Something about dealing with Jane today, seeing Sean handle Chip, and me letting Kallie’s stuff go makes me feel brave or clearer headed. Or maybe I’m just over being scared. When I lay my head down, like every night, the crinkle of Maisey’s envelope in my pillowcase sends my heart racing, the back of my neck gets hot and prickly, and tears spring to my eyes. My breath usually slows down once I tell myself, I’ll read it tomorrow, for sure. But this time I don’t say that. Tonight I’m reading it.
The cool cotton of the pillowcase meets the warmth of my palm. Trying to relax, I breathe until the air isn’t shallow in my throat. I pull the envelope all the way out, sit up cross-legged, and click my lamp on.
My heart thumps like bass in my chest. I read it through fast, like summer’s first jump off the dock at Crystal Wood Beach.
My mouth is knocked open by her emotion and I gasp out loud. Everything on this page is fresh and raw. Maisey’s pain is carved into each and every word. Each sentence. Each revelation of who she was and everything she was hiding.
I pull a tissue from the Kleenex box on my nightstand, wipe away my tears and blow my nose. Everyone thinks they knew her. They didn’t. And they didn’t know this. They didn’t know what she’s been through. With the bullying. With her life beyond school. We all have lives beyond school. And Maisey’s was beyond awful.
What the hell is wrong with me that I never thought about who she really was? Why didn’t it ever occur to me that she had a life beyond our Belmont High? It’s selfish. She was just a character in scenes from my life at school, just someone walking through the hallways, offering comedic relief for me and my class.
My heart races, longs, then aches in vain for a second chance. If I would have cared. If I would’ve really known her. I read it through once more, slower this time.
This definitely explains Jane and Maisey’s relationship. The fear, secrecy, the bullying. Jane’s straight-up bitchiness.
Jane has somehow made it this far and is still standing, so Maisey should be too. Maisey was tough. I wish she would’ve known that she was strong enough to get through this. I fold the letter back into the envelope, clutching it to my heart as if it’ll calm me. My sheet is splotched with tears and I can’t stop shaking.
This explains so much more than I can even handle. No one needs to know everything, but they sure as hell need to know how much they hurt her.
TWENTY
Sean grabs my hand across the center console of his car. “So you’re my girlfriend, right?”
“I don’t know,” I say with a smile, butterflies rushing my chest. “We haven’t really discussed anything official like that. I don’t know how all that stuff works, do you?”
“Sure. First, I tell Chip Ryan that you are, and then realize I might need to ask you first. So, the next day I ask if you’re my girlfriend, you say yes and then we kiss.”
“Oh okay. Um, yes?”
“Are you sure?” He jokes.
“Good question. Glad you double-checked because I’m not sure. Maybe I should kiss you first. Then I’ll decide.”
Sean unlocks his hand from mine, places it behind my neck, pulling me closer, making me forget about the movie we weren’t really watching anyway. Sherwood Forest is the only drive-in movie theater within five hundred miles. Probably one of the last ones left in Minnesota. The movie playing is definitely better than the CIA lady movie but not better than this. His lips are warm and I lose my breath and maybe a piece of my heart in his kiss. His hands grip the hair at the nape of my neck and send a shiver into me. I pull away and tell him we should leave. Or go in the backseat.
“The backseat, huh? Whoa, Miss Hughes. You’re trying to seduce me.”
I lean back into him. “I’m your girlfriend, that’s kind of my job now.”
Sean touches his nose to mine. Then tilts his head and kisses my neck, scraping his teeth against my skin. I squeeze my eyelids closed and inhale sharply.
“Let’s go,” he says, as he shifts the car into reverse and flips the car lights back on. “You’re killin me, Breezy, killing me.”
“Where we goin’?”
“Definitely somewhere classier than the backseat.”
****
A few porch lights brighten the houses lining the streets, but other than that, everything is dark, still, and cricket chirpingly quiet. But my hands are sweaty anyway. “This is crazy,” I say. “Someone’s going to call the cops. And that could be my dad.”
Shoulder to shoulder, Sean and I walk up the long driveway of a big house with dark gray siding. “No, they’re not gonna call your dad. I hope not, anyway. Everyone in the neighborhood is out or sleeping. No one lives here yet. The bank put a “For Sale” sign out last week. I promise,” Sean whispers, squeezing my hand tighter. “Plus, we’re not actually going inside—just the backyard.”
He reaches through a slat in the fence and fumbles around, unhooking a latch. The door creaks and lets us in.