“Please tell me you’re in a good mood,” I say with my best innocent smile plastered on my face.
Her head shoots up as her eyes land on me. She places her phone upside down on her desk and clears her throat. Her cheeks are red, and her breathing is a little shaky. Yeah, sexting. Christ, that’s freaking gross.
“Hey,” she says with a smile. Her eyes slide over to the wall clock and then back to me. They’re narrowed now, and she’s looking back at me.
“You’re supposed to be in class,” she says in that “mom” voice she’s been using a lot lately. I swear, she’s picking up this “mom” shit so quick it’s starting to freak me out. But I also kind of like it. A lot. For only a few months under her belt, she’s picking it up pretty quick.
“Yeah,” I say. “About that. Mrs. Cowger let me go early.”
“Let you go or kicked you out?”
I shrug my shoulders and look over at Margot, who’s pretending not to listen in. “It could have gone either way.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, pulling open her desk drawer. She takes out two pieces of individually wrapped chocolates and tosses one to me. I easily catch it in the air, unwrap it, and pop it in my mouth. She lets out a happy sigh and then looks at me again. “Fine. You were leaving today anyway.”
“That was my point,” I say. “She didn’t get that. Why do I care what Romeo and Juliet did? They killed themselves? Okay, fine. Why is she even teaching us about a story that glorifies suicide? It’s not romantic—it’s stupid.”
“Holy crap, what is your problem?” she asks with wide eyes.
“I’m just saying. We have classes on suicide prevention, and then we’re reading this junk about these children who kill themselves when they only wanted each other because they couldn’t be together anyway.”
“Chey,” Holly whispers. She pats her desk and leans in close to me. “Let’s have a talk.”
“I don’t want to have a talk.” I fold my arms over my chest.
She stands from her desk, circles round, and takes my elbow in her hand. I allow her to lead me away from the center of the room and into the nearby bathroom. She locks the door behind us.
“I’m not your mother,” she says in a firm voice. My head snaps in her direction as her words cut at my heart. I know she’s not my mother, but for some reason, her verbalizing it only makes everything that much worse. “But I love you.”
“Yeah, love you, too, Holls,” I say and tap my foot on the floor. My tone is biting, and I can’t stop myself from huffing. If I do, I might cry.
“I wish I were your mother,” she whispers.
Crap. She’s doing that loving thing again, and it’s going to make me cry. I don’t want to cry, though. I want to kick something. I want to throw something. I want to hit Jeremy with a hammer. Repeatedly.
“Shut up,” I mumble. My eyes are focused on the floor as they well with tears.
“No,” she says sweetly and takes a step forward. “I do. You’re awesome, and I hate seeing you so upset. I wish I knew you better so I could do more to help.”
“You should be used to grouchy Gradys by now,” I say with a pathetic laugh at the end.
It’s been almost a month since Jeremy’s birthday party. I might be able to get over everything that happened if he would just leave me alone. But he won’t. He shows up at the house with bullshit excuses but then ignores me. He keeps taking over for Diesel, picking me up from school, and pretends like he hates it with all his being, but then Diesel tells me otherwise. I try to keep my interaction with Diesel limited as he keeps asking pesky questions about the party. I don’t dare, but I really want to tell him it’s none of his business. And really, I feel like such a stupid baby for thinking the stories I’d heard about the legendary Forsaken parties were exaggerated. Dad always kept me away from anything that wasn’t PG-13, so how was I supposed to know?
“There’s grouchy Gradys, and then there’s depressed Gradys, and you, missy, are depressed.” She takes another step forward. She’s less than two feet away when she reaches out for me.
“I’m not depressed. I’m just... done,” I say, barely able to find the right word for it.
“Ruby told me,” she says even quieter. The mention of Aunt Ruby makes me feel about two inches tall. Everything in me feels hollow, like all my insides have been carved out. “You shouldn’t have seen that. Any of it.”
“I didn’t see anything.” I wince at the memory of Chel and her nasty ass and those panties with the slit up the center.
“You don’t have to lie to me,” she says softly.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”