“Really? Because it looks a lot like you,” she says.
“I know. But she must have, I don’t know, gone looking for someone who looks like me, and then broken into the house. She has a set of keys.”
I see her hesitate at that. She bites the corner of her lip, and for just a moment I can tell she’s not sure what to believe. But then she shakes her head.
“Whatever, Gabe. I don’t know what kind of crazy shit you dragged me into. This is all over Facebook. Everyone’s seen it. Everyone thinks this is me.” She jabs her finger at the girl on the screen. I feel an absurd desire to cover up the screen, to shield us from view, even though I know it’s not her, it’s not me. “People I don’t even know were asking me about it in the hall on the way to my locker.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, but she doesn’t let me get any further than that.
“Do you have any idea what my dad will do if he sees it?” She runs her hand manically through her hair, her eyes wide. “He’ll pull me out of school. He’ll pack everything up and we’ll be on to the next town. And I can’t go through this again. I can’t . . . start all over.”
The idea makes me hot with anger. “He can’t. That’s not fair. It’s not your fault.”
The laugh that tears loose from her throat is frightening. It’s a savage, hysterical sound. “You still don’t get it. He can do whatever he wants.” She shakes her head, lips trembling. “Just . . . God, Gabe, just leave me alone.”
She backs away a few slow, faltering steps. Then she spins on her heel and breaks into a run.
“No running in the halls!” Mr. Perlman calls after her. But she doesn’t stop.
For a moment I brace to go after her. Then I look around. People are staring, talking, laughing. A few big football player types cross their arms over their chests, and I realize it’s not going to look good if I pursue her.
I turn around, ready to go back the other way, and then I do a double take. Catherine’s there, by her locker again.
But no. It’s not Catherine. It’s Sasha. Sasha with Catherine’s brown hair, Catherine’s low-key tomboy look. I see with nausea that she’s even bought a pair of purple Keds. She looks up at me, her face makeup free, her pale blue eyes strangely bright.
“You,” I snarl. The world around her goes muted and red. I realize almost distantly that I want to hit her. I’ve never really wanted to hurt someone before.
“You need to be careful with that one. She’s got issues,” Sasha says.
A giddy hysteria swirls through me. I charge toward her, pressing her back against the lockers. “Tell her the truth. Tell her that wasn’t me.”
She purrs. “I always liked it when you got a little angry.”
Before I can stop it, my fist slams the locker next to her head. She just laughs.
“Keep it up,” she whispers. “The cameras love you.”
That’s when I feel them—dozens of eyes on me. Everyone’s holding a cell phone. Everyone’s got it angled right at me. This little snippet will be all over the Internet in seconds.
I push myself away from the lockers, hold up both hands in disgust. “Fine, Sasha. You win. Congratulations. At least now it’s fucking over.”
Her eyes go wide, innocent—for the benefit of the cameras, I’m sure. She steps close to me and leans up to whisper in my ear.
“Is it?”
Before I can say anything else, she slips through the crowd, dark hair swaying down her back.
THIRTY
Elyse
It’s late afternoon when Aiden drops me off a few blocks from my apartment. The day is cold and gray but I hardly notice. I’m a million miles away.
Every moment of last night and this morning keeps replaying across my mind. The way he looked at me. The way his lips felt on mine; the way his hands felt on my body.
Waking up next to him. Opening my eyes and seeing his looking back at me across the crisp white pillow.
We can’t kiss goodbye—it’s too public—but I reach across the console and squeeze his hand. His eyes lock on mine, warm gold, warm green, almost hypnotizingly beautiful.
It takes all my self-control not to look back at him as I walk away from his car.
It’s almost four. Mom should be at work, which is good—I have to get some homework done, though I can’t begin to imagine how I’ll focus on algebra right now. First a shower. I can still smell the woodsmoke on my clothes. I unlock the door and step inside. Then I drop my keys with a clatter, startled.
Mom’s sitting on the couch, her leg bouncing nervously up and down. And sitting right next to her is Brynn.
There are a thousand things I could say in that moment, but my mind lurches clumsily, trying to catch up. Trying to make sense of the two of them, side by side. “What’s going on?” I ask.
Mom stares at me, hollow-eyed. Her mouth stays tightly closed, so I glance at Brynn. Her face is makeup free, clean. It makes her look tired.
“I came by to talk to you,” she says. “But you weren’t here. And Sammie thought you were with me.”
Fuck.
But that doesn’t mean they know anything. I try to reassure myself. I can say I was out with a boy I met at the movie theater. I can keep Aiden out of this.
But before I can get a word out, Mom stands up off the couch. I’m so used to how she slouches that I always forget how tall she is—almost six feet. Now she uses every inch to tower.
“You’re fucking your teacher?” Her voice cuts shrill through the Sunday quiet. I shrink away from her.
“What? I . . .” I stammer. But she just shakes her head.
“Brynn saw you,” she hisses. “Messing around in the theater.”
The rustling noise in the curtains. I turn to glare at Brynn. She looks down at her lap.
“That’s what I came to talk to you about,” she says miserably. “But when you weren’t here I . . . I thought I should tell your mom.”
“That’s great, Brynn, thanks so much,” I snap. I turn back to Mom. “It’s not what you think. We’re not just ‘messing around.’”
“Oh no?” she sneers. “Let me guess. You’re in love. He’s different. He’s not like other guys.”
I cross my arms over my chest and stare defiantly back at her. “You don’t even know him.”
She snorts. “He’s twice your age. That’s all I need to know.”
“Why does that even matter?” I ask. The dread of a moment ago has been replaced with a slowly mounting anger.
Her nostrils flare. “What does it matter? You’re a kid, Elyse. He’s taking advantage of you.”
“I’m not stupid. And I haven’t been a kid in a long time,” I hiss. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was six, Mom. Six. I’ve been feeding myself, paying my own bills, getting to and from school. Getting you to rehab, how many times now? I never had the luxury of being a kid. So forgive me if I find your sudden concern a little hypocritical.”
Brynn cowers on the couch as Mom and I inch toward each other.
“Yeah, I’ve been a shitty mom. Why do you think this makes me so mad? You want to turn out like me? Stuck in a dead-end job, in a cheap little apartment, pregnant at seventeen? I’m trying to keep you from the same bad decisions I made,” she says.
“There’s no way I’ll turn out like you, because I’m not a fucking junkie!” I shout. I’m beyond caring if I hurt her. I stare up at her, the world red-tinged, my hands balled into fists.
She swells up, and I think she’s about to hit me. She’s never hit me before. My body goes rigid in anticipation. But she just takes a deep breath. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.
“You’re not to see him again, Elyse,” she says.
I laugh scornfully. “Who’s going to stop me?”
“I will.” She puts her hands on her hips, then lets them fall to her sides self-consciously. “If you go back to him, I’ll tell the school. He’ll be done.”
I suck in my breath. “You can’t.”
“I will.” She’s shaking with the effort of staying calm. “Even if it destroys our relationship. Even if you hate me forever. I’ll do it to save you.”