A line of cars forms behind the Mazda. I step out of the way, and Deacon follows. If I don’t act normal, he’ll figure out I know more than I’m telling him.
“I gotta take off, Frankie. I’m glad we had time to talk.” He walks toward the Firebird. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m just looking out for you. This thing with you and Marco will get old, and he’ll move on.” He pauses, and his expression hardens. “I’d hate to see a pretty girl like you get hurt.”
*
Marco pulls in just minutes after Deacon leaves. After my conversation with his so-called best friend, my knees still feel like rubber. I must look rattled, because Marco rushes over the moment he sees me.
He slides his arm around my waist, and I lean against him. Usually, I keep my distance until we’re inside the school, just in case Dad has someone watching me. Right now I don’t care. As soon as he touches me, I feel safe.
“Are you okay?”
“I was worried,” I manage.
He brings his lips to my ear. “Me too. I texted you three times.”
I’m two seconds away from spilling every word Deacon said when a gut feeling stops me. Deacon isn’t as stupid as people think. He’s playing a chess game, and I’m just one of the pieces. But I haven’t figured out his strategy yet.
I take a deep breath and run my fingers along the side of Marco’s face. “Did you think someone kidnapped me?”
Marco stiffens and looks at me. “Not funny.”
I push out my bottom lip and give him my best pout. “Come on … it’s a little funny.”
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll kidnap you myself.”
“Promise?”
Marco smiles and grabs my hand, pulling me through the doors of the main building. “What were you doing in the parking lot, anyway?”
“Looking for you.”
Inside, he walks me to my locker. I bang the side of my fist against the number two on the door, and it pops open. Most days, the instant gratification puts a smile on my face, but remembering that I’m using Deacon’s old locker makes me hate it all over again. I’ll ask Mrs. Lane to assign me a new one as soon as I have time. If she won’t let me switch, I will carry my books around for the rest of the year.
My cell vibrates.
We are leaving for Richard’s
college reunion at Yale. Hope all is
well. We’ll bring you a sweatshirt.
I’ll see you at the gala. xo Mom
Only my mother texts in complete sentences and ignores the fact that we aren’t speaking.
Marco rubs the back of my neck with his thumb. “I’d give kidnapping some thought if it was the only way to be alone with you.”
“Don’t plan any kidnappings yet. I think I just figured out a way for us to get some alone time.”
He grins. “How?”
The bell rings, and Cruz turns the corner like clockwork. She snaps her fingers and points in the direction of our classroom. “Let’s go. We’ve got poetry to destroy and a teacher to shock.”
“I’ll tell you later.” I shut my locker and let go of Marco’s hand at the last possible moment, rushing to catch up with Cruz.
I grab her arm just before we enter the classroom. “How well do you really know Deacon?”
“Too well. Why?”
“Will you tell me about him?” If Deacon is already playing a game, I need to catch up.
She gives me a strange look. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
CHAPTER 31
THE ALWAYS KIND
When I slide my key into the lock and the door opens, I’m surprised it still works. The strange landscaping along the driveway and the newly painted green door made me wonder if I had walked up to the wrong house. Disney World–esque sculpted trees have replaced the cherry blossoms all the neighbors envied.
Mom loves taking a chain saw to the past and starting over. The house has been redecorated so many times that I can look at the wallpaper in a photo and pinpoint the year it was taken. But this is another level. Even Lex looked shocked when she dropped me off in front of the fawn-shaped bushes.
Lex agreed to lie for me again—well, technically her mom was doing the lying, but Lex had to physically hand her mom the phone to make it happen.
I walk across the marble entryway, relieved that Mom hasn’t changed anything inside. As far as I can see, anyway. She probably converted my bedroom into a gift-wrapping room or something equally pretentious.
The front of the house faces the driveway. I sit on the bottom step of the main staircase and wait.
Within minutes, my cell vibrates. It’s him. He’s walking up the driveway. I catch a glimpse of myself in the gilded mirror Mom shipped home from Venice a few summers ago. Moonlight from the skylights streaks the glass, giving my skin a pale glow. I shake out my dark waves.
Two light knocks on the door, and my stomach flutters. I open the door and Marco slips inside, pushing it closed with one hand and sliding the other around my waist. “Hey.”
The desire in his eyes is only a fraction of the tension building inside me. “Hey.”
“I missed you.” He brushes the hair over my shoulders and away from my face. His thumb grazes the sensitive skin along my collarbone, and the tension coils tighter.