“Tori, if something happened . . .” He swallowed. “I mean, if he did something, you can tell me. I realize he’s my friend, but if he did something to you, I’ll—”
I jerked my head to look at Carter, annoyed he wouldn’t just drop it. “You’ll do what? Kick his ass? He’s twice your size.”
“That doesn’t mean he should get away with—” Carter raised his voice.
“I told you. He didn’t hurt me. Not the way you think, anyhow.” I slid my feet down to the floorboard. “He’s not who he was, that’s all. He’s . . . different.” I wiped my nose on the back of my hand again.
“There are tissues in the glove box.” Carter gestured to the latch on the dash before gripping the steering wheel again. “My allergies get terrible this time of year, so I keep some handy. Take as many as you want and, um, if you need to talk . . . You know.”
“Thanks, Carter, but I’ll be fine.” I pulled the latch and the glove box fell open. Inside, I found a small box of facial tissues, folded sheets of paper, and a bag with what looked like crushed leaves. I lifted the bag out to inspect the contents, realized what it was, and tossed it back inside. Then I snatched the tissues and closed the glove box.
Carter cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sorry. I forgot that stuff was in there.”
“I didn’t know you smoked pot.” I rubbed my nose with a tissue.
He shrugged. “Occasionally.”
I blew my nose as quietly as I could manage which turned out to be louder than I planned. My cheeks blushed. Even if Carter was the last boy on Earth I’d ever be interested in, he was still a boy and the noise I made wasn’t attractive.
Carter glanced over and smiled. “Feeling any better?”
“Not really.” I shook my head.
“It’ll be all right,” he said. “Whatever happened, I’m sure Dev didn’t mean it. He’s probably just being an asshole because of all the stuff he’s been through lately.”
“What stuff?”
“Just stuff.” Carter shrugged. When he glanced back across the seat, he avoided making eye contact.
“Carter, tell me.”
His grasp tightened on the wheel as he focused on the road.
“Carter.” I raised my voice.
“It’s nothing, Tori.” His shoulders drooped, and sadness permeated his voice. “I don’t even really know.”
“Don’t lie.”
He shook his head. “I’m not lying.”
“Yes, you are,” I snapped. “You guys talk about everything.”
“He doesn’t tell me as much as you think he does.” Carter sounded disappointed as if he felt the same way I did about Devon’s secrets.
“He tells you more than me.”
Carter sighed. “That’s because there’s a lot of stuff he doesn’t want you to know.”
I knit my eyebrows. “Why doesn’t he want me to know? We’ve been together a long time. At least, we were before. You’d think he’d trust me by now. Unless we’re not together and . . .” My voice caught in my throat as I sobbed. Oh, God. I’m so stupid. He never said he wanted to get back together. I assumed because we had sex . . . Maybe that’s all he wants.
“Hey.” Carter reached across the seat, leaning to the side, and touched my shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
A van passed. Carter straightened back up and returned his hand to the steering wheel.
“Things will get better,” he said. “You’ll see. As much as he can be an asshole, Dev cares about you. A lot.”
“I know.” I sucked in my tears. “I care about him, too. It’s just . . .” I didn’t finish, uncertain how to put my thoughts into coherent words.
“I get it. It’s hard to care about people sometimes.”
“Uh-huh.” I pursed my lips and nodded.
Carter turned the car onto my street. I thanked him for the ride and got out as soon as he stopped in front of my house. Our conversation had not made me feel any better. I wasn’t crying anymore, but I still felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Ignoring my mom and stepdad when they inquired about my night, I plodded to my room, got into bed, and pulled the blanket up to my neck. Although I’d planned to break down again, no tears came. All I wanted to do was sleep. Maybe the world wouldn’t suck as bad when I woke up.
Mom glanced up from the chaos spread across the kitchen bar. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” I mumbled as I plopped into a kitchen chair, exhausted from fitful sleep.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” She tilted her head and studied me.
“Yeah. Just tired. I didn’t sleep that good.”
“You looked upset when you got home last night. Did something happen?”
Kind of surprised you noticed. “No.”
“Are you sure, honey? It looked like you’d been crying.” She set down the rolling pin she’d been using to assault over-floured dough and stepped around the bar to stand nearer the dinner table.
“Nope.” I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
“Now, I know you’re not fine.” Mom slid into a chair, reaching across the table to hold my hand. “Did you and Carter have a fight?”
Thanks for the suggestion, Mom. “Yeah.” I looked at the table and nodded.
“What was it about?”
“I got mad at him because he wouldn’t tell me something. He says I’m nosy.”
“Ah. Honey.” Mom patted the back of my hand. “It’ll be okay. You and Carter will make up.”
“I hope so.”
“Why don’t you call him?” She smiled. “Now that you’ve both cooled down, I bet it won’t take much for you to work it out.”
“Maybe.”
Mom squeezed my hand before getting up to return to her dough creation on the counter.
“What are you making?” I asked.
“Cherry pie,” she answered.
“Um.” I stood and walked to the side of the bar opposite her. “What did you do to that crust?”
“I don’t know. It kept sticking, so I added more flour and then it was falling apart so I put in some water and . . .” She picked up a sad-looking clump of hard dough. “I wanted to make James a cherry pie. They’re his favorite. But I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Why don’t you buy one?”
“Because I wanted to show him how good I’ve gotten at cooking.”
I snorted.
She glowered. “I may not be a five-star chef, Tori, but I’m not the worst cook in the world either.”
That’s debatable. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”
“Rather than just standing there giggling, you could offer to help your mother.” She tried to sound stern but fought back a smile.
“I could . . .” I smirked. “But I’ve got to call Carter, remember?”
“Carter can wait.” She waved her hand at the phone. “Come help me with this pie crust.”
I smiled, sliding around the bar. “First thing we need to do”—I swept the dough mess she’d made to the end of the bar and stepped on the pedal that made the trash can open—“is throw this away. It’s not usable.”
Ordinarily, spending time with my mother was more punishment than reward, but I needed to keep my mind off Devon. Despite exhaustion, I’d tossed and turned all night, wondering if I’d been stupid to think things between Devon and I would be the same as they had been. I replayed every argument we’d had, the horrible day he’d accused me of cheating with Carter, and the weeks afterward when I’d felt betrayed and he acted indifferent. He’d apologized, but I worried he’d only done it because he knew he’d fail his drug test and go back to juvie. I didn’t know why that would matter, but it seemed too coincidental that he’d beg me to take him back hours before he saw his probation officer.
I shook my head, refocusing on the pie crust Mom rolled out on the counter. “That looks great, Mom.”
“Thanks.” She smiled. “So, how do you do the weave thing?”
“The lattice top?
”
She nodded.
“I’ll show you.”
I stepped closer, demonstrating how to measure and cut the crust into strips. As I wove them across the top of the pie, I remembered why I liked cooking and baking. It was another form of art. I could lose myself in creating a beautiful pie as easily as I did when I sketched or painted.
Mom had taken that away from me when she quit her job. She claimed she wanted to be more domestic—like Martha Stewart or June Cleaver—but cooking was the only household chore she’d taken off my plate. It also happened to be the only one I liked.
“That looks delicious,” Mom said.
“It does, doesn’t it?” I smiled. “We did a good job, Mom.”
“Yes, we did.” She gave me a sideways hug before she picked up the pie, slid it into the oven, and turned the timer on. “All right. I’m going to lie down while it cooks. Do you mind cleaning up, Tori?”
I frowned. “Sure.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Mom took her apron off and waddled out of the kitchen.
Should have known I’d get stuck with clean up. I sighed.
“Hi, Tori,” Kennedy said, glancing at me as she dumped a stack of papers into her locker.
I shot her a glare.
“Why do you have to be like that?” she asked. “I’m trying to be nice.”
“Don’t bother,” I retorted. “We’re not friends and we’re not going to be friends.”
“I’m sorry.” She turned to face me. “I shouldn’t have gotten between you and your boyfriend. That was wrong. But I’m worried about you. You’re not the same person you were before you met him.”
“You’re not the same person you were at the beginning of the year, either. People change.”
“I don’t understand how you can still be with him, Tori. He was super mean to you after you guys broke up and then we go on spring break and when we come back you’re all, ‘He’s so amazing and wonderful and I miss him so much.’ Why would you get back together with him?”
“Because I wanted to. The only reason we broke up was because you lied.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t lie. I never told Devon you did anything with Carter. Not really. I was talking to Jason about how you and Carter were getting close and I thought you might like him or something because you guys were flirting all the time. I didn’t tell Devon to act the way he did or call you a slut.”
“He never called me a slut,” I said.
“Basically. He accused you of cheating in front of half the school.”
“He was upset.”
“So, you’re okay with all the hateful stuff he said to you? And him acting like you didn’t exist when you tried to talk to him? And making out with that other girl in front of you? You might not remember how he put you through hell for weeks, but I do. You could barely function and cried all the time.”
I didn’t respond.
“Why is it okay, Tori? Why is it okay that he was a total jerk and you forgive him, but you won’t even talk to me?”
“Because you did it on purpose,” I answered. “You didn’t like him, so you did everything you could to get me to break up with him and when that didn’t work, you lied to him, so he’d break up with me. How am I supposed to trust you after that?”
“How can you trust him?” Her eyes widened. “It’s like there’s this huge, blinking neon sign that says, ‘Warning, this guy will hurt you,’ and you completely ignore it.” She held up her hands to illustrate the enormity of the imaginary sign.
“He won’t hurt me.” I hoped the words sounded more convincing to her than they did to me.
“Keep telling yourself that, Tori. Maybe one of these days you’ll believe it.” She shut her locker, hugged her books to her chest, and walked away.
I turned back to Devon’s locker. His books still sat on the shelf where he’d left them almost two months before. A worn paperback crowned the neat stack. I took the book down, flipped it over in my hand, and read what remained of the title on the torn cover. The Broth Karama.
I should give this to Carter. Devon probably wants it back and the school will throw it away when they clean out the lockers this summer. I carried the book with me to the biology lab and set it down in front of Carter.
“What’s this?” He picked up the book.
I pulled out the chair next to his and sat down. “It’s Devon’s. I figured he might want it back.”
“Why don’t you give it to him?”
“Because I . . . You’ll see him before I do.”
“Okay.” Carter shrugged, setting the paperback on top of his biology textbook.
I tapped my pencil on the tabletop and scanned the room. Maybe I should tell Carter what happened. Then he’ll understand why I don’t want to be around Devon. It’s not like he doesn’t—
“Thinking of trying out for the drum corps?” Carter asked.
“What?” I scrunched my face and looked at him.
He glanced at the yellow No. 2 pencil tapping on the metal lab table. “That’s annoying.”
“Sorry.” I slid the pencil against the side of my biology book.
“Don’t be nervous. You know this stuff.”
“I know. I’m not nervous about the test.”
“What are you nervous about?” he asked.
“Devon.”
“You haven’t talked to him since the other night, have you?”
I slouched. “No. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Avoiding each other won’t fix anything.”
“I know, but . . .” I looked at Carter. “Did he tell you what happened?”
Carter shifted his weight and diverted his gaze across the room.
“Is that a yes?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Carter nodded.
“What do you think I should do?” I stared at the side of Carter’s face and waited for him to give me the perfect answer, but he said nothing. “Carter.” I pushed on his arm. “Come on. Don’t act like we’re not friends anymore because Devon’s back. You give me advice all the time.”
He turned toward me as the bell rang. “Honestly?”
I nodded.
“I think you should give him a break.”
Ten
Carter shut off the car and opened the door. I stared out the passenger side window at the rusty sedan camouflaged by waist-high weeds. If I hadn’t known it was there, I might have missed it, but it wasn’t the first time I’d been to the rundown trailer. It belonged to Carter’s brother, Chase, and was the out-crowd’s favorite hangout.
The singlewide sat between two branches of a fork on a county road. One direction led to Clarington, the other deeper into the countryside. A thick forest of trees crowded the trailer’s back, their branches stretched over the roof. The first time I’d been there, it reminded me of a scene from a horror movie. In the daylight, the trailer wasn't that interesting. It was just a sad dump with a neglected yard that doubled as a parking lot.
“You coming?” Carter asked.
I turned to look at the boy standing in the open driver’s side door. “I guess.”
Pulling the handle, I opened the passenger door and stepped into the spindly weeds. They scratched my ankles as I walked around the car to follow Carter. Beside the porch, we passed a primer-gray truck with the hood propped up by a large stick and several metal tools spread across the front.
“I take it he didn’t get it fixed,” Carter said.
“Who?” I asked.
“Dev. He’s been working on that thing all week.”
“Oh. What’s wrong with it?”
“No idea. He talks about cars and all I hear is blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”
I giggled. “Me, too. Is he here?”
“I don’t know.” Carter shrugged.
After spending hours rehashing every detail of the night Devon came back in my head, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him. I hadn’t decided what I thought about that night. A knot formed in my stomach, and
I climbed the porch steps with apprehension.
Carter waited for me to catch up before he opened the front door. Frigid air flooded from inside the trailer. I rubbed my arms, wishing I’d brought my sweater.
“Holy crap,” Carter said. “Cold enough?”
Devon looked up from his seat on the worn-out couch, a brown-filtered cigarette tucked behind his right ear. He held a guitar across his lap with one arm draped over the body. “What are you talking about? It’s hot as hell in here.”
Carter walked to the window air conditioning unit. “There’s ice on the freaking window.” He shook his head and turned down the AC before disappearing into the kitchen.
Devon set the guitar on the floor, leaning it against the side table before he retrieved the cigarette behind his ear. As he put the cigarette to his lips, he glanced at me and a brief smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I forced the closest thing I could to a smile. “Is that yours?” I pointed to the guitar.
“No.” He shook his head, lit the cigarette and took a long drag. “It’s Chase’s. Mine is still at Lia’s.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke as he spoke. “What have you been up to?”
“Not much.” I walked around the cluttered coffee table to sit on the opposite end of the couch.
“How did you do on your finals?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Probably failed, but oh well.” I stole quick glances at him but didn’t meet his eyes. My intestines wound themselves into knots, making comfort impossible no matter how many times I shifted my weight from one position to another.
Devon’s gaze drifted across the room as he took another drag from his cigarette. I adjusted my skirt like a nervous school girl, pulling it closer to my knees before rubbing my arms. The movement caught his attention, and he looked at me.
“You cold, too?” he asked.
“It’s freezing in here,” I answered.
“Here.” He took off the powder-blue mechanics shirt he wore over a white T-shirt and offered it to me.
“Thanks.” I took the shirt, careful not to touch his hand, and discreetly sniffed the collar as I pulled it on. It smelled like fresh dew, tobacco smoke, and incense. “When did you get this? I’ve never seen you wear it.”
Broken Dreams (Spiraling Book 2) Page 6