She nods her head, then takes another step forward and sweeps me into her arms. She hugs me tight and doesn’t let go. Eventually I sink into her and rest my head on her shoulder. I don’t move to hug her back. I don’t feel like I can give anything to anyone right now, but I need this hug. I need her kind words and her soothing voice. I just need Holly.
When she’s content that I’m not going to talk any more about it, she lets me go and kisses my forehead. The words and the hug I can handle, but it’s the motherly kiss to my forehead that sends a few sneaky tears down my cheeks. I stop myself quickly, though, and regain my composure. I’m not crying over Jeremy or even Daniel. I’m not even crying over my own mother who is gone. I’m crying because I’m terrified Dad is going to screw things up and I’m going to lose her. Because he’s Forsaken, and they’re all really good at screwing up relationships.
“Who’s picking you up today?” she asks as we leave the bathroom.
I shift the weight of my backpack on my shoulder. “Diesel.” At least it’s supposed to be Diesel, so here’s hoping Jeremy doesn’t show instead.
“Good.” At her desk, she retrieves another two pieces of chocolate and hands them both to me. “Nothing fixes a broken heart like chocolate and revenge, but you’re in enough trouble, so let’s stick with the chocolate, shall we?”
I smile at her and give her a wink. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve moved on from Jeremy.”
Her eyes narrow as she surveys me. I’m lying, of course. I wish I were over Jeremy, but I can’t help myself. I clear my throat and nod my head, tossing a piece of chocolate in my mouth. “I have my eye on a new man.”
“Tell me or I’ll read your diary,” she says with a stupid giggle.
It’s not that I don’t love Holly. I do. It’s just that nothing makes me feel better than to torture someone else. I guess I really am my father’s daughter after all.
“Ian,” I say with a musical laugh and practically skip out of the office. Her face falls as she grabs her phone and starts typing furiously. She’s telling Dad, and he’s going to crap himself. I know Ian has damage, and a small part of me feels kind of bad about using that to scare them. I scrub my face with my hands in frustration. Once the door closes behind me, I’m back to feeling like crap. But at least now I no longer want to stick my head in the oven.
The hallway is crowded now since classes have just ended. Students scatter from one end to the other, desperately trying to escape school property in favor of some place more appealing—so basically, anywhere. I almost want to tell them to just stop showing up and eventually you’ll get out. One way or another, you’ll get out.
I head toward the parking lot, my eyes scanning the crowd for Tracie. She should be around here somewhere. When I see her high ponytail bobbing through the crowd, I give her a wave and wiggle through the students to get to her.
“You are such a crazy bitch,” she says with a huge smile on her face. “I so can’t believe you did that.”
“Neither can I.” We start heading for the parking lot side by side.
“You’ve been off for a while now, babe,” she says.
I don’t respond. She’s been hinting at this conversation for a while now, and I guess if both my best friend and Holly are bugging me about my attitude, I should probably do something to straighten myself out. The only thing worse than being crabby is everybody pointing out how crabby you are.
I’ve asked Dad why Jeremy keeps coming around but only get grunts and looks of disapproval. Dad doesn’t know that Jeremy came by after he dropped me off after our date, and I hope Aunt Ruby and Holly have both kept their mouths shut and not told Dad I was at the party. If he knew about either of those things, he’d have a total conniption fit.
“When can we go back to everything being normal?” Tracie asks. She’s started to get annoyed with the fact that I’m making a point to let everybody know how grouchy I am. Jeremy dropped out of school the day after he turned eighteen, saying, in his own words, “Nic can’t twist my balls about it anymore.”
“When everything does go back to normal,” I say. The bitterness in my tone is unmistakable—and, unfortunately, becoming common.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “And what exactly is normal?”
She has a point, even if I don’t want to admit it.
“Six months ago—that was normal.”
“Oh yeah, because your new mommy wouldn’t be here,” she says. “I know you don’t want that. So I guess you’re going to have to figure out how to deal with the new normal.”
“You’re supposed to be a stupid bimbo,” I whine. Because she’s right. And I hate that.