I stumble back a few steps, turn, and run. People swear and complain as I charge through the crowd, back downstairs, and through the living room, but I couldn’t care less right now. I just need to get out. I need space. I need air.
Paige calls my name somewhere behind me, but I don’t stop. I don’t stop when I stumble out the front doors into the thick night air. I don’t stop when Paige runs up behind me, begging me to wait. I don’t stop until I reach the car, and even then I don’t want to slow down. Not really. Because then I’ll have to face what I just saw—Devon and Bianca. In bed. Together.
I brace my hands on the pockmarked hood of the Sunfire to keep from crumpling to my knees.
“Ind, wait up!” Paige jogs up to the car, gulping for air. “What’s going on?”
Good question.
“I think you missed your true calling,” Bishop says, hiking his pants up as he saunters over. “The Renegades could really use you on offense.”
“Not funny,” Paige says, wrapping an arm around me.
I haven’t had a single drink, and yet I’ve never felt closer to puking.
Devon and Bianca? I mean, sure, she flirted with him, and yeah, he flirted back, but I always thought that was as far as it went. I thought he loved me. I thought she was my best friend.
But I should have seen it coming. She’s Bianca—she always gets what she wants. And he’s got a dick.
“Shit, are you crying again?” Bishop asks.
“No.” But when I touch my cheek my fingers come away wet. I turn my back to him.
“Come, now,” he says. “Is it because they ran out of bruschetta?”
“Still not funny.” Paige pats my back and shushes me, which makes me feel about five. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
I shake my head.
Bishop comes around the car and paces in front of me. “Ten bucks it’s about Quarterback Jack.”
I cover my face with my hands.
“Oh shit,” Bishop says. “I was just joking.”
“Why are you still here?” Paige yells, and then she’s talking to me in her calming voice again. “Is it something Bianca did? Want me to punch her in the face?”
I look at her through laced fingers.
“Just kidding,” she says gently. “The ovaries.”
I let out a tiny laugh, and Paige hugs me closer.
“Okay, so we’re all done, then?” Bishop kind of hops in one spot and refuses to make eye contact with me.
I swipe my hands over my cheeks and take a shaky breath. This is stupid. There are much bigger and more pressing things for me to worry about right now. Like Mom, and the Bible, and school, and, I don’t know, world hunger. So what if Bianca and I have a lifetime of memories? If she knows me better than any one person should be allowed to know another? If I can hardly think of a single childhood memory that she wasn’t a part of ?
And he’s just one stupid guy. One stupid guy I wasted the past eight months of my life on. Who cares about his lopsided smile and his clear blue eyes? And so what if he smells like apples and soap, and after being near him I can catch his scent on my clothes for hours afterward and it makes my stomach flutter like there are a million little tap dancers inside me?
My face crumples up again and out comes a fresh wave of sobs.
“Oh, come on,” Bishop says. “He’s obviously really stupid if he’d choose that chick over you.”
“Shut up,” I mumble.
“I mean it,” he says. “She’s so obvious. Blond hair, big tits. It’s really lame. Even if her tits are pretty nice.”
I groan.
“I’m kidding! They’re just mediocre.”
“Screw off already,” I say.
He sighs. “Okay, forget about those guys. You’re much better off without them. Trust me.”
“Yeah,” Paige says cautiously, obviously reluctant to agree with him about anything. “He’s right.”
I straighten, not because I believe any of the crap they’re feeding me, but because I’m sick of being the token crying girl at the party.
“Right then, so we’re all done?” Bishop claps his hands. “Good. Been a little anxious to get on with the next portion of the evening.”
“really?” I ask. “You looked pretty comfortable with Amy back there.”
“Jealous?”
“Yeah. Right.” I wipe my nose on my arm. “So listen—I’m tired. I want to go home. It’s time for you to talk.”
“I will. Once you take me to the Hollywood sign.”
“What the …” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No, no Hollywood sign.”
“Well, okay, Mount Lukens, then, but I thought the sign would be—”
“No! We’re not going anywhere, okay? I’m sick of—”
“Look. You want answers, I’m ready to give them to you”—he glances at Paige—“and your little friend here, I guess. But we’re going to need privacy.”
“And the only place to get privacy is at the Hollywood sign?” I shake my head hard. “Abso-freaking-lutely not.”
“You okay to drive or should I?” he asks.
I jump in front of him before he can open the driver’s-side door. “Wait a minute, here. We’re not driving to some remote wooded area so you can kill us both and then leave our remains for animals to eat.”
He pulls a disgusted face. “You’re a sick woman, Indigo.”