mind during the show. Maybe he’d tuned in just to make sure I wasn’t talking about Raul again. Would he have clued in that he had inspired the show?
“I didn’t hear it,” Rory said. “I was in a Call of Duty tournament. What’d I miss?”
“It was about crushes,” Alistair informed him. “Essentially, it was about the phenomenon of finding ourselves captivated by someone before we even know them.”
“Is it available on iTunes? As a podcast?” Rory wanted to know.
“Sorry,” I said.
“I heard it too.” Caro’s eyebrows went up. “Sounded to me like you’re crushing on someone, Gabby.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I smiled a little. Unfortunately, since the crush was all in my head, there was nothing more I could say. It wasn’t like I expected to ever see him again.
“So guys, who else is pumped for Friday night?” Adriana drummed on the table. “It’s gonna be incredible!”
“What’s Friday night?” I asked.
Adriana and Caro glared at me. “The psychic fair,” they said simultaneously.
“Oh, right.” In a moment of duress, I’d agreed to go. It was the most important event of the year for them, so not going would be like skipping out on Thanksgiving dinner.
“Sorry, can’t go,” Rory said apologetically. “Finish gaming tournament.”
I didn’t know if he meant he had to finish a gaming tournament, or had a gaming tournament with Finnish people. It really didn’t matter.
“Are you coming?” Caro asked Alistair.
“I’ll think about it. Are these psychics any good?”
“Depends which one you get,” Caro said. “I’m going to be seeing Miss Lisa. She’s a medium, a channeler, clairvoyant, clairaudient—I’m probably missing something. I had to book the slot months in advance.”
“She did a reading for me last year and it was right on,” Adriana said. “I’m talking, every detail.” She turned to me. “Don’t forget to bring money for cover. It’s twenty bucks.”
Light of Day Page 4
