It was when the guys began touching Veronica that Liz finally thought no.
“Come on,” Zack Hayes was saying. His right arm was braced on the wall above Veronica’s head, and his face was inches from hers. She was wincing, either from his breath or his lack of deodorant or fear; Liz suspected it was a mix of all three. “Babe, you can’t know what you want if you haven’t tried, right? How do you know that you don’t like dick, huh?” He moved closer and put his other hand on the small of her back. “I mean, if you ever want to try . . . just ask.”
The basketball players were falling over themselves with laughter, but Liz, frankly, couldn’t see what was funny. She hadn’t gone to church since her father died, but Liz very clearly remembered a kind, gray-haired Sunday school teacher telling that everyone was different, and she should try very hard to love them all.
She had failed at that, of course.
The boys had begun to notice Liz, and they parted enough to let her through. She elbowed a number of them in their stomachs, and didn’t apologize.
“Zack,” she said. “Get your shitty BO out of her face.”
Zack started, turned, and then relaxed again when he saw her. “Hey, Liz,” he said easily. “What’s up?”
“What the hell?” said Liz.
“Oh.” Zack grinned. “We’re just trying to, you know, convince Veronica here. I mean, it isn’t like you aren’t hot or anything,” he added in Veronica’s direction. “I’m sure a ton of guys would sleep with you if you’d let them.”
“Zack,” Liz said. “Don’t be an asshole.”
“What?” Zack moved away from Veronica and turned to face Liz. “Come on, Liz. You know it’s not natural. I mean, she’s probably just confused. Like, if—”
“Raping her won’t convince her,” Liz said.
Zack stopped short, and the rest of the team fell silent. Liz held his gaze and dared him to say something. It was the first time she had ever said anything about the party, that party, and part of her wished that he would take the bait. She wanted to punch him. She knew how many girls Zack had slept with, and she how many of them hadn’t wanted him there. He knew. His friends knew. The basketball team, if they hadn’t known before, knew now.
But Zack only smirked. “What’s up, Liz? Jake not keeping you happy? I mean, if you’re feeling unsure, I can always, y’ know, reorient you—”
“Fuck you,” Liz spat. “Why the hell do you have the right to tell her who she can love? Is it really any of your business?”
“Chill out, Liz,” Zack said. His lip was curling up in a sneer, and it was not an attractive look. “Listen, I’m just trying to do the right thing here. God hates fags, right?”
“I don’t think God hates anyone,” Kennie said very quietly from behind them.
There was a small silence, and until that moment, Liz had been rather neutral on the whole gayness thing. But as she stared at Veronica standing in the corner with her hair in her eyes and half the basketball team around her, Liz realized that though she didn’t know what was right, she knew that what Zack was doing was wrong.
“C’mon, assholes,” Zack said, smirking, and slowly the boys followed him, though not without throwing a number of dirty looks at Liz, not without muttering and laughing as they walked away. Kennie asked Veronica if she was okay, but in a distant sort of way, because they were from different social castes and this exchange broke a number of rules. Liz turned for the door, and Kennie followed after a moment, and they never spoke of it again.
The next day, Liz sat at lunch and someone made a vaguely homophobic joke and Liz gave the punch line—“Because God hates fags”—and they all laughed. She didn’t meet Kennie’s eyes, and when the laughter died and the conversation changed direction, Liz looked at the next table, where Zack sat with his group of friends.
I’m not one bit better, am I?
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
What Liz Also Didn’t Know
Liam had seen the entire thing.
He had driven back to school because he had left his phone in his locker, and on his way through the gym lobby, he saw Liz Emerson snapping at Zack Hayes, and it was an immensely satisfying sight.
It struck him that perhaps she thought just as many thoughts in a minute as he did, felt just as many emotions, inhaled and exhaled just as he did. And it was then that he began to fall in love with her for the second time, for the same reason that he had picked up his flute again: because he believed in broken things.
And I know it isn’t his fault, not really, but I wish he would have told her. I wish he had told her.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
The First Visitor