I hate Kacey Young so much that I’m scaring myself. I hate her big freaky eyes that scream Love me! I hate the effect she has on people—that mix of pity and admiration. She’s the girl who needs saving. The one the guy scoops up at the end of every shitty movie, kissing her tears away and making her whole again.
It’s alarming how easy it is to hide how much I hate her. It’s weird—the more I hate her, the more I want to be around her. We hang out after school almost every day, sometimes alone when Jade is working, and I act like nothing is wrong, that I don’t soothe myself to sleep by imagining pushing her off a bridge.
I’ve Googled her thousands of times, trying to find the part of her she keeps locked away from us. I found something—an old blog that’s registered to the same email address she uses now—but it’s private. I’ve tried hundreds of different password combinations—I’ve even tried to teach myself rudimentary hacking. That’s how badly I want to crack Kacey’s head open like a nut. Scoop out all the thoughts inside and dissect them one by one.
Jade hates her too—it’s almost all we talk about now when Kacey’s not around. All it took was Kacey flaunting that application to Madison Art Institute one day at lunch for Jade’s face to turn sour. It doesn’t matter that Jade never cared about the fact that she couldn’t afford going to a fancy college before; it’s the fact that Kacey gets to live out a dream that should have been Jade’s.
I know what it feels like: like something’s been stolen from you, even if the thing never belonged to you.
I really think Andrew and I would have had a chance if Kacey hadn’t waltzed into our lives. Andrew saw me for once—the only problem is she was standing in the way, right between us. Look at me! Poor girl abandoned by Daddy, here to wreck shit.
I know something is going on between them. It’s not innocent flirting anymore. I saw it.
I’ve been to the Markhams’ house every night this week. I told my parents I picked up the closing shift at Friendly Drugs, even though they hate me leaving work when it gets dark. Instead, I hang out at Jade’s from four to eight-thirty, making mac and cheese and lazing on her bed on our phones. She hasn’t asked why I’ve been spending so much time at her house; I figure if she does I’ll say my mom and I haven’t been getting along.
I’m on Sparrow Road by nine, ready for my drive-by. For the first few nights I didn’t see anything—maybe the flicker of a light in the den, or Kacey’s lamp on in her bedroom.
But last night. Last night I saw something that made me sick.
All of the lights were on in the den; I could see Andrew and Kacey on the couch, lounging at opposite ends. Their feet touched in the middle. They were just laughing, at what, I’ll never know. But it doesn’t matter. If you could see the way he was looking at her. All I could think was, No one has ever looked at me like that.
I have my answer now to Where does Andrew Kang go when he’s gone? To her. He loves her. I know it.
I fucking hate Kacey Young. I hate her so much I wish she were dead. I hate her so much I want to be the one to do it.
I know they say that hate can destroy a person. But I’ve never felt so alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I have to talk to Lauren—hear it from her that what Ben said about the party is true—but I can’t get her alone until after dinner, when Ashley goes upstairs to call her sister. Lauren is already changed for her evening ballet class—black leotard, pink tights, and a gauzy skirt. She’s tucked into the corner of the living room couch, bent miserably over her phone. I wonder if this will all be worth it in ten years—why Ashley doesn’t just let her quit dance if it makes her so unhappy.
Lauren’s fingers stop moving across the screen of her phone when I plop down next to her. I nod to her skirt. “Ballet tonight?”
“Pointe. Miss Longo says if I can’t get up by the spring I should take lyrical instead next year.”
I glance down at Lauren’s legs. Her thighs and calves are muscular, strong. She’s been struggling with pointe all year, though: coming home from class in tears because Miss Longo picks on her. I wonder if her wobbliness has anything to do with how Emma and Keelie March are in her class, probably always watching. Rooting for her to fall.
How long has Lauren been depressed for? Could it have started after the fucking frat party my friends dragged her to?
I squeeze Lauren’s knee. “Are you okay? You’re scaring me. You’re not yourself.”
Lauren’s mouth forms a stubborn line. I keep pressing. “Laur, did something bad happen? Something you don’t want to talk about?”
“No. What are you even talking about?” Her nose bunches up. “You sound like Mom.”
“I know that Bailey and Jade took you to a party in Milwaukee.”
Lauren freezes. The contents of my stomach churn; I think of my sister around a bunch of lecherous frat boys, accepting a drink from Bailey and Jade all while they cackled about how fucking funny and clever they were, bringing a kid to a college party.
A niggling voice in my head reminds me I was only a year older than Lauren the first time I let a boy put his hand up my shirt. But Lauren isn’t me; she’s too trusting. She still lives in her Rapunzel tower with her stuffed sea creatures.
“Lauren. Did anyone at the party do anything to you—something you didn’t want—”
“What?” she almost yells. “Gross! No.”
She finally looks me in the eye. She’s telling the truth. “Are you going to tell?”
I gnaw the inside of my lip. “No. But that was really, stupid, Laur.”
“Bailey didn’t say where we were going. She just told me to sneak out and hang out with them.”
I feel like a pile of garbage. I wasn’t there for her. I wasn’t there to protect her that night, or the night in the barn. “They—they’re not your friends. You’re too young to be hanging out with them.”
Lauren casts her eyes down.
“I know you feel alone, but you’re not. Screw Emma and Keelie. You’ll make new friends. And in the meantime, you have me. You have Andrew.”
“Is it true?” Lauren whispers. “That you and Andrew had sex?”
My stomach falls and vomit threatens in my throat. “Who the hell said that?”
“Austin Schultz,” Lauren says. “He asked me if it was true.”
“Paula’s kid?” My heartbeat picks up. Paula Schulz who works at Milk & Sugar—she has a boy who’s Lauren’s age.
I think of the way Paula wouldn’t look at me the other day, and my insides shrivel up. How long have the rumors been circulating?
“Is it true?” Lauren’s voice is so small.
“No. Lauren, of course it’s not true. Did Austin say who told him that?”
Lauren shakes her head. “But it’s not…he’s not the first person who said something to me.”
I’ll bet I know who it was. “Bailey?”
“Kind of?” Lauren gnaws at a hangnail. “At that party—she kept asking about you and Andrew doing stuff alone. It’s like she thought I was dumb and didn’t understand why she was asking.”
But Bailey is gone—dead, everyone says—so there’s only one person left who could have told the student body that I fucked my stepbrother.
—