I had known Lilah would be a challenge, but she was proving to be more complex than any of my old cameras. No one in their right mind turned down my pancakes. They were the best in Blackwater—probably the world—fluffy and soft, yet crisp and golden brown. I sat at the table, watching her take sips of orange juice, and tried to pretend that the fluffy dough and maple syrup were enough to occupy my mind. In reality, I was thinking of how to break the ice between us. I wanted to just shout, “It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. Let’s forgive each other and move on.” But, something told me Lilah wouldn't respond to a direct apology like that. She was a feral cat. I had to coax her into trusting me slowly, and walking to school with her was just the beginning.
Blackwater High School was only about a mile away from Lilah's house, and I had no problem leaving my truck behind in favor of walking alongside her. The second we bid farewell to Harvey—who was not pleased to be left behind—she pulled out her iPod and cut herself off from the rest of world.
The message was clear, but I ignored it.
“So you like orange juice for breakfast, huh? Vitamin C, right?”
No answer.
I could hear her music blaring through her headphones and I knew she couldn't hear a single world I was saying.
“I like it too. It's good when you make it with fresh squeezed oranges. Remember when we kept burying whole oranges in your backyard to try to get trees to grow? Didn't we go a year before your dad told us they were seedless?”
No answer, but I swore she picked up her pace. It wasn't a challenge to keep up—I was nearly a foot taller than her and she was already taking two steps to each one of mine—but the idea that she was trying to get away from me made me laugh.
“Yeah, good times,” I answered wistfully.
Usually before school, I pulled my truck into my designated spot in the student parking lot and hung around outside with my friends until classes started. Lilah had usually joined me before she moved away, but something told me the student lot was no longer her scene.
As we rounded the sidewalk to the front of the school, our separate worlds unfolded before us. I could already see Connor, Brian, and Kimberly hanging around my spot. A few guys from the baseball team waved to me from behind the chain-link fence near the front of the lot and I nodded back.
Lilah slowed down and pulled back from me until I had to either stop walking or leave her behind.
I glanced back to find her attention focused ahead of us and when I followed her line of sight, I came face to face with Trent Bailey.
He'd been leaning against the giant oak tree that sat in the direct center of the front lawn. The stoners had claimed it as their territory since the dawn of time. The second he’d spotted Lilah, he pushed off the tree and walked to meet her.
I fought against my better judgment to try and stop her from heading over to him. Since when does she hang out with Trent Bailey?
My fists clenched by my sides.
“Lilah—” I said, not sure of where my sentence would lead.
She brushed by me and walked toward Trent like she was greeting an old friend. Suddenly, I was the outsider, the voyeur. Still, I couldn’t make myself move. I stood paralyzed and confused, staring at her dark hair as if I’d find answers hidden in the dark strands.
He reached out for her hand and I flinched back to reality. I wouldn’t watch her go down that path. I turned to walk away just as she turned back to find me over her shoulder. It was a gift she was offering. Not quite a smile, not really. It was only the tip of her mouth, the right corner lifting in solidarity.
It was hardly anything at all. An untrained eye would have missed it altogether, but I knew what she was doing. I'd seen that look every time I'd pissed Lilah off when we were growing up. It was her tell, the first sign that she was starting to come around and forgive me.
Come back to me, Lilah.
Chapter Fourteen
Lilah
“Why were you just walking with Chase Matthews?” Trent asked as we walked to join the group of kids hanging out under the oak tree at the front of the high school. I tucked my headphones away in my bag, taking a moment to gather my bearings after my walk with Chase.
“Why do you care?” I asked, annoyed with the edge of ownership in Trent’s voice. He and I were not a couple. We were hardly friends.
“He's a preppy douche, Lilah,” Trent said, trying to wrap his arm around my waist. I took a step away instead.
“Thanks for the tip,” I answered haughtily just as Ashley walked up to the group. Her blonde hair was air-dried and wavy, the pink streaks brighter than ever. She’d taken the time to perfect her makeup before school, a concept I couldn’t find the will to get behind. Still, she looked pretty.