“You’re deluded,” I answered, walking away to get my coat. He easily kept up with me, and we stood at the back of the line, inching up as each person retrieved his or her belongings.
“When you have that conversation with Grayson, and you’re feeling really awful about that hot chick from the mall,” he said, “just, you know, keep me in mind, if you want a revenge hookup.”
“How can you talk like that? You’re with Ava. I thought you were Grayson’s best friend.”
For a moment I could see that I’d hit a nerve. On some level his friendship with Grayson mattered to him. Whatever he was playing at now had nothing to do with friendship. Ava came by and shoved his jacket into his chest. He raked his teeth across his lower lip. The glimpse was gone. He stood up straight and put one arm through the sleeve of his jacket.
“All’s fair, Wren,” he said, walking away, jogging to catch up with Ava, who glared over her shoulder at me. So much for rekindling our BFF status.
I grabbed my coat, avoiding further contact with anyone, and scored a window seat on the bus ride back to Sacred Heart. Mrs. Fiore returned my phone. I had five texts from Grayson. Normally I would have torn right through them, but I rested my head against the window, trying to make sense of all that had happened.
Luke’s knowledge of the mall chick . . . Allegra . . . burrowed under my skin, giving new life to the fears that I’d squelched about Grayson. There was something he wasn’t telling me. He’d hooked up with her? That thought alone made every nerve in my body sizzle with jealousy. I’d had a gut feeling he’d been doing more than a favor for Luke, but ignorance was bliss. I swiped a few tears away before the bus steered into the Sacred Heart lot, where I saw him perched on the Chrysler. Completely oblivious to the hell I was about to give him.
TWENTY
GRAYSON
I STARED DOWN THE STREET, SHIVERING MY ASS off as I sat on the rear bumper of the Chrysler. Waiting. We were due at my mother’s in about three hours. Why wasn’t Wren returning my texts?
The wheezing sound of bus brakes got my attention. The bus chugged down the street and into the Sacred Heart lot. My pulse sped up at the thought of seeing her. She’d told me just last week how she loved to walk out of school and see me there.
Me. Grayson Barrett. Boyfriend.
She was the first to get off the bus. Hopping down, she walked with quick, short steps. The hood of her coat was up, the fuzzy fur trim blowing back with her movement. She pulled the hood down, shook out her hair. The corners of my mouth turned up at the sight of her, but as she got closer, I knew something was wrong. Her mouth was a tight, glossy line, and that spot between her eyebrows was creased.
“Hey, you,” I said, opening my arms to give her a squeeze, hoping that would help. She stopped about three feet away from me, arms crossed and eyeing me like coming closer would be painful. Her mouth opened and a puff of white escaped, drifted away.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Why don’t you ask your friend?” she said, her voice catching.
“Friend? Wha—” I stopped, my eyes fixing on Luke. He had his arm around Ava and was talking to a guy I recognized from St. Gabe’s. What was he doing here? You know I wouldn’t mind having that conversation with her.
“What did he say?” I asked, trying to control the rage snaking up in my chest.
Wren shook her head, lips trembling. Silent. This was bad.
My feet took off before my brain was up to speed. Luke and Ava saw me from about a foot away. She let out a yelp as he pushed her out of the way. I freight-trained into him, and we both tumbled down to the pavement, rolling over until we stopped, splayed apart from each other not far from the curb.
“Barrett, what the hell?” he yelled, and scrambled to his feet.
I had one knee up and one still on the ground when the bottom of his shoe made hard contact with my shoulder, shoving me back. My palms scraped the pavement, and I crab-walked backward, practically knocking over Ava, until I got my footing and stood up, ducking just in time to dodge Luke’s fist. I grabbed hold of his jacket, and we spun before I slammed him into the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the front lawn of Sacred Heart. Someone screamed.
“What did you do?” I asked, gathering up the slack of his jacket in my fists and slamming him against the fence again. It knocked the spit out of him, but he brought up both arms in between mine and broke my hold, shoving me away. I stumbled back, fists at the ready.
“I did you a fucking favor,” he said, squaring off his shoulders. We circled each other, catching our breath, until Luke lunged toward me. I sidestepped him, letting his momentum carry him past me, but he turned sharp, and his fist clipped my chin. The sting spurned me on, and I landed a punch square on his cheek, my knuckles throbbing. He rubbed the spot where my fist had made contact and laughed.
Grunting, I charged him. He braced himself, chest slamming into mine. We butted against each other, the force making us momentarily still.
“Grayson! Luke! Stop.” Faceless voices shouted our names as we spun slowly, pushing into each other, neither one of us backing down.
“What . . . did . . . you. . . tell . . . her?” I asked, stammering between shoves.
“The . . . truth,” he said, his voice rough with struggle.
Fuck.
I backed away, and Luke fell forward into Ava. She pulled on his jacket, but he batted her off, coming at me again. Adrenaline numbed me from the fight, but twinges of pain prickled through my palms, chin, and shoulder. I steeled myself for his assault. He came at me again, and our arms were around each other, each grappling for the upper hand.
“Why are you doing this?”
“That’s my property around her neck, Barrett.”
“Drop it. It’s over.”
“Who said you get to say when it’s over?”
“Enough!” a high-pitched voice squealed. We were moving apart from each other but still jabbing. A two-ton guy in a Santa hat was behind Luke, holding him by the elbows. Luke squirmed but finally relented. An older woman with frosted hair and stale coffee breath was in my face, hand up, urging me to back off. I tried to get around her, but she got in my face again with another shrill command of, “Enough!”
“Barrett, dude, calm down.”
The guy from St. Gabe’s had me by the back of my jacket. I twisted away from him.
“Who are you?” the lady asked.
I stepped back.
“You weren’t even on the bus . . . why are you here? Where did you come from?” she demanded.
“He’s with me, Mrs. Fiore,” Wren said, coming to my side and grabbing my hand before I could answer.
Ah, the Harvard-stomping guidance counselor.
“Miss Caswell, this is Sacred Heart property, and you’re still representing this school and the Spirit Club. I won’t tolerate this. What’s your name?”
“Grayson Barrett, ma’am,” I answered, standing up straight.
“I’d better not see you within a five-block radius of this school for at least a month, Grayson Barrett, or I’ll call the police, do you understand me?”
Luke stood by Ava, triumph on his flushed face.
“Don’t forget, Wren,” he said.
She flipped Luke off. He pouted and put his hands over his heart in mock hurt, finally scowling at me. My blood boiled. I started toward him again, but Wren dug her nails into my raw hand so hard, I winced.
“Grayson, please, just stop,” Wren said, keeping her grip on me. When we got closer to the Chrysler, she let go of my hand. I walked over to the passenger side, to open the door for her. She stopped in her tracks.
“Wren, I can explain,” I said, my voice unsteady. Not knowing what Luke had told her, I wasn’t sure what kind of explanation I could offer.
“Do I want to hear it?” she asked. “Whatever it is, it must be really awful for you to go at him like that.”
My brain went numb. I put my hands in my hair, tugging at my roots, closing my eyes.
“Why did he say his property was around my neck, Grayson?”
“You heard that?”
“He was looking over your shoulder at me when he said it,” she said.
“Wren, please, let’s just go somewhere and talk. I’ll explain, I promise. What did Luke mean by, Don’t forget? Don’t forget what?”
“He needs to speak to Mike Pearson. He said it would mean more coming from me. What does that even mean, Grayson? Who is that?”
I’d heard that when you die, you see your life flash before your eyes. It hadn’t happened when I’d choked, but it happened now. Only, it was Mike Pearson’s life that flashed before me. Faces of girls I thought I’d forgotten and houses we’d swiped stuff from all rushed before me as I stood in front of Wren, wondering what I could possibly say to make her understand I’d changed.
“Grayson, please, who’s Mike Pearson?”
Of course Luke would know exactly what to say to Wren to make it lethal. I jammed my eyes shut, tried to right the sensation I had of free-falling down a deep dark hole, and took a deep breath.
“Me, Wren. I’m Mike Pearson.”
Her eyes turned a brighter shade of blue when she cried.
We sat in the Chrysler, behind the A&P only a few blocks from Sacred Heart. My confession flowed easily, as if I’d only been waiting for the right time to tell her. I left out names and places, details I’d either forgotten or forced myself to forget. I didn’t tell her about Andy, Dev, or Logan specifically, just that I had other friends involved. But I told her how we’d worked, how I’d worked. There was no spin-doctoring, no not-exactly-a-lie half-truths. I felt so detached, it was like I was telling someone else’s story. I blocked out her occasional sniffles, trying not to look at her, because every time I did, my heart imploded a little more.
After I finished we sat in silence, broken only by Wren’s occasional sobs. I wanted to reassure her that I had changed, that what I had with her was all I wanted, but I sat frozen. The longer we sat, the more scared I became of what she was going to say.
“Did you sleep with any of them?”
I breathed out, closed my eyes, and leaned back on the headrest. There was no turning back from this.
“Two of them,” I whispered.
“Allegra?”
“Last spring, Wren. Yes. Before I knew you.”
She looked out the passenger window, her breath forming moisture on the glass.
“W-w-what were you doing at the mall?” she stammered, a curtain of hair hiding her face. “Were you planning on hooking up with her again?”
“No.” I reached for her, but she shrank away.
“Then what?”
“Luke threatened me. He said he’d talk to you if I didn’t go talk to her.” Christ, it sounded so dumb. What exactly would he have told her? I’d been with girls? The excuse justified nothing.
“He really has that kind of power over you?”
“Fuck no,” I said, looking at her.
“You didn’t have to go there—”
“Wren, what we have—”
“We have nothing.”
“Don’t say that. That other stuff . . . that happened before we met. What we have is real.”
“I saw the way she looked at you, Grayson. Don’t kid yourself . . . that was real to her.”
Wren’s words, her eyes, were a knifepoint. All this time I’d justified my actions by pretending to be someone else, but my role in our scamming had been more detestable than stealing goods. Gadgets? Necklaces? iPods? All that stuff the guys took could be replaced. Luke and I were guilty of something way more damaging. Stealing trust. That wasn’t something you could pick up at Target or Best Buy. There was really nothing I could say to repair this, but I had to try.
“I’m sorry, Wren. I can’t change what I did, but it’s not who I am anymore. Not who I want to be. I’m not Mike Pearson. I haven’t been for a long time.”
“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? I can’t even believe I’m having this conversation,” she said, shaking her head.
She opened the passenger-side door. I grabbed her elbow.
“Wren, please.”
She stared at my hand, then back up at me; the sadness in her eyes sent a shock wave through my body.
“I have to go,” she said, sliding away from me.
“Please don’t,” I whispered. She slammed the door, sending the air freshener spinning, wafts of cinnamon spreading through the car. She walked a few feet away, stopped, and came back, hand poised to open the door, but then she took off again.
I got out of the car. “Wren!”
She kept running, her hair a light brown wave behind her. I got back into the car, ready to put it in Drive, but stopped.
“You fucking idiot,” I cursed myself as I clutched the wheel. I’d confessed the short, pathetic half-life of Mike Pearson. It hadn’t felt good or cleansing or like any of that psychobabble parents and teachers feed you about how the truth shall set you free. It felt like shit.
When I put the car in Drive, I had no clue where I was headed. I thought of hitting Andy’s to see if anyone had known what Luke was up to but decided against it. What did it matter if they knew? The damage was done, and there was no way I wanted Luke to find out he’d gotten the best of me. Staying away was the perfect strategy, even though I wanted to track him down and kick the living shit out of him.
So I drove past the town limits and onto the turnpike. The sound of the wheels on the road became a tranquilizer. I wasn’t conscious of where I was heading; all I knew was that I wanted to drive—as if the simple act of getting away from Bayonne would let me leave my past behind. Which was a joke, because my past may as well have been sitting in the backseat, reminding me why I didn’t deserve Wren in my life.
This was all for the best, because clearly there was something wrong with me. I’d had every advantage I could possibly have had, and I threw them away in search of . . . what?
Nights of meaningless sex?
Extra Taco Bell cash?
A graduation trip to Amsterdam with my friends?
Why had I gone to see Allegra? To prove to Luke I was willing to fight for what I wanted? Wren did not deserve to be in the middle of this. Who was I kidding? She wasn’t in the middle anymore. She was gone. And that had been Luke’s goal all along. Wren was right—he did have some sort of power over me.
When I pulled off at the Darien exit, I was almost surprised. Was this really where I wanted to be? I parked on the street outside my mother’s and grabbed the bin of Christmas ornaments from my trunk.
My heart raced as I trotted up the small stone steps. The tip of my sneaker caught on the top step, and I tumbled forward, helpless to stop my fall. The bin flew from my hands, crashing a good three feet away. I followed, landing with a thud on my elbow, belly down, my skull an inch from being cracked. The front door squeaked opened.
Footsteps.
“Grayson?”
A pair of brown loafers and a smaller pair of light-up sneakers appeared in my line of vision. Two surprised blue eyes met mine.
“He’s bleeding!” Ryder yelled, tearing off back into the house.
Laird crouched down and reached out to examine my face. I flinched but stopped when I saw his look of concern. I was tired, all my fight gone. There was no need to struggle against this. Laird wanted to help me. I’d been nothing but a prick to the guy, yet he still wanted to help me.
“Grayson, he’s right, you’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” I said, propping myself up, a little dizzy from getting the wind knocked out of me.
“Let me just take a look,” Laird said, tilting up my chin to see the left side of my face. His brows drew together.
“You didn’t get this from falling, did you?”
I stared down at the walkway.
The door opened again. Ryder dragged Mom toward me; she went from smiling to stricken the moment she saw I was on the ground.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I, um . . .”
“He fell, nicked his chin, nothing a bag of frozen peas won’t fix. Think you could hook him up, Ryder?” Laird asked, holding out his hand to me. I grabbed it and pulled myself upright.
I brushed some dirt off my jeans and inspected the damage. The top of the bin had popped off in the fall; a few of the antique ornaments lay on the stone path, shattered.
“I’m sorry, Mom, I—”
“Don’t worry about it. Are you all right?”
She brushed some hair away from my face.
No. I was not all right. I was broken and screwed-up. And as I stood there, feeling Wren’s absence, all I wanted to do was bawl like a five-year-old. You must be an awesome big brother, she’d said. I wanted to be that guy she saw in the picture. For her. For me. Big brother to Ryder and Grier. The son my mother and Laird bragged about. I’d pushed my mother’s family away out of some sense of duty to Pop, but he’d moved on. They all had. Except me.
“Yeah, fine,” I said.
“I’ll get this,” Laird said, walking over to the mess.
“Laird,” I said. He picked up the top of the bin and turned to me.
“Thanks.”
He grabbed the rest and walked toward the house. “Get those peas on that soon. It’ll stop the swelling.”
“Your father mentioned you were bringing a friend,” Mom said.
“She, um, couldn’t make it.”
“You sure everything’s okay?”
“I wanted you to meet her,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around her. My chin rested on top of her head. When had she shrunk?
“Next time,” she said, pulling away and beaming. “Grier has been talking about you all day. Come on, there’s a ton of food.”
“Sounds good.”
TWENTY-ONE
WREN
I RAN.
Mostly because I didn’t know what else to do.
Maybe I was trying to outrun Grayson’s Mike Pearson confession.
The Promise of Amazing Page 20
