“Then why are people saying it?” Macy demands, hands on her hips.
“Because people are stupid,” I mutter under my breath.
“Scar and Yvonne aren’t stupid and they’re the ones saying it.” Her tone grows increasingly haughty. “Scar says your parents called her house this weekend looking for you, because you said you were going there, but really you were secretly meeting Charlie. She’s pissed at you.”
I’m not surprised Scarlett’s mad that I lied to my parents about going to her house, but why do I get the feeling Jeff’s the one who planted the Beth-went-to-meet-Charlie idea in her head?
“Well then it must be true if Scar and Yvonne are saying it.” I’m being snide but I don’t care. What gives her the right to cross-examine me? Who I hook up with or don’t hook up with is none of her business.
“Macy,” a sharp voice hisses.
I turn to see Scarlett glaring at our friend. She doesn’t even look my way.
Macy looks from me to Scar. Then she shrugs and wanders to Scarlett’s side, literally and figuratively. It’s obvious which horse she’s backing in this race.
“Hey, Scar,” I say coolly.
She ignores me, tugs on Macy’s arm and the two of them march off, leaving a wave of hostility in their wake.
Hurt, anger and indignation clog my throat. Screw them. If they can dump me as a friend based on a bunch of lies from Jeff and some rumors about me and Chase, then screw them.
Not rumors, a little voice says. You are with Chase.
Am I? He tried to dump me this weekend. So, no, I don’t even know what we are anymore. And I can’t ask him, because the first bell rings and I’m forced to book it to AP Calc.
He’s already at his desk when I stalk in. Head down, as usual. He doesn’t look my way. Neither does Scarlett. Or Jeff. Or Macy. Or any of my other classmates.
I see how it is. I’m public enemy number one, apparently. But I don’t give a crap that everybody is ignoring me.
Only one person’s opinion matters, and before this day is over, I will talk to Chase.
Whether he likes it or not.
* * *
Chase does a good job of eluding me for the rest of our morning classes. He shows up late for Physics and stays late to talk to Dvořák after Music History. Coward.
The plan is to track him down at lunch, but Ms. Tannenhauf throws a wrench in that by stopping me in the hall and saying she needs to see me in her office. She doesn’t give me a choice in the matter.
“Your mother called this morning,” Ms. T says once we’re seated.
My shoulders instantly snap straight. Through clenched teeth, I ask, “Why?”
The guidance counselor clasps her hands on her desk. “She wanted to let the school know that you had a tough weekend.”
My jaw falls open. “Yeah, I did. Because of them! Did she tell you how they’ve turned our house into a prison? There are literally alarms on every door and window.”
Ms. Tannenhauf studies my expression. I think she sees more than outrage there, because her gaze softens. “She also told me about her suspicions that you’re in a relationship with Charlie Donnelly.”
I gulp. Dammit. I knew my parents suspected, but having it confirmed makes me uneasy. Also, are teachers even allowed to talk to you about your love life? I feel like that’s inappropriate.
And that’s my out. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing my personal life,” I say primly. I arch an eyebrow. “Is there anything else, or may I go eat my lunch now?”
Her expression grows pained. “You may go,” she finally says.
I stand up. “Thank you. Nice chat.”
“Beth,” she calls before I can open the door. “Please come talk to me if you change your mind. You know I’m always here to listen.”
I nod and leave her office. I give the library a quick scan in case Chase is holed up there. He isn’t. The pointless meeting with Tannenhauf cost me valuable time, and when I hurry back to the lockers, Chase isn’t there, either. I know for a fact he doesn’t eat in the cafeteria or visit the Starbucks. So where the hell is he?
I spend the entire lunch period scouring the school, but Chase is nowhere to be found. He can’t hide from me forever—my last class of the day is Spanish, and he happens to be in it, too. For sure he’ll be there. He can’t afford to skip any classes and risk another black mark on his record.
Unfortunately, Scarlett’s also in that class.
She and Jeff are the first people I see when I approach the classroom. Through the open doorway, I make out an empty room. Chase hasn’t arrived yet.
I stop and lean against the wall a few feet from the door. Scar and Jeff throw hostile looks in my direction, then whisper something to each other. A couple more pointed glances ensue. Some more whispering. A couple sneers. More whispering.
Until finally I roll my eyes and address the couple in a loud voice. “If you’ve got something to say to me, say it already.”
“Oh, look, Scar—Lizzie remembers she has friends.”
I laugh incredulously. “Right. I’m the one who’s forgotten what friendship is.”
“Yes, you are,” Jeff says coldly. “Not to mention you’ve forgotten what family is. You’re banging your sister’s murderer.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not banging him. I was just working at the same animal shelter as him. Hardly something I could control.” Guilt pricks at me as I realize I’m doing it again—distancing myself from Chase by lying about how close we really are.
Jeff’s eyes blaze. “Bullshit. I was able to get the situation under control in five minutes flat, Lizzie. I called your father and we got that killer fired. You did nothing but flash a wet T-shirt in front of his face like the slut you are.”
Scarlett’s face pales. I don’t miss the way she flinches when Jeff says the word slut.
Ignoring the heat scorching my cheeks, I focus on my—former—best friend instead of Jeff. “Is that what you think, too, Scar?” I ask quietly. “That I’m a slut?”
“I...” She bites her lip.
“That’s exactly what she thinks,” Jeff announces, his tone smug. “Everyone does.”
“Shut up,” I snap at him. “I’m talking to Scar.” I lock gazes with her. “Do you think I’m a slut?”
Jeff plants a hand on the back of her neck, in that possessive grip he’s so fond of. “Yes,” he says firmly. “She does.”
I remain focused on Scar. She’s clearly flustered.
But she doesn’t go against him.
Disappointment fills my belly. I’ve known this girl since kindergarten. Over the years, we’ve laughed together, we’ve cried together and we’ve always had each other’s backs. Or so I thought. It’s obvious Scar would rather stay in Jeff’s good graces than have my back. She’d rather listen to him taunt me about what a slut I am than defend me.
Come to think of it, nobody is defending me. Thanks to Jeff, all my classmates believe I ditched him at that party in Lincoln so I could hang out with a drug dealer. Have Macy or Yvonne or Troy come up to me and asked for my side of the story? Has anyone? Nope.
And meanwhile, here I am, placing so much value in these jerks’ opinions. What do I care what they think of me? These people aren’t my friends. I thought they were, but they’re not. My only true friend is Chase. He’s the one who listens to me, supports me, acts like he actually gives a damn about me.
“Look, there’s Lizzie’s fuck buddy now,” Jeff says with a sneer.
My heartbeat speeds up at Chase’s appearance. He’s wearing all black, and I don’t think he shaved all weekend because his face is covered with dirty-blond scruff. He looks incredible. And resigned—he looks utterly resigned as his blue eyes shift from me to Jeff.
The two boys hold each other’s gazes. For several seconds, time stands still.
Chase shoves his hands into his pockets and ducks his head.
Jeff visibly gloats at winning the staredown and causing Chase to back down.
Indignation surges through me. No way. No fucking way. Jeff isn’t allowed to win anything over Chase. Jeff is a controlling asshole who gets off on terrorizing girls and guys who won’t fight back.
Chase is a million times better than Jeff Corsen. He’s kind and supportive and he’s paid for his mistakes. He’s been good to me. And he does not deserve to be treated the way I’ve been treating him. It makes me sick to my stomach that he thinks I’m ashamed to be seen with him.
I suck in a long, shaky breath and search for the courage inside me. Finding it, I take a step forward and speak in a clear, even voice.
“Nah, that’s not my fuck buddy,” I inform Jeff and Scarlett and anyone else in earshot of us. “That’s my boyfriend.”
There’s a scandalized gasp.
A few whispers.
Chase’s blue eyes widen at my declaration, but I don’t give him any time to sit with that shock. I stride toward him, grab hold of his T-shirt collar and tug his head down.
Then I kiss him in the middle of the hallway, in front of all our classmates, staking my claim.
To hell with what anyone thinks.
Chase is the only one who matters.
31
The kiss is widespread knowledge by the time school ends. Chase and I suffer through the stares and whispers in Spanish class. We endure the muttered, disgusted jabs as we leave the school. We ignore the dirty looks we receive in the parking lot.
My bus isn’t here yet, but Chase can’t wait with me and he’s not happy about it. Since the final bell rang, he’s been mumbling about how stupid it was for me to kiss him in view of everyone. How crazy I am for proclaiming that he’s my boyfriend.
And yet he hasn’t let go of my hand.
“I really wish I could wait to make sure you get on the bus okay,” he says grimly. “But Jack’s picking me up at the Starbucks in five minutes. We’ve got two yard cleanups to do today before it gets dark.”