The bruise around my eye is black and purple with the faintest tint of red. I look…awful.
Terrible.
Lifting my hair away from my face, I lean across the counter and get as close to the mirror as I can. Oh, it’s bad. I turn this way and that, hoping I look better in certain angles, but it’s no use. I need a professional makeup artist to hide this disaster on my face.
How am I supposed to go into work today and help the public? I’ll freak them out. I look like I got beat up. I did get beat up. And my parents are going to freak the hell out when they see me. Mom will probably want to call the cops. Dad will most likely want to kick Jordan’s and Cannon’s asses.
Yeah. This is bad.
I hop in the shower and take a quick one, not bothering to wash my hair. Before I go to work I’ll be back in here anyway, so Mom did have a valid point, but really I’m just stalling for time. Once I dry off, moisturize and brush my teeth, I throw on an old T-shirt and a pair of sweats. Then I pull out all the makeup I own, which isn’t much, and start applying layers of foundation and concealer around my eye.
After laboring for five minutes, I lean back and turn my face to one side, then the other, studying my reflection. The makeup helps, but it doesn’t really hide the bruise. I don’t think anything can hide this bruise. I’m just going to have to face my parents and explain what happened.
Deciding the best way to deal with it is head on, I go to the kitchen, trying my best to ignore the nerves bubbling in my stomach.
“I made you waffles and bacon even though you said you weren’t hungry,” Mom says when I enter the kitchen, her back to me as she rinses off a dish in the sink before setting it in the open dishwasher. “There’s a plate waiting for you at the table.”
“Thanks,” I say gratefully as I go to the kitchen table and sit down, hoping the food will help ease the nerves.
Mom turns off the faucet and shuts the dishwasher door, then grabs a dishtowel out of the drain, drying her hands as she turns to look at me. I duck my head, my hair falling over my face, but the gasp that escapes her tells me I didn’t duck fast enough.
“Amanda.” My name whooshes out of her mouth, full of dread and shock. Her shoes click loudly across the tile floor and then she’s right there, standing in front of me, her fingers slipping beneath my chin so she can tilt my head back and examine my face fully. “My God. What happened to you?”
I try to smile, but the stern look on her face prevents me from doing it. “It was an accident.”
Her fingers drift over my face, and I wince. “Did someone hit you?” Her voice is quiet but with a lethal edge. Like she’s ready to tear someone apart for hurting her baby girl. “Tell me, Amanda. What happened?”
Deciding not to hold back, I launch into the entire story, giving her pretty much every detail minus the reason the boys were fighting—supposedly over me—and the fact that Jordan kissed me. The more I explain, though, the more she scowls, until when I finally finish my story, I’m afraid her face is going to permanently stay that way.
“I thought you split up with Jordan Tuttle.”
I thought so too, I want to say, but I don’t. “I’m…confused over what’s happening between us.”
“He sounds like he’s trouble.”
“He’s not that bad. Really.” He’s a big heap of trouble, but I’m drawn to him anyway. Can’t tell her that either.
Her mouth is a tight line. “I’ve never liked you going to all those parties, and here’s the perfect reason why. You’re grounded.”
My jaw drops open. “Are you serious? Why? I’m almost eighteen, Mom. You can’t ground me.”
“As long as you live under my roof, I can do whatever I want. And I can definitely ground you from going to those parties. They’re nothing but trouble. People drinking and doing drugs and having—” Her voice drops to a harsh whisper. “—sex. They’re not a good place for you to be.”
How can I argue with her when everything she says is true? “So you’re only grounding me from parties?”
“Yes.” She nods. “For a month.”
“A month?” That’s a long time. Four weeks. Thirty days.
“Keep questioning me and I’ll make it two,” she warns.
I snap my lips shut and keep quiet.
“I know you have to work, and you still have a social life minus the house parties. Plus there’s football, though that’s ending soon, right?”
I shrug, then pick up a piece of bacon and start munching on it. “Depends on how far they go into the playoffs.” I don’t want to argue with her or trigger her into grounding me from everything. I need to remain neutral in order to save my senior year.
And I really don’t want to miss the parties, especially if Jordan continues to host them at his house. What will he say when I tell him I can’t go? He’ll think I’m lame. Totally immature since I’m grounded.
“Well, the football season feels never-ending. It’s already November.”
“We could play until right around Thanksgiving if they keep winning.”
“Great.” Mom shakes her head. “Will you hate me if I wish they would lose?”
“Mom! You can’t wish that. Some of those guys have potential full-ride scholarships hanging on this. If they win regional and even state championships in their division? They’ll look like superstars.”
“Hmm. Well, all this hydration station stuff takes my daughter away from me. It’s not the same like when you played with the band. Then I could at least go watch you and enjoy the performance. Now when I watch the band, I get sad. And there’s not much to see when you’re handing out water bottles to the players.”
She makes my job sound so small. And she can’t get over the band thing. Even though I feel like she’s baiting me, I’m not going to argue. I just keep munching on bacon and hope she drops the subject.
“I miss you,” Mom says when I remain quiet. She smiles and I see the sadness there lingering in her eyes. “You’re going to leave us soon. We only have a few months left before you’re gone forever.”
“Oh, Mom.” Now she’s making me feel bad. “I’ll still be around. I thought you wanted me to go to community college.”
“It’s all we can afford if you can’t get a scholarship, but you’re going to get one. I can feel it. You’re too smart and too well rounded a student not to get one.” She reaches out and pats my hand, then gives it a squeeze. “Now hurry up and finish your breakfast so you can go outside and help your daddy. I’m afraid he’s going to overdo it all by himself.”
“Mom, can you tell Dad what happened to my eye?” I wince when she sends me a sharp look. “He’ll probably react better when he hears it from you. If he sees me before I get a chance to explain, he’ll probably want to go beat Cannon and Jordan up.”
She shakes her head as she pushes the chair away and stands. “Fine. I’ll go warn him for you. But be prepared. He’ll probably want to talk about it. And give you a speech. Possibly even ground you.”
“You already grounded me!” My appetite is leaving me with every word she says.
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him that. You’ll be fine.” She stops and gently pats my cheek, smiling down at me. “That’s one hell of a shiner, sweetie. You need to take photos every day and document it.”
“Why?” I ask incredulously.
“So you can show all the photos to Jordan Tuttle and make him feel guiltier and guiltier for what he did to you.” She walks away, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
I can hear her evil laughter all the way down the hall.
I send Amanda a quick text to let her know I’m here just before I pull up in front of her house. I thought about her all night. All morning. I can’t get her out of my mind, though that’s turned into a normal thing for me. I used to fight it, but really. What’s the point?
I’m both dying and dreading to see her. I want to check out her eye. Yet I don’t want to see it either. Her injury is just an actual, physical reminder of how I h
urt her.
And I’ve hurt her far more emotionally than physically.
The moment I put my Range Rover in park, the front door opens and out comes her mother.
Shit.
She’s striding toward my car and I roll down the passenger window, hoping she’ll stay over there instead of coming to the driver’s side. “Hey, Mrs. Winters,” I say weakly.
“Jordan Tuttle. I want to have a word with you.” She leans against the car, her head practically poking through the window as she peers at me with eyes that are the same shade as Amanda’s. “You hurt my daughter.”
Guess she’s going to come right out and say it. “Yes, ma’am.” Yes, ma’am? I never say that kind of crap. “It was an accident. I feel awful about it.”
“You should feel awful. She looks terrible. You hit my daughter. You caused her pain. You physically marked her and now everyone will know what happened,” she stresses.
If she’s trying to make me feel guilty, she’s succeeding. “I know,” I say quietly. “I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. So I’m going to do everything I can to make it up to her.”
“See that you do that.” She points at me. “You’re lucky I’m letting you drive her to work. I should never let her see you again. You don’t deserve her.”
My chest goes tight. Everything she’s saying is true. She’s only confirming all the doubtful feelings I have about me and Amanda. “I really hope you don’t do that, Mrs. Winters. Your daughter means a lot to me.”
“Really?” The skeptical look she sends me says a million things. All of them starting with, I don’t believe you.
“Really.” I nod.
“Then prove it.” She slaps the side of my car, turns and walks back toward the front door just as it opens, and Amanda walks out. She’s wearing jeans that make her legs look ten miles long and a pale pink T-shirt that says Yo Town in white lettering across it. Her long, dark hair is in a ponytail, though there are a few pieces pulled out and hanging over her left eye. They don’t disguise the black eye, though. It’s obvious she has one.
And I feel like shit for being the one who gave it to her.
The tightness in my chest eases when our gazes connect. A tiny smile curves her perfect lips and she gives her mom a quick hug, nodding at whatever she said before she makes her way toward my car. I hop out of the driver’s seat and run around to the passenger side door so I can open it for her.
“Such manners,” Amanda murmurs as she starts to climb into the car, but I stop her so I can examine her eye. “It doesn’t look so bad, right?”
Her hopeful tone makes me want to lie and agree with her, but I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to this girl ever again. “It looks…” I touch the bruise as gently as possible, not wanting to hurt her, but she grimaces anyway.
“Bad, huh?” Her voice is quiet. She reaches up and places her fingers over mine, and her touch soothes away all the earlier worry her mom filled me with. “People are going to talk at school.”
“I don’t care if you don’t.”
“They’ll assume you hit me like Livvy did.”
“Have you seen all the Snapchat stories that feature it? Most everyone caught it all, right down to you landing on your butt.” I even saw the moment she bit her tongue, caught the wince and the way she touched her tongue to the corner of her mouth.
“Oh, that’s not embarrassing.” She rolls her eyes and tries to laugh, but I silence her by resting my fingers over her lips.
“I’ll protect you at school,” I murmur, tracing the curve of her lower lip. “I won’t let them say shit.”
“You can’t be my guardian angel all the time,” she says against my fingers, her big eyes imploring as she watches me.
I’m filled with the urge to kiss her. To take her back to my house and back to my bed. Keep her locked in there forever so no one can touch her. Tease her. Hurt her.
But I do a pretty good job of that myself. Am I really her protector?
I don’t know.
“Watch me,” I say just before I lightly slap her perfect ass. She yelps, sends me a disapproving look and then I’m shoving her into the car and shutting her door behind her. “We need to hurry and get you to work. Don’t want you to be late,” I tell her through the open window.
I don’t want to give her any more reason not to have faith in me. I need her trust.
I just flat out need her.
“…So then we talked for a really long time, and he apologized. Finally. I mean, that took like three hours to get a sorry out of him, but whatever. I’m over it. I think we’re good now.” Livvy shakes her head as we enter the senior hall Monday morning and head toward our lockers. “He’s so stubborn sometimes, I swear. Why exactly do I put up with his crap again?”
“Um, because you love him?” I remind her.
“Oh yeah, that’s right.” She laughs. “I mean, I know I’m stubborn too, and that means we butt heads a lot, but I’m trying to be more easygoing, you know?”
Yeah right. When it comes to Ryan, Livvy is the farthest thing from easygoing.
“You guys fought the entire weekend?” I ask, not really expecting an answer, because it’s obvious they did.
I wish I hadn’t come to school. I don’t remember the last time I felt this way. I usually like going to school. I’m weird like that.
But after everything that happened at Cannon’s party, the very public fight over me, my resulting injury—yeah, somehow my eye looks even worse—I don’t want to face anyone. They’re all talking about it. Boys smirk at me as I walk past them. Girls curl their lips and watch me with disdain.
Honestly, I don’t know why. The proof is all over Snapchat and it’s also on Instagram. There are even images of Jordan’s elbow making direct contact with my eye. It’s obvious it was an accident.
“What are people saying about Friday night, Livvy?” I ask when we stop at her locker. “And tell me the truth.”
She glances around before her gaze reluctantly meets mine. “The rumors are bad, Amanda. Really bad.”
“And, what? You weren’t going to tell me? I had to ask you first?” Sometimes I wonder just how loyal Livvy is to me.
“I’m trying to protect you! And I was hoping all the chatter would die down, but it looks like it hasn’t.” At that precise moment, a group of boys walk by, all of them coughing “slut” into their fists as they stare at me. Nice. If this keeps up, I’m going to cry. “The worst rumor I heard was that Cannon and Tuttle have—shared you in the locker room. And that one of them got jealous so they started fighting over you at Cannon’s party.”
“What? That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard!” I look around the hallway, noticing how everyone turns away rather than making eye contact with me.
Oh, yeah. Livvy’s right. The rumors are bad.
“I know. It’s totally disgusting. I’m sure the rumors will die down eventually, so don’t worry, okay?” Livvy smiles brightly, going for the positive, but I can already feel the tears threaten, and she sees that too. She dumps her books into her locker and turns toward me, grabbing both of my hands. “No, don’t cry, Amanda. I’ll shut them all down, okay? I promise.”
She’s only one person. How can she stop the vicious high school rumor mill? The tears finally make their appearance, springing into my eyes, and I dash a hand across them, wincing when I press too hard on my bruises.
God, I can’t win today.
I wish I could go back to a year ago. When I was a nobody in the band and so happy with my group of friends. I got good grades and the teachers loved me. I was trying out a relationship with Thad and giddy with those butterfly does he really like me feelings. It was fun. Simple.
So simple.
“Thanks, Liv,” I tell her with a watery smile. “I don’t know if that’ll help, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Well, well, well. Looks like you actually showed up today. The infamous Amanda Winters,” a familiar voice says from behind us.
&n
bsp; I close my eyes, fighting the dread that’s washing over me. Without having to see her, I know it’s Lauren Mancini. I’d recognize that snotty voice of hers anywhere. I dab at the tears before I turn around to face her. She physically recoils when she spots my black eye. “What do you want, Lauren?”
“Your eye. It look hideous,” she says, making all of her cheerleader friends laugh nervously. She’s brought a posse with her, but why? For backup? So they can all make fun of me?
Great.
“Gee, thanks. I didn’t know.” Sarcasm drips from my words.
“So is it true?”
I decide to play dumb. “Is what true?”
“The rumors about you and Cannon and Jordan.” I seriously hate it when she calls him Jordan. Like she has the right. “You guys are now a threesome or what? I mean, that’s very…modern of you, and them.” She laughs and so does the rest of her friends.
I clench my hands into fists and part my lips, but no words come. It’s like I’ve drawn a complete blank, which is the absolute last thing you want to do when forced to confront Lauren Mancini.
“No, of course it’s not true. How dare you even ask,” Livvy says, rushing to my defense. “Who the hell are you to judge anyway, Mancini? We’ve all heard the rumors about you.”
Lauren’s eyes flicker for the briefest moment. Thank God Livvy remembers all the rumors and crap that fly around this school. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Neither do you, so keep your thoughts to yourself, bitch.” Livvy grabs my arm and starts steering me down the hall. “Let’s go, Amanda.”
“Wait a minute. I need to get my book out of my locker,” I start to say, but Livvy cuts me off.
“Come back and get it later,” she says under her breath. “We don’t want to stick around here. Lauren will only make everything worse.”
I know she’s right, so I follow her lead, wishing we’d run into Jordan. Or even Cannon. Anyone to help set the rumors straight. But we don’t. We’re less than a minute away from the final bell ringing, so I run into class, settling into my seat and pretending to dig in my backpack, searching for my book.
Forever: A Friends Novel Page 7
