by Keilan Shea
I don’t think about where I’m going. I let the incessant chatter drive me toward the cafeteria; it’s as if they’re corralling me in. I know I’d be better off in the library, acting like a loner loser. Scratch that. It wouldn’t be acting.
A flood of students sweeps me up into its strong current before I can swim away from the cafeteria’s south entrance. I grasp at the edge of a heavy metal door, but I miss the handle. My hands slip and coax a quiet protest from the door closer as it fights to hold its open position. No one but me flinches at the ominous ka-thunk.
When I see a break, I dart through it and retreat to a wall. Bracing my back against rough stones is a relief until the whispering rushes in my ears and the stares burn holes into my skin.
“She’s such a slut.”
“Johan should have dumped her sooner.”
“I bet she was cheating on him the whole time they were together.”
“Why would Blake sleep with her, though?”
“He didn’t do it willingly. She attacked him. You’ve seen his bruise. He tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, to let her off easy and take the blame himself, but he’ll make another video and explain everything. Mark my words. That bruise was just the start of her abuse.”
Fuck. Where is Blake Earnshaw?
My gaze wanders to the sports table, where Johan’s blue eyes pierce me. A clenched fist drills into his thigh and his legs are coiled as if he’s about to spring off the floor. He’s avoided me since yesterday morning. I asked him to and he respected that. He still is, but his eyebrows draw together in this pained expression. He wants to save me. He’ll wrap me up in his arms if I—
Sarah jumps up and abandons her seat. Johan, Mia, Eve, Zoe, and the others at her table give her incredulous expressions when she makes a beeline for me. Now her hands are in fists too. I find myself trying to melt into the rocks at my back as I press against them. The wriggling walls of bodies to either side of me offer no escape route. Not that I should escape. I’ll have to face her eventually, but do I have to do it where we’ll be gawked at as if we’re the drama geeks putting on an impromptu performance?
“Teagan,” she says when her face is inches from mine, “you did Blake?!”
“I didn’t do him.”
Sarah pats her afro as if it’ll ease the tension coursing through her fingers. My own fingers find loose strands of my golden hair, which I decided to leave down today. I could curtain my face and hide behind it.
Sarah lowers her voice and says, “What is going on?”
“Nothing. It’s all a big misunderstanding.”
“Don’t lie to me, Teagan! You’ll make me doubt you. I’m already doubting you because I’ve seen the pictures. This isn’t like you. Did you cheat on Johan? Is that why you kicked him to the curb? You told him you needed a break from dating, but you sleep with Blake Earnshaw, the guy you said is an asshole? Most of us don’t know whether to vouch for you or blacklist you. Except for Johan. He’s fighting for you—”
“I didn’t ask him to.”
Sarah grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Girl, wake up! We’re your best friends. We’ve been together forever.”
“This Blake thing was a mistake and shouldn’t have happened,” I clarify, “but I didn’t have sex with him.”
“You’re not going to deny that you cheated on Johan?”
“I didn’t cheat on him. How could you ask me that? You know me.”
“I don’t know you—not anymore—because you won’t let me. Not since the accident.” She sniffles, wipes her eyes, and mutters, “Sorry.” Then she flees, shoving people aside until she’s out of sight.
That’s when Johan steps toward me, but I can’t take another round. I follow Sarah’s example and run the fuck out of the cafeteria.
The air is toxic and thinning. I can’t breathe, but I dive deeper into the school. Endless corridors trap me inside a dark loop to shield me from windows and people. Until I collapse inside the math hall. I gasp, holding back tears, and clutch Mom’s locket. My phone jabs my ass because I put it in my back pocket after exiting my last class for some reason.
Because I need to call Harvey.
I hold my phone to my ear once it’s ringing. It hurts my head, so I almost hang up, but Harvey’s voice stops me.
“Teagan.”
“Hey, Harv.”
“I thought you’d call me sooner.”
“You said to do it when I got a chance.”
“You’re doing all right, then? After Principal Yancey called me about the pictures, she assured me you were checked in and safe, so I resisted doing anything rash.”
“Rash how?”
“I considered demanding that you sit in the office to wait until I arrived so that I could end everything right then and there. I’d have pulled you from Raindrop High and banned you from Raindrop itself until you turned eighteen.”
“You’re angry.”
Harvey’s silent. I check my phone for a lost connection, but there’s no problem. “Blake called me ten minutes ago, requesting I let him and his bodyguards escort you home.” Harvey sighs. “To my home.”
“What did you tell him?”
“No. He wasn’t entirely honest with me yesterday and neither were you.”
I ignore that second part. “How’d he react?”
“He offered to have one of his bodyguards drive your car home. I declined a second time. Larry and George can help us out.” I smile because I knew Harv wouldn’t let me down. “You know what he said to me after that? ‘You said that if I need anything, your door is always open.’ Then he proceeded to say that he wants to come over after school to talk.”
My breath and spit get caught in my throat and I cough. My eyes are watering when I manage to ask, “You’re going to let him?”
“Did he hurt you? Did you consent?”
“Didn’t Principal Yancey clear this up already?”
“I’m asking you. Blake was … he had you by your hair. It doesn’t look good, Teagan.”
“You’ve seen the pictures?” I grimace hard. I’m so glad I wasn’t naked, but fuck.
“Unfortunately. They reappear as fast as they’re flagged and removed. I need you to tell me the truth. Blake offered up his version of what transpired.”
“Which is?”
“Nice try. Say your piece.”
I should accuse Earnshaw of taking advantage of me. That would solve my problems, wouldn’t it? But only if I could prove it in front of a pricey hotshot lawyer, which I doubt I can. Plus, if there are cameras inside my chalet, assuming Earnshaw was lying, he’ll have video proof of what I did with the tacks, and he’s still got that bruise … Straight-up lying isn’t an option.
“I initiated it,” I say. “It was hasty. I shouldn’t have done it, but I was angry, and Blake was there. It’s better than nailing him with a rock again, right? Because it was consensual, and no one was supposed to find out. We agreed to keep quiet and …” I clamp my mouth shut. I shouldn’t say any more. How much detail did Earnshaw go into with Harvey? Did he lie or tell the truth?
“Teagan.” Harvey’s voice cracks. “You know this behavior is self-destructive, don’t you? Acting on your anger it … it might feel good in the moment, but it doesn’t solve anything. It doesn’t heal the pain.”
“Being with Johan, trying to be who I was before the accident, doesn’t heal the pain,” I say through my teeth. There’s no hiding it anymore, because the whole world knows I’m a wreck. Living is what hurts the most. I don’t know what I should do. I’m losing my fight against the Earnshaw invasion. I was going to slip away from Harvey quietly to spare him the agony, but here we are. Everything around me is crumbling, and I’m a ticking time bomb.
“I have to go,” Harvey says quietly. “I’m getting things in order over here so that I can take a couple of weeks off. You might be taking them off with me. I haven’t decided yet. Also, I’ll tell Blake he can’t come over.” He sighs. “We’ll talk more later, all right? I
n person. I love you.”
I end the call and roll my head against the stone wall behind me. It grabs my hair, tangles it, but I don’t care. Movement from farther down the hall catches my eye. A leg reeling into a blind spot, a gap between lockers. I clench my jaw and rise, trudging toward the sick coward listening in on someone else’s conversation. I am out in the open, but what happened to common decency?
I freeze when I’m hovering over the guy, because it’s Blake Earnshaw. He’s sitting on the linoleum floor. Apparently, he doesn’t care about a dirty ass despite his expensive attire. He’s gingerly writing in a little leather journal that he’s propped up against his raised thighs.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He closes the journal and runs his fingers through his immaculately combed hair, disheveling it. A couple of the dark strands fall into his eyes. “Homework.”
“You listened to every word I said, didn’t you?”
“I was here first. You would have known that if you had taken a moment to look.”
I stick my tongue out at him like a five-year-old. “Harvey won’t let you come over, either. I don’t know why you tried.”
“That’s what he just told me.” Earnshaw lifts his phone, a text on the screen. “Everyone’s a hypocrite.”
“You have no right to talk. Plus, you shoved his deadname in his face and think you deserve his kindness? You don’t.”
Earnshaw tilts his head. “He told you about that.”
“No. I spied on you that night.”
“Of course you did.”
“Lucky for you, Harvey isn’t a hypocrite and he doesn’t hold grudges like me,” I add. If there are angels among us, he’s one of them. “If it wasn’t for me, he would let you come over. He takes care of his own first. Then again, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have asked.”
Earnshaw says nothing because his attention has strayed. He taps his fancy fountain pen against that journal. Or notebook. Most of our work, in and out of class, is done on our tablets, so I have no idea what he’s doing with it. Maybe he prefers writing things out by hand first.
I settle my butt against the crevice of rock wall between Earnshaw and the next cluster of lockers. I toss my hair over my shoulder, but the wall holds on to my blouse and scrapes my skin as I sink. I don’t stop to adjust. Earnshaw scoots over when my ass hits his shoulder. There’s barely enough room for us to sit on the floor side by side, and it requires touching. Smooshing, really. It should be uncomfortable, but it’s not. It’s warm. And the closest thing I’ll get to a hug until Harvey arrives.
I’m pathetic. I don’t deserve a hug from the living, and I certainly don’t deserve one from the dead.
So, why isn’t Earnshaw evacuating? He doesn’t have to take this squishy torture. His hand brushes my neck when he tries to find a more comfortable position, but he gives up on that and accepts his punishment. I smell cinnamon.
“Do you mean it?” Earnshaw says, staring at the lockers straight ahead.
“What?”
“That your uncle would welcome me if it wasn’t for you.” He gently rubs his crunched thighs as if to soothe an ache.
“Yeah.”
“Even after what I said.”
“He’s saintly like that.”
“Why?”
“He wants you to know that you’re not alone. He thinks you feel trapped or something, and he cares about that because he’s been there. His father didn’t accept him either.”
Earnshaw turns his face toward mine. We’re so close the puff of air that shoots through his lips rolls down my forehead, but our eyes can’t meet.
“I’m not like Harvey Mace,” Earnshaw says. “I’m straight and a cisgender man.”
“Good. That means you’re just an asshole and I won’t feel a bit of remorse for punching you in the face,” I say. “I guess we’re in the middle of a ceasefire now, so I’ll do it later.” Better late than never.
Earnshaw’s lips twitch, revealing a half-smirk.
I tense. “It’s not funny. What would happen if I told everyone you’re here because you’re a drug addict?”
“Don’t. No one would believe you, and they’d hate you more. Surely you know this already.”
“Even though it’s true?” I snatch his journal, scrambling away and onto my feet. Then I poise to run; I’ll act based on his reaction.
Earnshaw rises steadily with his hand outstretched. “Hackett.” I’m not Teagan anymore.
“What’s in here?” I say. “It can’t be homework. It’s a damn journal. Do you pour your feelings into your special diary every day? Maybe it’s more scandalous. Do you write erotic fiction in your free time? I guess it’s the best alternative. Your perfect daddy would be livid if he caught you watching porn.”
“You might try being more observant.” Earnshaw extends his other hand, palm-down, and spreads his fingers. A thin gold chain slithers between them, weighed down by my mom’s locket. It sways like a pendulum.
I touch my neck from front to back, but there’s only skin and hair. Earnshaw snapped the chain. When? How? My throat ignites. The fire spreads up to my face and dyes my vision red.
Earnshaw opens the locket and holds the two pieces between his forefingers and thumbs as if he’s about to break them apart too. I’m vibrating like an earthquake, but I can’t move. Pleading with him worked last time, but this—
The bell rings.
Earnshaw closes the locket and tosses it at me. I drop his journal to catch it. As students filter into the hall, Earnshaw merges with them, his journal reclaimed.
My fingers drift along the gold chain to find the break, but it’s smooth. Undamaged. Earnshaw simply undid the clasp. He did it when his hand brushed my neck. That was before I stole his journal.
My heart thunders with the thought, the lingering question, of what he originally meant to do with it. It thunders louder when I recall all the times that he could have demolished it or lost it but hasn’t. Somehow, he’s been taking better care of it than me.
CHAPTER 26
The school has one exit: the front doors. All other doors leading outside are locked both ways, which means I can’t slip away. Larry and George would pluck me from the throng pushing through the front doors in a heartbeat, so I’m forced to wait for Coach Brown to shepherd me to Gym C.
I sit on an upholstered bench and contemplate texting Harvey. If he’s thinking about taking me out of school for a couple of weeks, that means he’ll let me quit cheer. There’s no point continuing, not after everything that’s happened.
Maybe I should leave Raindrop to the Earnshaws and admit defeat. Harvey can medicate me and add on as many days of therapy as he wants until he feels satisfied. I’ll do school online. He won’t have to worry about me, and I’ll rebuild my facade, brick by brick.
I rub my thumb across smooth gold. The thin chain tickles my neck as it slides against my skin. It catches on strands of hair and pinches my scalp, too. Under my breath, I say, “Tell me what I should do, Mom.”
Most of the students fighting to leave the school have succeeded, so it’s easy to spot Coach Brown when she strides in through the glass doors. She’s wearing a tank top and sweats today. Her dark hair is once again braided tightly along her scalp. There are no creases in her skin to help her emote, but that intensity in her eyes emanates displeasure.
“Ready to go?” she asks. I wait for her to say more because her eyebrows fight to draw down, but she doesn’t.
“Sure.”
“‘Sure’ is not a word you use with me. It’s yes or no.”
“Yes.”
I abandon the bench and follow Coach Brown outside, where I exchange goodbyes with Larry and George. After that, words terminate. The rattling quaking-aspen leaves and the howling wind are extra loud to compensate. Coach Brown doesn’t speak again until we’re inside Gym C.
“Get changed,” she says.
The tension doesn’t dim. It brightens when I enter the girls’ locker room. Sarah
is there but she won’t make eye contact. Everyone else glares daggers, Mia in particular. When I walk past her, she mutters, “Skank.”
I round on her. “What did you call me?”
She puffs out her chest and her pouty lips made fuller by a new lip plumper. “You heard me. I can’t believe Johan is still in love with you, or that he’s still trying to defend you even though you cheated on him.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” My pulse matches the ticking in my head; it’s accelerating.
“Whatever. That stunt you pulled with Blake in the parking lot, when he kissed you and all but announced the nature of your relationship, was the first red flag. He was trying to warn us. You denied what he said and went full bitch because you didn’t want Johan or anyone else to learn the truth of your depravity. Then, that very same night, you broke up with Johan in the most dramatic way possible to throw everyone off your trail. I almost bought the drunk act—poor Teagan and her fugly scar—but then Blake came in and ‘saved’ your life. You rode off on your merry way and left everyone else, except for Sarah to better sell your story, to wallow in their empathetic sorrow. That was when the pieces of this fucked-up puzzle fell into place. You’ve got something on Blake. That video he made, where he tried to smooth everything over and excuse that big-ass bruise you gave him, is proof. If I had any doubts after that, those pictures cleared them right up today.”
“That’s a load of bullshit,” I say and swing open my locker door with enough force that it crashes into the locker beside it. CLANG. A couple of my “teammates” flinch. Eve jumps the highest, her pricey water bottle flying from her hands; it sticks the landing on the bench near my locker.
“You have to admit it’s incriminating,” Zoe says.
“Why haven’t they kicked you out of Raindrop High yet?” Mia huffs. “Plenty of people who loved you hate you now. It can only be a matter of time, favorite.” She plants her foot on the wood bench near me and holds out her finger, caging me in and poking me in the chest. “What is it about you? Before, I understood. You were my equal, someone who’d surpass me if I didn’t work my ass off, but you’re not her anymore. You’re broken.”
