Miles stopped and looked at me. Then he found his jacket on the floor and slung it over his shoulders.
“Come here.” I opened my arms. He perched on the edge of the bed, body rigid. I turned his face toward me and kissed him. “Can you be here Monday morning?”
“Sure.”
I kissed him again and handed him his glasses. “Here.”
Chapter Thirty-six
I couldn’t stop smiling at Finnegan’s the next day. The customers definitely left me bigger tips, but that could’ve been because I wasn’t staring at them like they were bugged.
Tucker noticed.
“Why’re you so happy?” he grumbled, shoving bills into the register. The register shook when he slammed the drawer closed.
“Am I not allowed to be happy?” I asked. Still, I wiped my smile away. Guilt knotted my stomach. I wanted to tell him what I’d learned from June, but this was the most he’d spoken to me in days. I grabbed Finnegan’s 8 Ball. Did I do something wrong?
My sources say no.
Tucker glanced sideways at me. “You’re acting like you won the lottery. Just tell me it doesn’t have anything to do with Richter.”
“Fine. I won’t.” I’d apologized a million and one times. I’d taken shifts for him at work, done my own discussion papers during English class, and hadn’t asked him for a damn thing. I didn’t care if he was mad at me. He had no right to comment on what I did with Miles.
He turned to face me. “You’re kidding. You’re still hanging out with him, after he did that to me? After everything he’s done?”
“It’s none of your business what I do with him, Tucker.” I lowered my voice so the couple sitting at the closest table wouldn’t overhear.
Tucker hesitated. “What you do? What are you doing with him?”
My entire face must’ve been as red as my hair. “I said it’s none of your business, didn’t I?”
Tucker’s voice dropped until he was whispering. “You are shitting me. You slept with him?”
I pretended to check the cash register. “We’re together, okay? That’s all you need to know.”
He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the kitchen. “You have no idea what he’s going to do to you! He’s not a normal person, Alex! He doesn’t understand how what he does affects other people!”
For a moment all I could do was stare at him. I’d had a snappy comment ready, but he hadn’t said what I expected. He hadn’t said, “He’s a dick” or “He’s evil incarnate.”
Tucker had been through this before. Not exactly the same circumstances, but . . . Miles had hurt him a long time before I’d met either of them.
“I—I’ll be fine, Tucker.” I pulled my arm from his grip. “I’ll be okay.”
Tucker shook his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. He shouldered his way past me, muttering something I almost didn’t catch.
“I hope so.”
I’ll be okay, won’t I?
Without a doubt
Chapter Thirty-seven
Dad didn’t seem to feel too bad about losing driving duties on Monday; he actually gave me a sly grin as I walked out the door.
I didn’t know what I expected. Maybe for Miles to look happier than he did? Maybe for him to give me a reason to disbelieve what Tucker had said? It had only been a day since I’d last seen him, and I hadn’t tried to quell the riot of excitement in my stomach. But as I climbed into the passenger seat, he only gave me the weakest smile before he dissolved into a sort of humiliated depression. He had dark bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “What did he do?”
“Nothing.” He stared straight ahead as he drove.
I didn’t say anything else until we’d parked and were walking toward the building, and I noticed that he was doing his best to conceal a limp.
“Why are you limping? What happened?”
“Nothing. Nothing happened—I’m fine.”
“Miles, what did he do to you?”
“Don’t worry about it!” he snapped.
I shrank back. We didn’t talk all the way to first period English, and when we sat down in our seats, a few snickers came from Cliff’s corner of the room.
“Hey, Richter,” Cliff called, “those Allies finally kick your ass?”
Miles gave Cliff the finger and laid his head down on the desk.
I stared at his back and his sandy hair, and my heart sank until it rested somewhere below my navel. Maybe I’d gotten my hopes up too much. Maybe Tucker had been right. Maybe that trip had been a one-time thing. Maybe he didn’t. . . .
Stop thinking about him, idiot!
I looked at the flickering fluorescent light over my head, then at my classmates, fresh from winter break.
Celia’s hair had turned a strange, moldy mixture of yellow and brown, but it was still green at the tips. She wore East Shoal sweats, and her blue contacts were gone; her eyes were brown. Her face looked weird until I realized it was because she wasn’t wearing makeup. Even though she had no makeup on and she was acne-ridden, she was pretty.