Scar makes a sympathetic face. “That sucks you still haven’t gotten your car back. You seem okay about it, though. Like you’re smiling more these days.”
I tap the bloom against my cheek. “I’m trying to focus on the good instead of the bad.”
This one small thing concept of Chase’s isn’t bad. It’s been two weeks since the fire alarm incident. My car hasn’t been returned, but my door has. I’m not sure why, but it was put back up the day after I broke down in the yard with Chase. The alarms are still on the doors and windows, but I’m hopeful that as long as I toe the line, those will come off soon.
As for being grounded, it doesn’t matter much, since Chase sneaks into my backyard almost every night. I have no desire to go out. Scarlett’s always busy with Jeff—they’re officially together now—and Chase is the only person I want to see anyway. He’s the one I want to snuggle up with on a blanket in the dark and talk to.
Sadly, talking is the extent of it. I’m dying for more, but Chase is stubborn. He still insists we’re just “friends.”
Because friends leave flowers in each other’s lockers.
Ha.
“Cute top,” I say, redirecting the conversation. Scarlett’s wearing a sheer rose-colored shirt over a camisole. Two rhinestones dot the tips of an overlarge collar. She’s paired it with a slim gray skirt and gray flats.
Scar beams. “It’s Chanel,” she squeals.
“Shut up. For real?”
“Yes.” She lifts the corner of the shirt so I can see the tiny gold square with the interlocking Cs. “I bought it off an online consignment shop. I was so worried it was going to sell to someone else before I had enough money saved up and then I was worried it wouldn’t fit. I got it on Sat—”
“Where have you been?” Jeff interrupts.
Startled, Scar drops her shirt and spins around to face her angry boyfriend. “Um, talking to Beth.”
“I told you to wait at the front door for me.” His hand falls on her shirt at the nape of her neck. The delicate fabric wrinkles around the edges of his palm.
“I—I—I just came to say hi to Beth,” she stammers.
I glance from his hand to her face, pale and unhappy. The dynamic here is weird. Scar’s acting guilty—like talking to me is somehow inappropriate.
“Don’t,” he replies flatly. “If I tell you to be somewhere, be there. I waited out there for ten minutes, looking like a fool. If you don’t want to be with me, then be up-front about it instead of leaving me hanging. That’s rude.”
“Come on, Jeff. We were just talking.” I eye his hand. It doesn’t look right on her neck, and it’s not just because the green-and-black plaid of his shirt clashes with the rose of hers. It’s that his hand looks punishing instead of playful.
“You guys can talk on your own time. Before school is mine.”
Scarlett’s face is now emotionless while Jeff’s is flushed with something I don’t fully understand.
“Jeff, let her go,” I order with a scowl. “You’re leaving a red mark on her skin, for Pete’s sake.”
He ignores me. “Should I let you go, Scar? Is that what you want? To break up with me?”
“I didn’t say break up with her. I said let her go.” I gesture toward his hand clamped around her neck.
“Scarlett?” he prompts.
We both look at her. She’s staring at the tips of her gray flats.
“No. I don’t want to break up with you, and I don’t want you to let me go,” she replies dully.
“There you go, Lizzie. Scar likes my hand right where it is.”
He squeezes her nape, and I swear I see her wince. Or maybe I imagine it. Maybe because I’d wince if Jeff was touching me like that.
“Ready to go to Calc?” I ask my friend.
Jeff answers for her. “She’ll be there soon. You go on ahead.” He directs a smile at me that isn’t friendly at all. It makes me take a step back.
“Scar?” I say uncertainly.
“I’m fine.”
She doesn’t sound fine. She sounds down—a muted version of herself. I hesitate, not entirely sure what to do. Students start filing out of the hall. Calc is starting in less than five minutes. Finally, I tuck the wildflower in my notebook and say, “I’ll see you in class.”
I walk six feet and then bend down to tie my nonexistent shoelace.
Behind me, I hear Jeff ask, “What are you wearing?”
“It’s Chanel,” Scarlett responds. “I got it—”
“This is so slutty, babe. I thought we talked about your wardrobe choices. Are you so insecure that you need to give all the guys boners? Is that when you’ll start feeling good about yourself? At this point, why bother even wearing a shirt? All the ones you own are fucking see-through anyway.”
I wait for her to blow up at him. To tell him to take his disgusting opinions and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.
“I’m sorry. I’ll change,” she says instead.
My jaw drops.
“When?” he demands.
“After class.”
“You better.” There’s an or else implied.
I don’t like the tone he’s using with her. She’s his girlfriend, not his puppet. Straightening my shoulders, I stand up and confront him. “Leave Scar alone.”
But it’s not Jeff who responds. It’s Scarlett, and in a way I didn’t expect.
“Why are you sticking your nose in our business?” she bites out. “I know your home life sucks right now, but maybe stop hanging out with drug dealers and murderers. I don’t do that. Jeff doesn’t do that. But I guess that’s why we have doors on our rooms and you don’t.”
I stare in dismay at how she just threw out my secret for everyone to hear. A few of our classmates start whispering. A couple laugh.
I tighten my jaw. “Whatever, Scar.”
I can’t believe she just blabbed something I told her in confidence. I was sticking up for her! I stomp to class, steam blowing out my ears. I slam my books on my desk and scrape the chair against the tile. Hard.
Chase, already in his seat, arches an eyebrow. I want to vent to him, but I can’t. We’re not allowed to have a friendship. I’m supposed to hate the sight of him.
That makes me even angrier. I’m going to tell Scarlett off when she shows up to class. Best friends do not say shit like that in front of other people. Best friends do not... My thoughts dry up in my throat as Scar walks in wearing an oversize green polo. Her cute sheer top is nowhere to be seen.
Jeff’s behind her. His plaid shirt is no longer hanging open. He made her put his polo on. What a jackass.
Another burst of alarm hits me when Scar walks right by the empty desk next to mine and stops in front of Chris Levin’s desk.
“Scar’s going to sit here,” Jeff announces.
“What?” Chris’s perfectly groomed eyebrows crowd together in confusion. “This is my desk.”
“Did Mrs. Russell assign seats when the semester started?”
Chris continues to look confused. “No.”
“Then move.” Jeff says it with a smile—the same unfriendly one he used on me.
I sigh. “Scarlett, just sit down.”
“Butt out, Beth.” Jeff points to Chris. “Move.”
“Please,” Scar adds, putting her hands together in prayer. “Just for today.”
“I get it, I wouldn’t want to sit near Manson, either,” Troy says snidely. “Sight of him’s been making me ill for weeks.”
“Is that why you sucked so bad last Friday?” I interject. Troy and his defense allowed five touchdowns in their last game.
“Screw you, Jones.”
“Not if you paid me a million dollars.”
“Right, because you’re only going to screw guys who kill your sister.”
I almost fall out of my chair. Inside me, ice-cold rage battles with red-hot embarrassment.
Someone gasps.
Chairs scrape and I find myself shooting to my feet to stand next to Chase.
“That’s enough.” His tone is low, rough and dangerous.
Troy leans away and folds his arms defensively across his chest. “Or what?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Jeff’s entire face turns into a thundercloud as he turns toward me. “You’re screwing Manson?” he hisses.
The deadly glint in his eyes sends a shiver up my spine. Meanwhile, Scar looks horrified, and everyone else is hanging on our every word in greedy interest.
My gaze meets Chase’s, briefly, and he gives an imperceptible shake of the head that only I see. I know what he’s telling me to do. And as much as I don’t want to, this Jeff bomb needs to be defused, ASAP.
“Of course not,” I say flatly. “Troy’s just talking out of his ass, as usual.”
Jeff relaxes. Barely.
Troy smirks at me. “Sorry, I forgot—you screw drug dealers, not killers.”
I frown, because what the heck is up with this drug dealer thing? Scar accused me of the same thing out in the hall. I don’t know any dealers, except for that kid Jay’s brother, whom I never even met.
But Troy’s remark takes the heat off Chase and causes Jeff to relax, so I force myself not to argue.
At the front of the room, Mrs. Russell taps her pen against the desk.
“Everyone take their seats.”
“Mrs. Russell, the class felon is in my space,” Troy calls out, suddenly brave again.
“I heard. Mr. Kendall, you can either respect your classmates or leave. Mr. Donnelly, sit down or you’ll get another mark in your record. Ms. Holmes, you can argue about desks with Ms. Levin after class. As for you, Ms. Jones, can you stop disrupting my classroom?”
We all take our seats. Jeff scowls. Scar stares at her desk. Chris spreads her things to every corner of the desktop, as if she’s staking the boundaries of her claim. Troy’s giggling behind me about some Manson shit again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chase shake his head in warning again. He’s probably upset I challenged Troy at all.