Please buy my lie. “If I tell you, you’re going to tell everyone at school, then it’ll be on Bragger, and then he’ll really be mad.”
Kyle’s eyes dart over my face. Get him to trust you, Razor had said. I read an article that said people bond quickly over two things: gossip and joint misery. If it’s true, then gossiping about how Razor’s bothering me ought to be a friendship gold mine.
Kyle plops his arms on the table, encompassing too much space. “I won’t tell anyone.”
I roll my eyes and I don’t have to pretend for that. “Sure.”
“No. I mean it.” He scratches behind his ear. “Look, between me and you, Razor’s been scaring the hell out of me. There’s something not right about that guy and I don’t like the idea of you being wrapped up in him. You’re too nice of a girl for a psychopath.”
I attempt to squash the anger flaring within me. Razor’s not the crazy one, it’s him, but Kyle needs to believe we’re bonding. I clear my throat and use the hurt from Kyle to convince him my emotions are about Razor. “What happened at Shamrock’s was a mistake.”
A mistake that Kyle created by snapping a photo of me in a private moment.
“You’re too good for him, Bre. I hope you can see that. I don’t want to put that picture up any more than you want it live, but if you think that picture would shatter your life, it would be nothing compared to if you did get involved with him. The guy is a nut job.”
I hate that he uses my nickname. I hate how he thinks he knows Razor because he’s listened to rumors. “You’re right about Razor.” He’s wrong. “Working with him in AP physics has scared me and he’s mad I’m trying to switch partners.”
Kyle swears like he cares and has the nerve to reach over like he intends to touch my hand. I withdraw it as if I didn’t notice his kind gesture and twist my fingers in my hair.
“It’s okay,” Kyle says. “You’re in public around him. Nothing will happen.”
“So this is what I was thinking.” I’m so ready for this charade to be over. “I want to work with you, not against you. If you say the picture won’t go up, then I believe you.”
“Now you’re talking.” If he had given me that smile last year, I would have been happy. “Tell me what you want for writing my papers and I’ll make sure it’s yours.”
For you to be castrated. “There is one thing you can do.”
He stretches out his arms like he’s willing to give me a hug. “Anything.”
“Send me a copy of the pictures. All of them.”
His forehead furrows. “Why?”
“I want them as a reminder,” I say. “Of how stupid I can be and how I made a wrong choice.” Like believing the rumors involving Razor.
“You shouldn’t be hard on yourself,” he says. “He’s conned a lot of girls, not just you.”
The empty aching at the thought of how many girls Razor has possibly been with overwhelms me. I could try to convince myself that his female companionship issues are a lie, but even I’ve seen him in action. Each time, he was getting biblical with them, but not in the godly fashion.
“Will you send them to me?” I prod.
I sag with relief when Kyle produces his phone and swipes here and there in order to send me the photos. My heart picks up speed as my cell pings with his message and then as I ask if he still has the email from his English teacher that describes what he needs to do with the paper. With each second he’s on the Wi-Fi, I experience a high and a panic.
Can Kyle tell what’s happening? Will his phone beep like NORAD and he’ll realize we’ve deceived him? But none of that happens. Kyle interacts with me as if we’re friends and I let him talk, encouraging him to keep hunting for things on his phone.
If Razor’s true to his word, this nightmare is on its way to being over.
*
There’s ice cream in my hair. Why wouldn’t there be? In the tiny employee bathroom of the Barrel of Fun Ice Cream shop, I lower my head, run water over the sticky strands, then yank so many paper towels I can hear trees in the rainforest screaming in protest.
I squish the towels to my hair in an effort to dry it and the rumble of a motorcycle causes my stomach to fill with a million anxiety-ridden butterflies. Oh my God, I’m getting on a motorcycle with a member of the Reign of Terror. Scratch that. I’m getting on a motorcycle with Razor, voted by my school as the most feared member of the Reign of Terror.
I peer at my reflection in the mirror to see if I’ve gone insane.
My eyes are brighter than normal. My cheeks are flushed. In front of me is a girl I barely recognize. Texting with Razor, the occasional chat on the phone, the way we flirt when we’re together in independent study—all of that is crossing dangerous lines, but this...leaving with Razor? Being alone with him? I’ve lost my mind, and I’m loving the girl staring back at me.
A buzz of my cell and I fumble with it in my haste. It’s not Razor announcing his arrival, but Addison: What are you doing tonight?