by Erin Watt
The panic surfaces in full force. “Absolutely not.”
“Beth—”
“No,” I interrupt. “We’re not going to stop seeing each other. We’re going to see each other every day for the rest of senior year, and then we’re moving to Iowa together. I’m going to be a vet and you’ll be a welder and we’ll be blissfully happy. End of story.”
“Your father will keep coming after me. And if you keep sneaking out to see me, he’ll keep punishing you.”
“I don’t care. He can’t ground me any more than he already has.”
“He hates me,” Chase says flatly. “Everyone in Darling hates me, Beth.”
“Then everyone in Darling needs a lesson in forgiveness,” I shoot back. “The accident is in the past. You should be able to walk around with your head held high, Chase. You paid for your mistakes. Don’t let them judge you.”
To my surprise, he laughs. A dark, humorless laugh.
I frown deeply at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Nothing is funny.” He shoves strands of hair off his forehead. “But it’s kind of ironic that you’re telling me to not let people judge me when that’s exactly what you do.”
My jaw drops. “That’s not true.”
“Of course it is. You claim you forgive me, but I don’t see you telling anyone we’re seeing each other. Your friends don’t know. Your parents don’t know, though now they probably have an idea we might be.” He offers a shrug. “At school, you act like we’re strangers.”
Frustration courses through me. “Because that’s the way you want it!” I argue. “You’re constantly giving me signals—or telling me outright—to stay away from you at school.”
“I’m not blaming you for that. Not at all,” he says gently. “But don’t talk to me about the past being in the past, and me needing to walk around with my head held high, when you’re just as afraid as I am of being judged. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be keeping our relationship a secret.”
I’m taken aback. Crap. He’s right. I am afraid of what people will say.
That’s why I’ve been meeting Chase in secret for the past few weeks. That’s why I don’t talk to him in any of the classes we share. I tell myself that it’s because he wants to lie low at school. And whenever he gives me a shake of the head or a look that says, Don’t stand up for me, I grab onto those opportunities like they’re life preservers and I’m drowning at sea. The one time I stood up for him, after the fire alarm incident, everyone looked at me like I was psychotic, even my closest friends, and I immediately went back to pretending we’re strangers.
Chase gives me the easy way out at school, and I take it. Every damn time.
“I don’t blame you for that,” he repeats, because obviously my shame is oozing from my every pore. “I understand why you can’t be seen with me in public. Why you can’t tell people about us. But...”
My heart clenches as I wait for him to finish. I know I won’t like what he has to say. I know it’s going to hurt me really, really bad.
I’m not wrong.
“But...” His blue eyes seek mine in the darkness. “That’s why it’ll never work out with us.”
30
The rest of the weekend is pure and utter misery.
When I stumble home three hours after escaping through my bedroom window, my parents are there to pounce on me. I don’t remember much of what they say or threaten me with. I’m not listening to them because my head is still back at Jack’s house. Back with Chase, who told me we’re not going to work out.
He didn’t break up with me. I specifically asked if that was the case. It wasn’t.
He just doesn’t see a future for us.
“It’s impossible” were the parting words I got before he deposited me into an Uber that he paid for. And those two words run through my mind like a broken record as I sit in the living room and receive the lecture of all lectures from my parents.
They know I wasn’t at Scarlett’s or with any of my other friends. Fortunately, they also know I wasn’t at Chase’s. Unfortunately, they know this because my dad stormed over there, demanding to know where his daughter was. Apparently Chase’s mother was terrified by Dad’s outburst. The mayor threatened to have him arrested, and Mom had to drag Dad to the car.
I, of course, am blamed for all of this—total bullshit. Just because I went AWOL doesn’t mean Dad had to show up at the mayor’s house and yell like a madman.
On Sunday, I’m not allowed to leave the house, not even to go to the shelter. Dad calls in sick for me, which gives me a sliver of hope because at least he didn’t outright quit on my behalf again. That means there’s a chance I’ll be allowed to go back next weekend.
When Monday morning comes, I’ve never been more excited for school. My parents took my phone again, so if Chase texted me during the rest of the weekend, I have no clue. But I intend on intercepting him at his locker before AP Calc and demanding to know what he plans to do about our relationship.
I don’t get the chance. When I near the senior locker bank, Macy races over to me before I can look for Chase.
“Everyone is saying you hooked up with Charlie this weekend!” is her opening statement. Her eyes are cloudy, but I can’t tell if she’s jealous or disappointed. “Is that true?”
“Of course not,” I lie and then cringe when I remember Chase’s gentle accusation that I keep our relationship a secret from everyone.
“Then why are people saying it?” Macy demands, hands on her hips.
“Because people are stupid,” I mutter under my breath.
“Scar and Yvonne aren’t stupid and they’re the ones saying it.” Her tone grows increasingly haughty. “Scar says your parents called her house this weekend looking for you, because you said you were going there, but really you were secretly meeting Charlie. She’s pissed at you.”
I’m not surprised Scarlett’s mad that I lied to my parents about going to her house, but why do I get the feeling Jeff’s the one who planted the Beth-went-to-meet-Charlie idea in her head?
“Well then it must be true if Scar and Yvonne are saying it.” I’m being snide but I don’t care. What gives her the right to cross-examine me? Who I hook up with or don’t hook up with is none of her business.
“Macy,” a sharp voice hisses.
I turn to see Scarlett glaring at our friend. She doesn’t even look my way.
Macy looks from me to Scar. Then she shrugs and wanders to Scarlett’s side, literally and figuratively. It’s obvious which horse she’s backing in this race.
“Hey, Scar,” I say coolly.
She ignores me, tugs on Macy’s arm and the two of them march off, leaving a wave of hostility in their wake.
Hurt, anger and indignation clog my throat. Screw them. If they can dump me as a friend based on a bunch of lies from Jeff and some rumors about me and Chase, then screw them.
Not rumors, a little voice says. You are with Chase.
Am I? He tried to dump me this weekend. So, no, I don’t even know what we are anymore. And I can’t ask him, because the first bell rings and I’m forced to book it to AP Calc.
He’s already at his desk when I stalk in. Head down, as usual. He doesn’t look my way. Neither does Scarlett. Or Jeff. Or Macy. Or any of my other classmates.
I see how it is. I’m public enemy number one, apparently. But I don’t give a crap that everybody is ignoring me.
Only one person’s opinion matters, and before this day is over, I will talk to Chase.
Whether he likes it or not.
* * *
Chase does a good job of eluding me for the rest of our morning classes. He shows up late for Physics and stays late to talk to Dvořák after Music History. Coward.
The plan is to track him down at lunch, but Ms. Tannenhauf throws a wrench in that by stopping me in the hall
and saying she needs to see me in her office. She doesn’t give me a choice in the matter.
“Your mother called this morning,” Ms. T says once we’re seated.
My shoulders instantly snap straight. Through clenched teeth, I ask, “Why?”
The guidance counselor clasps her hands on her desk. “She wanted to let the school know that you had a tough weekend.”
My jaw falls open. “Yeah, I did. Because of them! Did she tell you how they’ve turned our house into a prison? There are literally alarms on every door and window.”
Ms. Tannenhauf studies my expression. I think she sees more than outrage there, because her gaze softens. “She also told me about her suspicions that you’re in a relationship with Charlie Donnelly.”
I gulp. Dammit. I knew my parents suspected, but having it confirmed makes me uneasy. Also, are teachers even allowed to talk to you about your love life? I feel like that’s inappropriate.
And that’s my out. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing my personal life,” I say primly. I arch an eyebrow. “Is there anything else, or may I go eat my lunch now?”
Her expression grows pained. “You may go,” she finally says.
I stand up. “Thank you. Nice chat.”
“Beth,” she calls before I can open the door. “Please come talk to me if you change your mind. You know I’m always here to listen.”
I nod and leave her office. I give the library a quick scan in case Chase is holed up there. He isn’t. The pointless meeting with Tannenhauf cost me valuable time, and when I hurry back to the lockers, Chase isn’t there, either. I know for a fact he doesn’t eat in the cafeteria or visit the Starbucks. So where the hell is he?
I spend the entire lunch period scouring the school, but Chase is nowhere to be found. He can’t hide from me forever—my last class of the day is Spanish, and he happens to be in it, too. For sure he’ll be there. He can’t afford to skip any classes and risk another black mark on his record.
Unfortunately, Scarlett’s also in that class.
She and Jeff are the first people I see when I approach the classroom. Through the open doorway, I make out an empty room. Chase hasn’t arrived yet.
I stop and lean against the wall a few feet from the door. Scar and Jeff throw hostile looks in my direction, then whisper something to each other. A couple more pointed glances ensue. Some more whispering. A couple sneers. More whispering.
Until finally I roll my eyes and address the couple in a loud voice. “If you’ve got something to say to me, say it already.”
“Oh, look, Scar—Lizzie remembers she has friends.”
I laugh incredulously. “Right. I’m the one who’s forgotten what friendship is.”
“Yes, you are,” Jeff says coldly. “Not to mention you’ve forgotten what family is. You’re banging your sister’s murderer.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not banging him. I was just working at the same animal shelter as him. Hardly something I could control.” Guilt pricks at me as I realize I’m doing it again—distancing myself from Chase by lying about how close we really are.
Jeff’s eyes blaze. “Bullshit. I was able to get the situation under control in five minutes flat, Lizzie. I called your father and we got that killer fired. You did nothing but flash a wet T-shirt in front of his face like the slut you are.”
Scarlett’s face pales. I don’t miss the way she flinches when Jeff says the word slut.
Ignoring the heat scorching my cheeks, I focus on my—former—best friend instead of Jeff. “Is that what you think, too, Scar?” I ask quietly. “That I’m a slut?”
“I...” She bites her lip.
“That’s exactly what she thinks,” Jeff announces, his tone smug. “Everyone does.”
“Shut up,” I snap at him. “I’m talking to Scar.” I lock gazes with her. “Do you think I’m a slut?”
Jeff plants a hand on the back of her neck, in that possessive grip he’s so fond of. “Yes,” he says firmly. “She does.”
I remain focused on Scar. She’s clearly flustered.
But she doesn’t go against him.
Disappointment fills my belly. I’ve known this girl since kindergarten. Over the years, we’ve laughed together, we’ve cried together and we’ve always had each other’s backs. Or so I thought. It’s obvious Scar would rather stay in Jeff’s good graces than have my back. She’d rather listen to him taunt me about what a slut I am than defend me.
Come to think of it, nobody is defending me. Thanks to Jeff, all my classmates believe I ditched him at that party in Lincoln so I could hang out with a drug dealer. Have Macy or Yvonne or Troy come up to me and asked for my side of the story? Has anyone? Nope.
And meanwhile, here I am, placing so much value in these jerks’ opinions. What do I care what they think of me? These people aren’t my friends. I thought they were, but they’re not. My only true friend is Chase. He’s the one who listens to me, supports me, acts like he actually gives a damn about me.
“Look, there’s Lizzie’s fuck buddy now,” Jeff says with a sneer.
My heartbeat speeds up at Chase’s appearance. He’s wearing all black, and I don’t think he shaved all weekend because his face is covered with dirty-blond scruff. He looks incredible. And resigned—he looks utterly resigned as his blue eyes shift from me to Jeff.
The two boys hold each other’s gazes. For several seconds, time stands still.
Chase shoves his hands into his pockets and ducks his head.
Jeff visibly gloats at winning the staredown and causing Chase to back down.
Indignation surges through me. No way. No fucking way. Jeff isn’t allowed to win anything over Chase. Jeff is a controlling asshole who gets off on terrorizing girls and guys who won’t fight back.
Chase is a million times better than Jeff Corsen. He’s kind and supportive and he’s paid for his mistakes. He’s been good to me. And he does not deserve to be treated the way I’ve been treating him. It makes me sick to my stomach that he thinks I’m ashamed to be seen with him.
I suck in a long, shaky breath and search for the courage inside me. Finding it, I take a step forward and speak in a clear, even voice.
“Nah, that’s not my fuck buddy,” I inform Jeff and Scarlett and anyone else in earshot of us. “That’s my boyfriend.”
There’s a scandalized gasp.
A few whispers.
Chase’s blue eyes widen at my declaration, but I don’t give him any time to sit with that shock. I stride toward him, grab hold of his T-shirt collar and tug his head down.
Then I kiss him in the middle of the hallway, in front of all our classmates, staking my claim.
To hell with what anyone thinks.
Chase is the only one who matters.
31
The kiss is widespread knowledge by the time school ends. Chase and I suffer through the stares and whispers in Spanish class. We endure the muttered, disgusted jabs as we leave the school. We ignore the dirty looks we receive in the parking lot.
My bus isn’t here yet, but Chase can’t wait with me and he’s not happy about it. Since the final bell rang, he’s been mumbling about how stupid it was for me to kiss him in view of everyone. How crazy I am for proclaiming that he’s my boyfriend.
And yet he hasn’t let go of my hand.
“I really wish I could wait to make sure you get on the bus okay,” he says grimly. “But Jack’s picking me up at the Starbucks in five minutes. We’ve got two yard cleanups to do today before it gets dark.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m, like, the only senior who rides the school bus anyway.” Damn my parents for taking away my car again. “Those freshmen and sophs are too scared to get in my face.”
That seems to appease him. He nods briskly and says, “I’m biking home from work in a few hours, and then I’ll come by your plac
e tonight.” My heart does a happy flip, then plummets when Chase adds, “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Yeah, we do. But we’re not talking about what I think he wants to talk about. We’re not breaking up. We’re not going to stop seeing each other. Today, I made my stand. I chose Chase Donnelly over everyone else in my life, and it can’t be for nothing.
I stand up on my tiptoes and smack a kiss on his cheek. It’s so surreal doing that with the autumn sun shining down on us and other students in plain sight. I think it freaks him out a little, too, because the moment my lips touch his cheek, his wary gaze instantly conducts a sweep of the area.
“Iowa,” I whisper to him.
“Iowa?”
“Whenever you’re feeling panicky about the kids in Darling, just remember that in September we’ll be in Iowa and nobody will care if we kiss in public.”
He sighs. “I still haven’t agreed to go to Iowa with you.”
“Sure, you have. You obviously just forgot.” I plant another kiss on his cheek. “See you later.”
He gives me that guarded half smile of his, hops on his bike and pedals off.
I shift my backpack to one shoulder and wait for the yellow bus to appear. It’s just pulling into the lot when Jeff stalks up to me. The tails of his untucked white button-down flap with each impatient stride, and he nearly mows down three freshman girls on his way to me.
“Leave me alone,” I say icily.
“No. We need to talk.” Jeff grabs my hand hard enough to leave a bruise. When I yelp, he hastily lets go. “Sorry,” he mutters.
He’s not sorry. He’s only saying it for the benefit of the onlookers whose attention we’ve captured. Jeff doesn’t want our peers thinking he’s an abusive ass. He’s good at hiding it, too.
But these days, I see right through him. I glower at him. “We have nothing to talk about, because I’ve got absolutely nothing to say to you.”
“Well, I have lots to say to you, yeah?”
Again with that fake British accent. “Well, I don’t, yeah?” I mock and take several steps toward the line of students waiting to get on the bus.