“Well, I’ve been interviewed enough times that I’m used to it,” Spencer said, laughing bashfully.
They stepped onto the downtown platform. A sign said that the local train, which they were waiting for, would pull in on one track, and the express train would arrive on another. At the moment, there was no train on either track. The uptown trains were across the platform, separated by a bunch of steel beams and dangerous-looking rails. For the most part, the platforms were desolate, with only a few people wandering up and down, wearing earbuds or scrolling through their phones. Spencer began to pace the length of the station, gazing at the posters on the walls. There was one for a new HBO drama series coming out; someone had blacked out the main actress’s teeth and given her devil horns.
Then she looked at Greg, realizing something. “How do you know about this place in the Village, anyway? I thought you lived in Delaware.”
Greg nodded. “My parents divorced when I was seven, and my dad moved here. I visited sometimes.”
“That must have been fun.”
He shifted his jaw. “I was really sporty growing up, so usually I was pissed that I was missing football practice. For a long time, I didn’t appreciate what the city had to offer. And I hated my dad’s new wife. Cindy.”
Spencer rolled her eyes. “My parents split up, too. But my stepdad is okay. Maybe it’s easier because I’m older.”
“Maybe.” Greg stared blankly at the subway tracks. Spencer hated looking there for fear she’d see a rat. “Cindy used to bully me, actually.”
“Your stepmom?” Spencer blurted. “How?”
Greg raised one shoulder. “She was insulting and manipulative. But she was sly about it—she acted like she loved me whenever my dad was around, and she denied it whenever I told him she’d been mean. No one believed me.”
“That’s awful,” Spencer whispered, feeling a tug in her heart. “What did you do?”
Greg shoved his hands in his pockets. “I just . . . took it, for a while. And then, when I had a say, I told the court that I didn’t want to visit my dad anymore. I was an idiot, though—I didn’t tell the court what Cindy was doing. I thought it would shatter my dad—they would have investigated her and him. But he found out eventually—Cindy drunkenly confessed everything shortly before she left him. He apologized up and down, but it was too little, too late.” He shuffled his feet. “I always say I stood by and watched other kids get bullied, but it’s not the truth. I’m too embarrassed to tell my story. She was, like, half my size. And old.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Spencer urged. “Emotional abuse is emotional abuse, no matter where it comes from.”
Greg nodded slowly. Then he raised his eyes to Spencer’s, his face a little blotchy like he was about to cry. “It’s why I got this.” He showed her the tattoo of the bird on his hand. “I felt like it gave me . . . power or something. I don’t know.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve actually never told anyone about Cindy,” he admitted.
“Well, I’m glad you told me,” Spencer said softly, feeling touched.
Greg nodded. “I’m glad, too.” He rubbed the bird tattoo with his fingers. “If I can ever return the favor for you, I’m here.”
Spencer’s insides bounced and flipped. It would be nice to talk to someone other than her friends. He would believe her, she knew. About anything. She leaned forward and touched her lips to his cheeks. “Thank you.”
Greg grabbed her hands. He stared into her eyes meaningfully, and Spencer knew they were going to kiss for real. Her lips parted. She moved closer. It felt like it was only the two of them, wounded and broken but resilient, against the world.
A gust of wind kicked up. A local uptown train raged through the tunnel, and Spencer pulled away from Greg. She chided herself, feeling ridiculous. What was she doing, kissing a complete stranger? Hadn’t she just sworn off boys?
The train cars rumbled loudly over the tracks far across the station. The cars came to a stop, and the doors whooshed open. Passengers got on and off in a jumble, the platform suddenly very crowded. Spencer stared idly at the commotion so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with Greg. A flash of blond shifted next to a pole inside a car. Spencer did a double take.
It was Ali.
She was skinny, ashen, and greasy, like Emily had described. Ali stared at Spencer challengingly, a smirk on her face. So bold. So brazen. Sort of like, Fuck you, Spencer. I can do whatever I want.
“Hey!” Spencer screamed out, rushing to the edge of her platform. But she couldn’t actually get to Ali—she was blocked by a whole set of tracks and rails.