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Double oh.
She narrowed her eyes at me, and I had a feeling that was what we’d be talking about tomorrow morning. Giving her a wave, I hurried out of the kitchen and hit the stairs two at a time.
My bedroom was at the end of the hall, overlooking the street, and next door to the hall bathroom I used. Rosa had once called it a decent-sized space. I considered it a palace. It fit a full-size bed, a wide dresser and desk. The window seat in the bay window was my favorite. Great for people-watching.
The best thing about this room—and I always felt terrible for feeling this way—was that it hadn’t belonged to Marquette. It was hard enough driving her car and contemplating the college major that had once been her dream. Sleeping in her old bed would’ve been too much.
Dropping my bag on the bed, I grabbed my laptop off the desk and wiggled into the corner of the window seat, placing the soda on the ledge. As soon as the computer popped out of hibernation mode, my instant messenger dinged.
Ainsley.
Her profile icon was from the summer—her blond hair streaked by the sun and oversize sunglasses covering half her face. She was giving the camera some pretty hardcore duck face. Her message read:
You make it out alive?
I grinned as I shot her a short yes.
How was it?
Biting down on my lip, I closed my eyes briefly and then I typed out what I’d been dying to scream from the top of my lungs.
Rider is at my school.
My laptop immediately blew up with a long strand and different variations of OMG that flowed into an endless stream of geeeeeeee. Ainsley knew about Rider. She knew about how I grew up. Not everything, because some things weren’t any easier to type out than they were to speak about, and she also understood that I sometimes wasn’t the most talkative person. But she got what a big deal this was.
You haven’t seen him in 4 years. I’m about to pee my pants, Mal!!! This is so epic. Tell me everything!
Still nibbling on my lip, I typed out a recap and was periodically interrupted by her OMGs and squees. When I was finished, Ainsley shot back:
Tell me you got his #?
Uh. I didn’t get his number, I typed back. He took mine.
That appeared to be acceptable to her and we chatted until she had to go. Ainsley’s online activity in the evenings had been limited after her mom discovered the pictures she’d been sending her boyfriend, Todd, back in July. They weren’t even that bad, just her in her bikini, but her mom had freaked out with a capital F and had, much to my amusement and horror, made Ainsley watch videos on childbirth as a form of sex ed.
Needless to say, Ainsley was positive she would never have children but that hadn’t stopped her and she was still super interested in sex.
She signed off after making me promise we would see each other this weekend. I spent the rest of the night puttering around the house aimlessly, too riled up to eat much of Rosa’s leftover chicken even though it had been baked in slices of orange and lime. I tried not to think about school or Rider or stare at my cell phone because it had been silent all afternoon and evening, but it was nearly impossible to keep my mind off those things because, holy crap, today had not gone the way I’d expected.
I mean, I didn’t end the day in tears, rocking in the corner somewhere, and even though I’d failed at lunch, I’d managed to speak to Keira. Seven words were better than none. I’d passed my first day without any major breakdowns. That was something to feel good about, and I did, but...
I didn’t know what to think when it came to Rider.
Pacing in front of my bed, I idly ran my hand over the slightly raised skin of my inner arm. That overwhelming mix of desperation and anticipation swirled inside me. I was excited to see him, to talk to him again, but I... God, it was hard to even really think about, because when I thought about Rider, another emotion festered inside me.
Guilt.
Stopping in front of the window seat, I squeezed my eyes shut. Rider had taken... He had taken beatings because of me. Time after time, he’d gotten in between meaty fists and me, and the one time he couldn’t stop it, I ended up escaping that life. I got a second chance, had been given a home with doctors for crying out loud, and practically had anything I want within my grasp. And Rider? I had no idea.
In my bones, I knew he didn’t have this kind of life, though, and how was that fair? The acidic burn in the pit of my belly increased. How could he even look at me like he had today and not think of all he’d sacrificed for me?
Ugh.
I shook my hands out as I started pacing again. Okay. I needed to chill out and look at the positive side of all of this. Rider was alive. He was in school, might even be in a relationship with the pretty girl in speech class, and even though I knew worse injuries could be hidden, there weren’t any fresh bruises that I could see. He didn’t appear to hate me. I would count all of that as a win—and ultimately, the most important thing to focus on was the fact that I’d successfully completed my first day of school.
That was what was most important.
Speaking of which, I had to read the chapter assigned in history. I ended up reading ahead, until I heard the garage door open below. Closing the textbook, I rolled over and turned off my light, knowing that Carl or Rosa wouldn’t come in if they thought I was asleep. Too many months of me not sleeping had made them wary of ever risking the chance of waking me up.
Just as I started to doze off, my cell dinged from where it rested on the nightstand. My arm shot out like a bullet and I snatched it up, my heart leaping into my throat.
There were two words texted from an unknown, local number.
Night, Mouse.
Chapter 5 (#ud65d43ad-343b-5da6-b0b1-0606b03bd957)
The following morning I could practically see the wheels of doom churning behind Rosa’s eyes as she quizzed me on why I’d asked her what I had the day before.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Rosa was brilliant and she was as observant as a high-strung cat, and the fact I was asking her to translate what she informed me that morning sounded like Puerto Rican had her little ears twitching.
I’d stared at that text message—those two words—for a ridiculous amount of time. Absolutely paralyzed by...by the infinite amount of things I could’ve texted back that by the time I settled on a similar response, it was past one in the morning, and I was too worried about waking him up to respond.
I was such a dork. Seriously.
Now I was sleepy and I learned pretty quickly that trying to navigate the crowded halls of the high school while half-asleep could’ve been a plot straight out of one of the dystopian novels I’d read.
Dumping my speech textbook into the steel-gray tomb of my locker, I grabbed my first two classes’ texts, knowing I’d have time to swing by to switch out books later. I closed the door, doing everything in my power not to think about seeing Rider while telling myself that if Keira talked to me today, I would totally respond like a normal person. The door got stuck. Sighing, I pulled it out and put a little more effort into slamming it shut. It latched this time. Satisfied, I hitched up my bag and started to turn.
“You?”
Twisting at the waist, I searched out the sound of the voice and then I saw her. The girl from speech class. The girl who had touched Rider in a way that said that happened a lot and Rider was okay with it.
“It’s you.” Her brown eyes narrowed. “I want to live a life of denial right now, but it’s really you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girl with the tiny braids who’d said hi to me yesterday stop a few feet from us, eyeing the locker this girl stood in front of. She backpedaled and spun in the opposite direction.
Oh, man, that wasn’t a good sign.
The girl in front of me pursed glossy pink lips. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
Slowly, I shook my head.
“I know who you are, and not because you’re in my speech class. I just can’t believe it’s you,” she continued. “I figured you’d be dead or something by now.”
My heart dropped to my feet. Second day of school, and I was already getting death threats?
The strap of her beat-up, olive-green messenger bag slipped an inch on her shoulder. “I’m Rider’s girlfriend,” she said flatly.
Oh.
Oh.
Well, that did explain the touching.
There was a weird sensation in my chest. Wasn’t quite disappointment. More like acceptance. Of course, I figured as much yesterday when I saw them walking into class. And he was gorgeous. This girl was stunning. It made sense, even to someone like me who had no experience with the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing. But I did watch TV. I read books. I had Ainsley. I knew Rider’s relationship with this girl made sense.
She eyed me speculatively, like she was trying to figure something out. “He’s talked about—”
“What’s goin’ on?” Jayden appeared at the girl’s side. Like out of thin air.
Up close this time, I realized he was probably younger than this girl and me. Maybe a freshman or sophomore? His eyes, the same light green color as Hector’s, weren’t as red as they’d been yesterday when I’d seen him in the hall.
The girl glanced down at him, as surprised as I was to see him. “What do you want?”
“Don’t be a puta, Paige.” Those green eyes rolled, but his lips twitched into a grin as he reached over and tugged on her thick braid. “What are you today? The ghetto Katniss?”
She snatched her braid free. “You don’t even know who Katniss is, you little punk. You probably think The Hunger Games is what happens after you get high.”
Um.
“Sounds about right.” Jayden winked at me, his smile sly. “I know you. We ran into each other in the hall yesterday.” He paused. “And I saw you talkin’ to Rider after class—out in the parking lot.”
My gaze darted to the girl—to Paige. Her stare was glacial. “Are you mute or something? You haven’t said one word to me,” she said.
I was so not mute.
Jayden’s brows knitted together as he eyed her. “That’s a stupid question, Paige. I just said I saw her talkin’ to Rider.”
“You know what?” Her face scrunched up and somehow she managed to still look good. She twisted toward him, planting her hands on her hips. “Boy, you have enough shit going on, you don’t need to be all up in my business.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Brave words from the chick who’s always all up in mine.”
They were obviously distracted with one another, and as the two bickered in a way that said this wasn’t the first or the last time they would, I pivoted around and eased into the mass of students heading to class.
Are you mute?
My cheeks were burning by the time I reached my class, and the embarrassment quickly festered into anger—mostly at myself. I could’ve said something to her, anything, instead of standing there like I didn’t have a functioning tongue.
And God. She was Rider’s girlfriend. For real. The girl that asked me if I was mute, the girl I’d just stood in front of like a loser, was his girlfriend.
I resisted the urge to bang my head on my desk.
Mute.
I hated that word with a passion.
Everyone had believed I was mute—Miss Becky and Mr. Henry, group home workers, CPS. Even Carl had thought that when he and Rosa first met me. Only Rider had known that it wasn’t true. That I could talk just fine.
But I didn’t speak today.
Dr. Taft had this fancy phrase for why I hadn’t spoken for so long—post-traumatic stress syndrome, he called it, because of...of everything I’d experienced as a small child. Half of our therapy sessions had been dedicated to working on coping mechanisms and ways to combat it.
It had taken so much to get to where I was today, to a point where I no longer felt like I needed the therapy sessions, and a handful of minutes made me feel like I’d taken twenty steps backward. Like I was the Mallory I’d been at five years old, and then at ten, and at thirteen—the Mallory who did and said nothing. The Mallory who just stood there in silence because that seemed like the safest route.
I hated that feeling.
I clenched the pen tight in my hand, ignoring the way my knuckles ached. Tears of frustration burned the back of my throat, and it was hard to focus in my chemistry class, even harder not to cave to the messy ball of emotion, especially when it struck me that I was sitting in the back of the class again.
Not drawing any attention to myself.
* * *
Keira immediately swiveled toward me the moment she sat down in English class. “Okay. I have a really weird question for you.”
Caught off guard, I blinked as my stomach dipped a little. Was she going to ask if I was mute?
She smiled as she tucked a stray curl back behind her ear. It popped right back out. Bright blue earrings dangled from tiny lobes. “Have you ever thought about trying out for cheerleading?”
I stared at her. This was totally a joke, right? Then I glanced around the classroom. No one was looking at us or holding their phones up, recording this moment for posterity.
“I mean, you look like you’re pretty sturdy. You could be the base or a back spot,” she said, shrugging like she hadn’t just said I looked sturdy. “Look, we’re kind of desperate. Not a lot of girls around here are into it and one of my teammates broke her wrist yesterday in practice, so I thought about you.” She ran her hand down her slim arm, twisting the blue bangle at her wrist. “So what do you think?”
Uh.
“You’re really cute and the blue-and-red uniform would go great with your hair,” she suggested, glancing at the door.
My tongue felt thick and my throat swollen as I reached deep down inside my head and forced myself to live up to all the work I’d done to get to this point. “Um, I’m...I’m not really the rah-rah type.”
One dark brow arched elegantly. “Do I look like a rah-rah type?”
I shook my head, unsure if that was the right answer or not. I had nothing in common with cheerleaders. They were loud and talkative and popular and pretty and about a thousand things I had absolutely no experience with. Then again, I really wasn’t sure if all cheerleaders were loud and talkative and popular and pretty. Keira was the first one I’d ever met, so I was basing my assumptions off movies and books, and Lord knew, the movies and books kind of sucked when it came to stereotyping things.
Wincing, I realized just how offensive my statement could’ve seemed to her. The rah-rah type? Sometimes it was better not to talk.
She laughed softly. “It’s really fun. At least think about it, okay?”
The pen I was squeezing in my hand was seconds away from imploding blue ink all over my fingers. “Okay.”
Her smile spread across her cheeks. “Cool. You have B lunch, right? Next period? Thought I saw you yesterday, but I think you left the cafeteria. And I saw you in speech class, right? Then again, it’s hard to see anything other than Hot Hector.”
Nodding, I wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading.
“Well, if you get bored or anything at lunch, find me.” Flipping her gaze to her notebook, she wrote out the date at the top of the right-hand corner. “I’m usually up front—at the loud table. Hard to miss us.”
Was she inviting me to lunch? Oh my God, Paige and her Katniss braid could suck it. This was major. Like a huge step in the right direction, and as Ainsley would say, if I didn’t speak up, I might as well sew my mouth shut.
