Total pages in book: 165
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
“Clay…” She holds a book to her chest and gives me a placating smile. “I may have let my piece-of-shit ex-boyfriend get away with so much, because I lack self-confidence and sometimes it was either him or home, and I didn’t want to go home,” she explains. “But it’s not because I’m a moron, so please, I’d rather you not explain at all than insult me with a lie.”
My face falls.
She pats my arm. “I’m here when you’re ready. See you in the gym.”
She walks off, her brown ponytail swaying as she disappears into the crowd.
Ugh, great. She knows. She totally knows.
I push through the crowd, heading downstairs and into the hallway that’s flooded with more students. Eighth period has been cancelled for a pep rally, and locker doors slam, everyone trying to put away their materials so they don’t have to take them into the gym.
Some of us skip the rally, though, and duck out early for the day. I don’t want to risk being caught with her out in the parking lot by the administration, but we can certainly hide out in the locker room until school is over.
But as soon as I get closer to her locker, the crowd thins, and I see her. A few yards away, staring at something.
I slow my steps, following her gaze.
A noose hangs on her locker door as people pass by, some whispering, some oblivious, and some snickering.
A noose. Like Alli Carpenter.
Liv’s hand hangs from the strap of her bag, limp like she’s been deflated, and I look at her face, seeing shock turn to defiance as she closes her mouth and flexes her jaw.
I just want to wrap my arms around her. I’m here. Baby, I’m here.
She heads to her locker, dials in the combination, and opens it, the noose dangling against the metal.
Without a look to the bystanders drifting back and forth with their eyes on her, I charge over and grab the noose, ready to yank it free of the tape.
But Liv stops me. “Leave it,” she says.
“Liv—”
“Leave it, Clay.”
I stare at her, the bite in her tone making it seem like she’s mad at me.
“Why?” I ask, trying to keep my expression even.
“Because it checks my reality,” she replies stiffly, stuffing her bag into her locker. “This isn’t the first time. It’s a little late to care now.”
And she slams the door, heading straight for the gym. I watch her for a moment, alone in a sea of people, and it shouldn’t be that way.
Part of me can’t wait until she leaves, because she’ll find a bigger world. But once she knows how much better the world is outside of St. Carmen, she’ll never come back.
I drift into the gym, barely noticing the band pounding out a fight song to commemorate the spring sports line-up as I find her standing back, next to the bleachers.
The drumline beat fills the air, vibrating under my shoes, and I walk up behind her, leaning in close and whispering. “I do care.”
Slipping my hand between her and the bleachers, I take hold of her fingers. I half expect her to pull away, but she curls hers around mine, the silent despair peeking through.
I don’t want to do this anymore. I thought it would be easy to hide. A long-distance relationship wasn’t going to happen anyway, so there was no need to go public.
Just physical. Just fun. That’s all this is.
But I’m sick of her being alone and excluded. How happy would it make her to not stand alone for once?
“I want you to make me show it,” I say. “Why don’t you make me show it? Why do you let me act like a coward?”
She stands there, her back to me, but after a moment, she turns her head, saying in a low voice, “Because I’ll never do anything to bring you more pain. What we’re doing has a shelf-life anyway. It’s not worth it. It’s just fucking, Clay.”
I falter, the words cutting deeper than I expect. I don’t want her to look back on us and think that’s all this was.
But she’s not wrong either. If I can do anything to make her happy for a little while, I know what I’m good at. Digging my phone out of my bag, I text a picture to her. “Good,” I whisper. “Check your message.”
She lifts up her phone, the cheer team flipping into the air and chanting as I watch her shoulders rise with a sudden intake of breath.
“Clay,” she almost pants, tucking her phone away quickly before anyone sees the picture of the toy I ordered.
I lean in, keeping my eyes focused over her head and pretending I’m watching as I whisper, “Can we do that?” I ask her. “I want to ride that in your bed.”
“Jesus, fuck…” She laughs nervously, and I pull out of her hand and slip it under her skirt.