Needless to say, the day drags on.
At lunch, T.K. slides in beside me at our usual table, resting his hand on my thigh. “Hey, gorgeous,” he purrs into my ear.
“Hey yourself,” I reply, a shiver moving through my body as he massages my upper thigh under the table.
“I think you should come over tonight. Going out doesn’t seem to be working, so I’m thinking we should stay in.” We haven’t been officially alone since New Years, thanks primarily to my mother’s new stance on working from home, and the idea is so tempting I almost forget about my plans with Lindsay.
“Can’t. Lindsay and I are having a girls’ night,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I do want to spend time with her; I’m being a shitty friend.
“Oh, Marcella’s going to be furious; she mentioned something about dinner and a movie tonight.” My heart sinks a little. Lindsay wouldn’t bail on me; it isn’t her style.
“We’re still good for tonight, right?” I ask her as she takes a seat across from me at the table.
Her eyes seem a little unfocused, and it takes her a moment to clue in to what I have said. “Oh shoot, Raye! I forgot. I’m so sorry. Can we do it next weekend instead?”
It’s strange that Lindsay forgot about our plans, but I try not to let it bother me. She isn’t the only one who has been busy. It’s not like she has replaced me, but we do have other people in our lives who matter in addition to each other now. Still, I can’t help but let the hint of betrayal seep out in my voice.
“That’s okay,” I tell her as I turn to T.K. “I guess I’m free after all.”
“Come over after your interview? You’re still going, right?”
Ah, yes, my interview.
Three days ago, Mitch approached me in the halls on our way to our mutual third period tech class. He snuck up on me like a ninja, an unexpected surprise as he’s always been a clumsy mess when he’s not on the football field. It was the first time I had spoken to him since shortly before Christmas, and I was mildly annoyed to see that his nose healed flawlessly. You can’t even tell I broke it. Such a shame.
According to him, his mom is looking to hire someone to work part-time at the clinic as a few of the clerks quit after the fire. Naturally, I refused. No way in hell was I going to fall into whatever trap he was planting. I broke his nose. He wasn’t about to help me.
It took a five-minute conversation, his voice mellower than I could ever remember it being, for him to persuade me to take him up on his offer. Mitch provided absolutely nothing to work with in the hating-him department, and I knew working at a clinic would make my college applications shine brighter than extra credit ever would. I can handle working alongside him at the clinic a day or two a week.
Mitch set the interview up for this evening at four.
“I’m still going,” I tell T.K. “I’ll come over around five-ish?”
“I’ll cook,” he says, kissing my head and abandoning the table exactly ten seconds before Marcella sits down. Their disdain has become a perfectly choreographed dance. She gives me a half-glare before turning her attention fully toward Lindsay. I can’t understand why she still acts so hostile toward me. I’m pretty sure I made it clear I won’t be revealing her secret anytime soon, but it doesn’t seem to be enough.
Our brief flirtation with friendship is long gone. Whenever I find myself alone with her, I can count the crickets chirping. We seem to have a mutual agreement to avoid those instances if possible. Even Lindsay has conceded in her attempt to make us friends.
I spend the rest of lunch silently observing the two of them, wondering if Lindsay is happy. Her happiness makes tolerating Marcella possible, especially since I have even less time to spend with her than before.
When Marcella begins talking about another party at Katie’s house–to which only a select few will be invited–I begin reviewing interview questions in my head to tune her out. God, she is petty. Before T.K., her exclusion of me from Lindsay’s life would have enraged me. Now, it is only mildly annoying.
I can handle mildly annoying.
By the time I make it to the clinic after school–and after changing into an appropriate length skirt and blouse–I’m so prepared for my interview, I’m not even nervous.
“It’s so good to see you again, Raye,” Dr. Wright says as I step into her shoebox of an office tucked in the far back corner of the clinic. Medical books and a sad-looking fern are the only decorations in sight. I find it oddly homey.
Dr. Susan Wright is tall with cropped red hair and matching freckles, an understated pretty that is easily overlooked. I’ve always liked her, even though she is fiercely strict and mildly intimidating. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you. Mitch says you’re hoping to go into the sciences after you graduate, is that right?”
“I want to be a doctor,” I explain.
“It’s not an easy job,” she warns, her smile turning down at the corners. “There’s a lot of school and a lot of sleepless nights.”
“Isn’t it worth it, though, to be great at something? And to help people, of course,” I add, because it is what you’re supposed to say.
“It definitely has benefits, but so does being a lawyer. Have you considered following in your mother’s footsteps? If you’re anything like her, I’m sure you’d be incredible.”
“I have no intention of ending up like my mother.” My voice is icy and firm. I think I see Dr. Wright flinch. I focus on morphing my face into something pleasant. “I mean, arguing all day. It sounds so exhausting.” Were she anyone else, I would receive an incredulous stare, but Dr. Wright smiles politely, her hands folded on the desk.
“Well, if you’re sure you can keep up with all the work here, I’m happy to have you.” She rises from the desk, dusting off her lab coat.
“Just like that?”
“Raye, I’ve known you since before you could walk, and Mitch has absolutely wonderful things to say about the young woman you have become. The job is yours if you want it.”
I have a hard time believing Mitch has nice things to say about me. He is definitely up to something. “The pay is sixteen dollars an hour, and you’ll mostly be working Mondays and Wednesdays from four to nine. We can talk about more hours once you’re a bit more settled.”
She has me at sixteen dollars an hour. Screw whatever Mitch is planning. It’s more than minimum wage, and it will provide me with a little satisfaction knowing I won’t need to rely on my mom’s credit card. “Thank you, Dr. Wright. I’ll come by Monday, then?”
“Call me Susan. We’ll have you fitted with some scrubs when you start.”
With that, I am dismissed. Susan has lives to save, after all.
I beam all the way to T.K.’s house, stopping briefly to change into a pair of jeans and a V-neck sweater in the backseat. By the time I arrive on his doorstep, I’m positively glowing. “Guess who has a shiny new job?” I ask when he opens the door.
“That’s a tough one.” He pulls me forward by the loops of my jeans, bringing me into a kiss that makes my body demand more. He pulls me into the house, his face flushed and his emerald eyes sparkling. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I reply, reaching up for another kiss. I have become that girl. I don’t hate her as much as I thought I would. “So, what are you feeding me?”
He brings me into the kitchen where the smell of burnt food clings to the air. “Well, I tried to make chicken with stuff inside, but I killed it. So, I’ve taken the liberty of ordering Thai food from that place you like.”
“I’ve been craving Thai.”
“You’re always craving Thai. It was a pretty safe bet.”
“Is anyone–” T.K. grabs my waist and lifts me up onto the counter “–home?” I laugh as he starts kissing my neck.
“Chane and Marcella are out. Markus is…somewhere. I think. Who cares?”
He’s right. I don’t care.
I let him brush his lips over my collarbone as he runs his hands up
and under my shirt, tracing my spine. “Is it bad I’ve been thinking about this all week?” he asks, kissing the soft spot under my ear.
“I’d be more annoyed if you hadn’t.”
“Upstairs?” he asks, just as the doorbell rings, rudely interrupting us. “Are you committed to eating?”
“Pretty committed, yeah,” I giggle, jumping off the counter.
Someone answers the door, putting an end to the delivery man’s ringing.
“T.K.? Did you order Thai food?” Markus asks, walking into the kitchen. He stops the second his eyes find me. “Oh, hello.”
“Hi, Mr. Knight,” I reply, trying to sound friendly. For some reason I have issues perfecting that particular pitch.
“You can call him Markus, Raye. It’s not like he’s anyone important,” T.K. teases, winking at his mock-uncle and taking the food. “You remember Raye?”
“Of course.” Markus sounds a million times more rigid than the last time I met him. I have a hard time picturing him as the happy-go-lucky Earth and human loving alien T.K. claims him to be.
“You know I’m not stupid enough to tell anyone, right?” I snap, annoyed by his attitude. “I have no interest in spending senior year in a mental hospital.”
Markus seems shocked by my sudden hostility. Maybe I’m better at friendly than I thought. “I’m sure you understand our concern, though. This isn’t a game to us; it’s our lives. Ones we have worked quite hard to maintain, myself in particular. To leave that up to a teenage romance...”
“She already passed your background check, Markus. What more do you want her to do? No one has come knocking on our door yet, have they?”
“Background check?” My voice still sounds annoyed. That better not mean what I think it does.
T.K. places a carton of pad see-ew in front of me as he shares a look with his fake uncle. “T.K.?” I demand when he refuses to meet my eyes. “What background check?”
He tries to give me his dazzling smile, but it falters enough for me to notice. “Don’t be angry, okay?” I cross my arms and twist my lips into my I’m already angry and you’re responsible face. He huffs, closing his eyes. “At the start of the year, I expressed…interest in you. You know that. Markus was concerned I would end up getting in over my head. He insisted he look into you and your mom a bit before I…you know…tried anything.”
He still won’t meet my eyes, his hands toying with the paper bag our food was delivered in. I can’t remember the last time T.K. looked so uncomfortable. “What part are you leaving out, T.K.?” My voice vibrates with rage. I’m crossing into the I need to punch/break something area. It may have been a couple of months, but it seems I’m never out of practice.
“He may have looked around your house a little.” My eyes bore into his, waiting for the sentence I know will throw me over the edge. “While you and your mom were out.”
There it is. I recall coming home to police cars in my driveway and a trashed home. A weekend spent cleaning and a ruin childhood blanket. “You did what?” I shout, turning my rage on Markus. I can tell he isn’t someone people usually argue with.
Markus seem to have difficulty figuring out what to do with his hands. Before he speaks, he opts to twist them behind his back. “We didn’t find anything,” he says simply, as though that excuses him violating my space.
“Who are we? Did you help him?” I turn my furry on T.K. All I see is red.
T.K. holds his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t even know about it until after it was done. ‘We’ are Markus and Darien.”
“How convenient! He trashes my home just in time to run off?”
“Raye, calm down; it’s not like they took anything.”
“Do not tell me to calm down! They trashed my goddamn house! They went through my stuff without my consent. My mom’s a lawyer; you don’t think she’ll have a field day with this?”
Markus steps forward. “I’m sorry, T.K. I don’t have a choice.”
He grabs my face.
“You son of a bitch! Let go of me!” I twist my body away from his, trying to shove him off, but my head clouds with exhaustion before I make any progress. Suddenly, I’m too drained to put up a fight. T.K. shouts something in the distance, but I’m far too tired to hear.
I fall forward into nothing.
CHAPTER 19
I have never felt so sick.
The only thing that comes close is the bout of flu I had before the talent show. I was so sick I had been a blacked-out mess for nearly a week, completely unable to do anything.
I do not blackout this time. I don’t know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. If you spend two days hugging a toilet, throwing up more than you have eaten, blacking out starts to sound nice in comparison.
“The flu is going around again,” Mom says, bringing me some Ginger Ale before heading to work Monday morning. “I spoke with Mrs. Cruz. Lindsay has it, too. The poor thing, she’s absolutely miserable.”
Something about Lindsay being sick bothers me, but I cannot figure out why. “You need to call Dr. Wright and tell her I won’t be coming in today,” I say, regretting it immediately. Talking is one step away from vomiting. I topple out of bed and run to the bathroom.
I hear my mom gag from the doorway. “I’ll let her know.” She takes the opportunity to leave. It turns out all I needed to do to get her back on her old working schedule was throw up a few dozen times.
Once I’m feeling a little more stable, I drag myself back to bed and text Lindsay.
Heard you were sick too.
It takes her two hours to respond. I think I’m dying.
Same.
That is all either of us can manage. My body is against me, doing everything in its might to pry my stomach lining from my body. When I open my eyes, the smallest twinkle of light causes vertigo. I sleep for the rest of the day, waking up only to stumble my way to the bathroom four or five times. Tuesday is much of the same. Rinse and repeat.
On Wednesday morning, I feel more or less human. It has been exactly fifteen hours since I last threw up, and when I stand up there is no longer three of everything. I check my phone and see four missed calls from T.K. and a text message from Lindsay.
Will you be at school today?
I send her a quick response. Yeah, even near-death can’t keep me away from sixteen dollars an hour.
Struggling, I drag myself into the shower and toss all my bedding into the washing machine. Mom has already left for work by the time I make it downstairs.
Spring is on the horizon, the roads finally beginning to thaw, no longer a snowy wasteland. My Jeep hums pleasantly as I climb in. He has been missing me.
I make it to school a few minutes before the final bell, so I’m a little surprised to see Lindsay waiting by my locker, her jacket still on.
“Hey,” I call, walking up to her. She doesn’t seem to see me approach, her head bent down focusing on her boots. “How are you feeling?”
It takes me a moment longer than it should to notice Lindsay is not okay. Her hair is a mess, all tangles and sweat. I don’t think I have ever seen her so un-put together, not even when we were kids. She believes in shampoo and perfect buns and glowing skin. “What’s wrong?” I ask, taking in her red-rimmed eyes.
“My parents found out about Marcella.”
That is all she needs to say.
“Come on, we’re skipping.” I grab her arm and pull her back toward the front door. She doesn’t respond; she simply lets me drag her away like a deflated doll.
We pass T.K. on the way out. “Raye! I’ve been calling you. Are you okay?” His voice is so soft and full of concern; I melt a little, temporarily forgetting the problem at hand.
“I’m fine. I’m skipping, though. I’ll talk to you later?” I call over my shoulder as I walk by him. I try to smile to convey I’m fine, but my lips didn’t want to cooperate.
Opening my passenger door, I let Lindsay climb in. She looks so fragile; I’m worried she will trip on the step and break.
Once she is safely inside, I hop in my own side and turn to face her. “Ice cream?”
“Ice cream,” she replies. It is the last thing she says until we arrive at the little ice cream shop. I order for us both while Lindsay gets a table in the corner and busies herself with a stack of napkins.
“No school today?” Mrs. Lace, Kelli’s mother, asks.
“Living life on the edge.” I hand over my credit card, offering no further explanation.
The shop is so empty at this time of day on a Wednesday, there is no danger of Lindsay and I being overheard. Eventually, Mrs. Lace strolls into the backroom, relying on the bell over the door to notify her of any new customers. “What happened?” I finally ask, pushing Lindsay’s ice cream toward her. She has ripped apart every single napkin stacked on our table and reaches over to the table behind her for more. I try to pry them away from her, but her grip is like steel.
“Marcella was worried when she found out how sick I was. She came over yesterday after school to check on me, and my dad saw her kiss me goodbye.”
I try not to think about how gross it would be to kiss a sick person and focus on the tears welling in Lindsay’s eyes, but it is hard. “And he didn’t take it well, I guess?”
“I’ve never heard him yell that loudly, Raye.” She shrinks into herself, pieces of napkin clinging to her jacket. “He was so upset. He called my mom at work and made her come home early. They asked if it was the flu.” She laughs, a sad and bitter sound; it gets caught in her throat halfway up. “Like I was sick. Delirious or something. Like, did I know I had kissed a girl? They were prepared to take me to the doctor’s until I told them it had been going on for months.
“That’s when they went quiet and told me I wasn’t allowed to see her anymore.”
As I watch the salt pour down Lindsay’s face in streams, I have never hated anyone more than I hate her parents in this moment. She is Lindsay. She is sweet and kind and always does everything she can to make those around her happy. For her, her parents’ disappointment is probably as bad as the idea of never getting to date who she wants. How can anyone look at someone like her and think there is something wrong, sick, or broken?
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