Parker stood alone in the parking lot. Poor Ava. Why hadn’t anyone stood up for her? Why hadn’t she, just now? A crashing barrage of memories flooded Parker’s mind: of her father hitting her, her mother standing by watching. Of the sound of her father’s voice when she came home high on Oxy . . . that night. Of her mother saying “Oh, Parker, how could you?” as if it were all Parker’s fault. Her stomach roiled, and her head continued to spin. Her hands trembled, and her breath came in ragged bursts as she tried, desperately, to get herself under control.
Just as her heart rate began to slow, Parker’s phone let out a chipper sound in her pocket. She pulled it out, her grip steadier. Fielder, the screen read. Parker stared at it for a moment as the phone continued to vibrate in her hand, then she pressed IGNORE. She wanted to see him—she knew he really cared about her, that right now he might be the only person who really cared about her—but she didn’t want to talk to him until she got her thoughts straight.
Leaning back on the bench, Parker closed her eyes and took deep, calming breaths. She smelled the tang of rain on the asphalt, felt the cool air brushing against her skin. Ava, you’re not alone. I’m here for you, she said silently, sending her thoughts out to Ava on the breeze.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TEARS LEAKED FROM THE CORNERS of Ava’s eyes faster than she could wipe them with her sleeve. She blinked to clear her vision and voice-dialed Alex on her car’s Bluetooth. When he picked up, her composure fell apart again. “She’s so awful!” she sobbed. “I can’t take it anymore!”
“Whoa . . . slow down,” Alex said. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
Ava took a few deep, slow breaths, steadying her voice. “I’m fine. It’s just—Leslie. She just attacked me in public, and now I have to go home and see her again, and this whole weekend is going to be full of family time and it’s going to be so terrible.” She couldn’t imagine what Leslie’s mother was going to be like—if she had even a tenth of Leslie’s attitude, she’d be unbearable.
Alex groaned. “I’m sorry. She’s so freakin’ evil.”
“Look, I’m sorry to ask you this, but can you meet me at my house? I need a buffer. And I don’t feel like I can rely on my dad right now.” She winced, thinking of what Leslie had said about him not wanting her around. It wasn’t true, was it? He didn’t think she was guilty, did he?
“Of course,” Alex said. “I’m at work. Be there in fifteen.”
“Wait, you’re at work?” Ava asked, sniffing. “You shouldn’t come over, then.” Alex’s boss at the ice cream shop had given him his job back as soon as the charges were dropped, but she knew it would take longer for people’s trust in Alex to be totally restored. This was not the time for him to be pushing it.
“Are you sure?” Alex asked. “Why don’t you go to my house instead? I can bring over double-double caramel fudge later,” he offered.
Ava sighed, slowing at a stoplight. “I wish,” she said, imagining the scene, hanging out and eating ice cream and being normal. “But I should probably face this.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? I’m out of here in . . .” She heard him pull the phone away from his cheek so he could check the time. “. . . ninety minutes. I’ll come straight to you. Okay?”
“Okay.” Ava was flooded with relief and gratitude. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
They clicked off the call just as Ava pulled into her driveway. Her heart sank at the sight of Leslie’s car, parked at a crazy angle, its front tires on the lawn. How could Ava face her? Then again, what was her alternative?
Just as she put her foot on the bottom step, she heard Leslie’s voice in the kitchen, rising and falling in an emphatic tirade. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear the tone—angry. Ava knew Leslie was telling her father about her, and sure enough, a moment later, she heard her father’s low murmur in response. His voice sounded soothing. Maybe he was agreeing with everything she said.
Horrified and definitely not ready to face the music, Ava ran upstairs to her room and slammed her bedroom door. She fell forward onto her bed, misery washing over her. A knock on her door made her jump. To her relief, her father’s head peeked inside, not Leslie’s.
“Ava?” He sounded unsure.
Ava turned away, facing the wall. “What?” she asked woodenly.
He took a few steps into the room. “We were hoping you could come downstairs and help set up for the party.”
Ava said nothing. It was just about the last thing she wanted to do.
“You know I expect you to put on a good face this weekend,” her father said. “It would mean a lot to me and Leslie.”
“Uh-huh,” Ava answered, without intonation.
Then he cleared his throat. “Leslie told me you were mouthing off to her,” he added softly. “Is that true?”
Mouthing off. So what was Leslie doing to her? Ava looked down at the rug. As she moved, her father gasped. “Ava,” he pleaded, reaching for her arm, where there were still deep red marks where Leslie’s nails had dug into Ava’s skin. “Where did you get those marks?”