But maybe the Anthropologie catalog isn’t what you get. Maybe this is the best you can hope for in the Zone.
“You know, what you did today was dumb.”
“So I’ve heard,” I say as I fumble with my button. My fingers are not cooperating the way they should. They feel stiff, full of concrete.
“You should have let Deshane knock him out. He had it coming. If he wants to go to our school, he has to learn the rules, ya know?”
“I really don’t want to talk about Ghost when I’m trying to take off my jeans,” I say. “What are you looking at?”
“Come here.”
I cross the roof and take his binoculars, fiddling with the focus until I can see the beach. There is so much activity down there, Selkies battling with terrible weapons, children chasing a half-inflated soccer ball, women feeding plump, happy babies. There are Nix and Sirena kneeling in what looks like a church.
“You spy on them?” I ask.
“Sometimes I can sit up here and watch them all day.”
I spot the prince. He’s in his shell armor and kneeling in a circle before the old woman in the odd nun’s habit. She must be some kind of priestess. She rests her hand on his bowed head and says something I can’t hope to hear. His face is full of heartbreak. I can feel the sadness from here. Watching him feels wrong. It’s an intrusion.
Gabriel takes the binoculars back. “I love when they try to act all human. It’s like when they put monkeys in people clothes. They’re hilarious.”
I press my hands to his mouth so no more of his words can escape. I want to shout, Shut up! You’re ruining this for me.
“What?” he asks.
He would stare at me if I was in that camp. He would think my private moments were funny. I would be the monkey in his zoo.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
“Huh?” he says, setting his binoculars down. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” I say as I rebutton my pants and fasten my belt. My fingers give me no trouble now. Interesting.
“Hey, where you going?” he says as I walk to the fire escape.
“I’ve got to get home. I’ve got a mess to clean up.”
Chapter Nine
In the morning I wake to an F3 jabbing where my spine meets my skull and Bex curled next to me in my bed. She’s wearing the clothes she wore yesterday. I guess Dad didn’t like what he found when he went to check on her. It’s a peace offering I’m happy to accept.
It’s early, probably still dark outside, and normally I would be cursing my body for waking me up—sleep sometimes helps the migraines—but I’m going to take advantage of it. Our apartment is so tiny, we have to climb over one another to do the simplest things. When you throw Bex into the mix, which is most days, it’s similar to living in a clown car. It’s rare to have a moment to just sit and sort things out, and this morning I need to get my head on straight.
I tiptoe into the living room and push the coffee table aside so I can sit cross-legged. I haven’t gotten a chance to meditate in months. I listen to my breathing, trying to be present. A little om will get my mind right. It will help me compartmentalize this hot mess of problems.
I meet my new BFF—the Alpha prince—today.
I have to be ready.
I need to show Mr. Doyle I’m a team player.
If he gets what he wants from me, he’ll leave me alone.
I can do this. I can do this.
This is my mantra.
I can do this, and if I can’t, then I can fake it. I’m good at faking it, and I have a brilliant teacher in Bex. I’ll just channel her, borrow her smile for the day, the one that hides the troubles. Besides Shadow, I’m the only person at our school who doesn’t think Bex has a charmed life. Yeah, that’s it! I’ll be Bex Conrad today. I run a cold bath to push back the F3 to an F2, all the while practicing my grin. By the time I’m dressed, I’m actually starting to believe everything is going to be all right. So I head back to my room, barge through the door, and shout, “Wake up sunshine! It’s time for school!”
Bex is sitting on the floor digging through my getaway pack.
“I was looking for some undies,” she says defensively.
I bolt to her side and pull the pack away, then shove the scattered contents back inside.
“Lyric—”
I look into her face and know she found the gun. She doesn’t have to say it. Her eyes are shouting it.
“Bex, the pack is—”
I don’t know how to lie about this. What kind of story could I invent that wouldn’t sound like outrageous BS? I fumble a few times, starting and stopping, leaning toward spilling my guts, but before I can, she gets up and points to the closet.
“Is this off-limits?” It’s a little sarcastic and sounds awful, like What craziness are you hiding in here, too? But it also sounds like an out. She wants to change the subject, and I’m grateful, but it feels like we’re now standing on either side of a fault line and the ground is rumbling.
“I need something to wear today,” she continues. “I can’t go back home until Russell calms down.”
I nod. “Take whatever you want.”
She turns her back on me and opens the closet.
“Where are all the skirts?” she says, sorting through the survivors of my tantrum. “Didn’t you have a blue mini in here?”
She turns to me with a cocked eyebrow. “Oh, wait! Did you say whatever I want?”