He nuzzles his face into my neck. “We’ve got time.”
I want to believe him. And as his lips caress my neck, I need to believe him, but the part of me that pushes people away before they get too close insists that it’s a fantasy to think this could work.
We finish our snacks and I manage to convince Xavier that I’m fine, but I can’t shake the unsettled feeling that wraps around my heart.
I’ve officially become the girl who hides in her room on Saturday night. Weekends used to mean partying and rolling in hours past my unenforced curfew—an amazing way to forget how miserable I was—but when every face I’d see would be anything but welcoming, being miserable in my room sounds considerably better. I didn’t ask Xavier to hang out despite his hints that he was free, further evidence that something is clearly wrong with me.
A romantic comedy plays on my laptop while I scroll social media on my phone, and eventually I fall asleep to the credits.
Sunday Mom and I spend the day circling each other. Empty boxes appear in the foyer, the kitchen, and outside my bedroom, but I still can’t accept that we’re actually moving. It’s not until she calls me downstairs for dinner and sushi from our favorite restaurant is spread out on the table that it hits me. We’re really leaving. She only orders in from Coast when she’s celebrating or feeling really down, and since there hasn’t been much to celebrate lately, she must not be handling this as well as she’s led me to believe.
She’s already poured herself a glass of wine, but I fill two glasses with water, carry them to the table, and take my seat. She sits with a heavy sigh. “How’s the packing going?”
“Is that what the boxes are for? I thought you were experimenting with homeless chic décor.”
Her eyebrow barely lifts and she lets out another sigh. “I know this is awful. And I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately. It’s just—” she waves her hand in the air—“it’s all been too much, you know?” She takes a very unladylike gulp of her Sauvignon Blanc and notices me watching. “Help yourself.”
I get up slowly, not wanting to look too eager, and return with a matching glass and the bottle from the fridge. I pour a modest amount and take a sip, letting the tartness of the wine wash over my tongue and down my throat. After another drink, I set down the glass and relax against my chair.
Mom starts with the seaweed salad, dividing it between our plates, and once the rolls are split we start eating. She looks up several times like she’s going to say something, but then she takes another drink or bite and remains silent. I continue eating, waiting her out. If there’s something she wants to say, she’ll get to it eventually. It might take another glass of wine, but she’ll break.
When the salad is gone and we’ve finished the spicy tuna, she refills her wine glass and looks up at me. From the look on her face, I’m going to need more wine, too.
“Brianna,” she starts, then sets down her glass. “I haven’t been fair to you.”
I watch her but don’t say anything.
“Blaming you for all this was—” she picks up her wine, then sets it back down and rests her hand flat on the table, like she’s pulling strength from the hard surface. “That wasn’t fair. Things between your father and I haven’t been good for years, so while the timing of your little incident couldn’t have been worse, I can’t blame this on you. And I shouldn’t have.” Tears shine in her eyes, surprising me. Miranda Vines does not cry.
“Thanks,” I say, but she holds up her hand.
“I’m not finished. I know we’ve never had the perfect mother-daughter relationship, but I never once asked you what was going on. I should have insisted we talk when you stole that notebook from the owner of Calliope Brewing. Getting arrested was another red flag that something’s wrong, but I was so wrapped up in my own life falling apart that I never pulled my head out of my ass to be your mother.”
Yes, I definitely need more wine for this. I reach for the bottle and she slides it across the table toward me. It sloshes into the glass as I pour, and I set the empty bottle onto the table with a thud.
She leans her elbows on the table and levels her gaze at me, but it lacks the usual Miranda Vines flair. She almost seems defeated. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”
“Didn’t we already do this?”
“I feel like you left out a few things.”
My fingers trail around the base of my glass. Where do I even begin? “My life has pretty much fallen apart.”
She lifts her glass. “Cheers to that.” I air clink my glass in her direction and we both take a drink. “Maybe start with why you were stealing. That’s the part I can’t understand.”
“I don’t know. The first time was an accident, and after that,” I shrug. “It was a rush. And I didn’t have anything else exciting in my life. Mike and I stopped talking last spring, Austin and I broke up for good over the summer, and Kenzie...”
“But Mike was here not too long ago.”
“Yeah, out of pity. We kind of talk in class, but we’re definitely not friends anymore.” I poke at the unagi roll with my chopstick. “Homecoming court was my last grasp at keeping up the façade that everything was normal. So when I lost and Kenzie pulled a power trip and declared a coup, I didn’t have the energy to fake it anymore.
“You didn’t tell me you lost.”
“I didn’t tell you I won.”
“Touché.”
“Anyway, things kind of spiraled after that. I don’t know why I kept taking things. It’s not even stuff I like. It’s cheap jewelry that I’d never be caught dead wearing, so it didn’t seem like it mattered.”
She pops a roll in her mouth and chews, watching me.
“That night,” I shake my head, remembering how the store owner freaked when she caught me, treating me like a common criminal. “I couldn’t talk my way out of it. You know the rest.” But she doesn’t. She doesn’t know that the Chain Gang led me to the only friends I have.
But my mother isn’t an idiot.
“So who have you been skiing with?”
“Someone I met from the Chain—community service.”
This time her eyebrow raises to its full height. “Another convict?” Her voice is shrill, the easiness from the past few minutes evaporating as quickly as her wine.
“He’s not a convict.” Shit. I didn’t mean to tell her—
“A boy?”
“He’s just a friend. And there’s a girl I’m friends with, too. They’re nice.”
She takes a gulp of wine and sets the glass down so hard a little spills over the top. “You can’t find anyone at school to be friends with? You have to associate with hoodlums doing court-appointed community service?”
I slam my hands on the table. “Careful, Mom. I’m one of those hoodlums.”
“My daughter is not a hoodlum.” Anger replaces her tears, but I’m just as pissed.
“Apparently I am. I got arrested. I’m doing community service. And everyone at school hates me. I’d say things are pretty hoodlum-y.”
She glares at me, and silence wraps around us. The clock in the foyer ticks away the seconds, neither of us willing to break. Finally, her shoulders droop and she reaches for her wine. “I was trying to have a nice evening.”
“Maybe you should have tried a little harder.” I push away from the table, bringing my wine glass with me. My head swirls from standing too quickly and I grip the edge of the table. In that split second, Mom’s anger cracks and the tears return.
“Please don’t leave like this.”
“Isn’t this how we do things?”
“I can’t have you hate me, too.”
My anger deflates and I slump into my chair. “I don’t hate you, Mom.”
“But you don’t like me very much.”
Now tears burn my eyes. “You don’t make it very easy. Everything that comes out of your mouth is judgmental and critical.” Like mother, like daughter. No wonder I don’t have any friends.
“I’m trying
to be better.”
Try harder.
“It’s going to be just us for the next year and a half, then you’ll go off to college and I’ll be all alone.”
I hadn’t thought about that. Now I really feel like a brat. I’ve been throwing the ultimate one-person pity party, not realizing she’s going through the same thing. “You won’t be alone.”
She swirls the wine in her glass, staring at the liquid as if transfixed. “This is not where I saw my life going.”
“Me neither,” I admit.
She smiles at me over her glass, and it’s the closest to a genuine smile I’ve seen since all this started. “Quite a pair we’ve become.”
This time I get up and clink my glass against hers.
*****
Walking into school on Monday, I’m more nervous than I’ve been since the day after my arrest. And not because of Kenzie. She can power trip all over the school for all I care. No, after all the times I’ve made fun of snowboarding, I hate not knowing how people will react now that I’m one of them. And yes, I realize that of all the things I could be worried about, this is beyond superficial, but you can’t take the self-absorbed pretentiousness out of the girl overnight.
No one looks at me differently as I walk through the halls, and I even get a couple smiles from kids I saw Saturday, but I brace myself when I get to History. Sitting next to Kenzie at the beginning of the year made sense because we were still inseparable, but now I feel like I’m walking into a viper pit.
Is this how I used to make other people feel?
Kenzie stalks into the room with her head held so high it’s likely to flip off backwards and roll down the hall. She rolls her eyes at me and opens her mouth to speak, then closes it and shakes her head like I’m not worth the effort. Which is fine with me.
When class ends, I take my time gathering my things. I don’t rush out with the first kids, and I don’t dawdle so I’m the last. If Kenzie thinks she’s got the upper hand, I need to prove to her that no one controls me. We end up walking out with only one person between us, her long black ponytail swinging in front of me, and I hold my head as high as hers. A thousand scenarios play through my mind—the most appealing is me pushing her from behind and screaming about what a bitch she is—but she turns the corner to her next class and my adrenaline falters.
Mike’s waiting for me in Ethics with a tentative smile.
I slide into my seat and smile back.
“When did you start snowboarding?” she asks. Her eyes are curious, and her lip catches between her teeth like she’s unsure if she should be asking.
“A few weeks ago.” I can’t fight the smile that curls my lips, and she shakes her head.
“I have to tell you, I never in a million years thought I’d see you on a board.”
“You and me both.”
She picks at an invisible spot on her desk. “Does this have anything to do with the guy you were with?” Her gaze meets mine, and for a second the past year falls away and she’s my best friend again. No drama, no fights, just the one person I’ve trusted since sixth grade seeming happy for me that I’ve met a boy. I’m tempted to ask if she’s seen him with Cally and Blake, but she’d bring it up if she had, right? I search her eyes for the Mike who used to curl up at the end of my bed and talk for hours about her dream date—always outdoors, always doing something active—but then I blink and the moment is gone.
I clear my throat, still smiling, but it’s forced. “I’m still not sure how he convinced me.”
“His smoking hotness probably had something to do with it.”
I laugh through my nose and the tension in my chest loosens. “Yes. That had a lot to do with it.” We share a smile and I remember her boyfriend. “And who were you with? He’s no Evan but he’s—”
She cocks her head, the smile slipping from her face.
If I could suck my words back into my mouth, I would. “I didn’t mean it like that. Really. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head as I hold up my hand.
“Mike. I swear. I’m happy for you. You seem happy and you deserve that.”
She turns away so I try one last thing.
“What’s his name?” Because what girl doesn’t like to talk about her boyfriend?
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, staring straight ahead.
Is she accepting my apology or refusing to tell me his name? Either way, I’ve totally screwed up my first chance to make things better with her. And now Miss Simpson is starting the lecture, ending any chance I have of fixing this.
After class, Mike hurries to the door without looking back. I’m tempted to skip lunch and just gnaw on the giant foot in my mouth, but I refuse to let Kenzie think she’s intimidating me.
In line in the cafeteria, a few people look my way and whisper to the people next to them, but they seem more curious than anything else. Austin and Evan are at their usual table, surrounded by a mix of soccer players and kids from the snowboarding team, and it’s like a punch in the gut. Kenzie’s always been a bitch, but I actually liked the guys and I miss hanging out with them.
I scan the room for an empty table while paying and just as I lift my tray, a voice stops me.
“I saw you boarding Saturday. Do you want to sit with me?”
I never thought my savior would come in the form of a sophomore girl with a straight brown bob and braces, but that’s who’s standing in front of me, offering me refuge.
“I’m Becca,” she says with a smile. She’s got pink rubber bands on her braces and her clothes are a little sporty for my taste, but they’re name brand.
Not that that should matter, I scold myself.
“Are you sure you have room?” My campaign smile is in full force, and she beams back.
“Follow me.”
And that’s how I end up sitting with a group of sophomores who, from the way they talk, will all be on the snowboarding team next year. They have an easy rapport that’s nothing like my circle of friends—correction: past circle of friends—and I’m envious of how they seem to have it all figured out. It takes all my self-control to sit back and listen, to not monopolize the conversation and charm them into adoring me, but eating alone has been miserable and I don’t want to screw this up.
I’ve barely said two words by the time they’re picking up their trays. When most of the group has left, Becca gives me a curious look.
“You’re not like what I expected.”
My hand lifts to toss my hair over my shoulder, but I catch myself and trace the edge of the table instead. My nail catches on something sticky and I yank my hand away. “What do you mean?” I have a pretty damn good idea what she means, but I’m curious if she’ll say it.
She looks over her shoulder, but no one is sitting close enough to hear. “No offense, but my friends all thought you were a total bitch.”
I stiffen. Even though that’s what I wanted people to think, it sucks hearing a stranger say it, especially one who I’m starting to like.
“They didn’t want me to ask you to sit with us.” She laughs nervously. “They thought you’d pull some mind control hocus pocus and turn us into your slaves.”
“Your friends seem really nice. And you, too,” I add quickly. This shift in power makes me feel off balance but I’m desperate to be invited to sit here again tomorrow. “I know I have a reputation for being a bitch, but a lot has happened and…” I shrug. “I guess that doesn’t seem as important anymore.”
She smiles so hard the fluorescent lights bounce off her braces. “I’m glad to hear it. You’re welcome to sit with us again if you want.”
We both stand, and even though I’m several inches taller than her, I feel like we’re on equal ground. “Thanks, Becca. I mean it.”
Now if only the rest of my problems can be solved that easily. Because I still have twenty-six hours of community service to complete by Dad’s deadline and zero ideas how to get it done.
Soup kitchen. Nursing home aide. Or slave lab
or.
Slave labor is really an option? Drea asks.
We’re texting while I try to figure out a community service option that will give me maximum hours in the next couple weeks.
Seems like it from these descriptions.
In truth, none of them seem that bad, especially after the Chain Gang, but it’s the thought of starting over with all new people—people who might ask why I’m there and judge me for my stupidity—that has me ready to hide under the covers and never show my face again.
Why are you in such a hurry anyways? Don’t you have like 6 months?
For as much as I’ve bragged about traveling to Switzerland in the past, I don’t know why I haven’t told Drea. My dad promised a fancy spring break trip if I finish by Christmas.
Ooh nice. Where?
I bite my lip before replying. Drea’s safely tucked in this new image of myself, and I don’t want the two mixing. But if I go, she’ll find out eventually. Switzerland. To ski. But it’d be with his new family.
Bummer.
I also haven’t told her about meeting The Seconds. Piper is pretty cool but it’ll be more babysitting than partying.
But still, Switzerland…
Suddenly thoughts of Pierre aren’t as appealing, not when Xavier is twenty minutes away. I do love it there.
Wait. You’ve already been?
Last year. And the year before that, and before that.
Then I guess you better find a way to finish your hours.
A little while later, I’m still no closer to choosing anything and sleep sounds more and more appealing. I’m thumbing through my homework in bed, barely able to keep my eyes open, when Xavier texts.
Miss you.
Mondays aren’t the same without the Chain Gang.
But it wasn’t on Monday.
No, but I looked forward to seeing you.
He doesn’t write back right away and I break out into a sweat. Should I not have said that? He knows I like him but—wait. I shake my head. Since when do I stress over what I say to a guy? We may not have said the exact words, but I’m ninety-nine percent certain we’re exclusive so it shouldn’t shock him for me to say that I want to see him. And he texted first saying he misses me.
The Edge Rules (The Rules Series Book 3) Page 23