The S-Word (12 page)

I return the chocolate chips to his hand.

“So you’re making dessert because your mom’s on a diet?” he says, popping a few chips in his mouth.

That, and getting yelled at is better than being ignored.
But since this isn’t an After School Special, I say, “She shouldn’t be on a diet.”

“But she is.” He reaches for the eggs.

“That’s the thing. She’s got a sweet tooth like you wouldn’t believe. Probably because she’s always depriving herself. And once
she breaks her diet she’s off, at least for that week. So she’ll eat normal.”

“Sneaky.” He cracks the eggs expertly into a separate bowl for me. That’s when I notice his hands. Those hands could make a rusty piano sing.

He moves them like instruments.

“I do what I have to.” I shift my gaze to my own hands. I must look like a flour-covered mess. At least he won’t make me feel ugly. Not the way Drake used to. I’d tear my room apart trying to find the right outfit and he wouldn’t even compliment me. I guess some guys just don’t.

Jesse notices me looking at my hands. He gives me that mind reader look again. It should freak me out but it doesn’t because his words are so sweet. “You look like a snow princess.”

“Thanks.” I laugh into my hand to hide my smile.

Oh no.

I’ve heard this laugh before. I know what this laugh means.

For a second, I let myself analyze him, just to prove I’m not feeling what I think I’m feeling.

He looks up at me. His eyes are glittering in the light and his lips are curling. There’s sugar on his cheek. I want to touch it.

Oh crap. I am feeling what I think I’m feeling. This boy is starting to grow on me. Quickly. He’s cute. He’s sweet. He definitely makes me laugh.

Yeah, and he’s gay, Angie. You can’t jump him.
God forbid I become like Kennedy, convincing myself I can “turn” him with my womanly charms.

Wow. Kennedy. I haven’t thought about her in the past half hour. I haven’t even thought of my investigation. That’s got to be the first time all week.

I should be happy, but all I feel is guilt.

“Hey. Space traveler?” Jesse says.

“What?”

“Earth to Angie.”

“Oh. Right.” I shake myself, trying to remember Marvin’s warning. Trying to remember anything that will provide me some distance.

But when Jesse holds up his bowl, miming “Can I?” I say, “Sure,” without even asking what he means.

He dumps his bowl into mine. We both reach for the spoon. I want to fight him for it. No, I want to spoon-duel until we’re both laughing so hard we can’t breathe. Instead, I grease a pan and let him stir alone. After we add the chocolate chips, we drop the balls of dough onto the pan.

“Now what?” he asks as I slide the pan into the oven.

Now we deal with the task at hand.

I need to get him out of the kitchen, away from cheery yellow walls and the smell of sugar. I need to get him somewhere as depressing as the situation.

“Let’s go to my room.”

Jesse doesn’t argue.

UPSTAIRS THE WORLD
is dark, with no light shining through my ugly olive curtains. If Jesse’s expecting a princess canopy over my bed, he doesn’t say anything to reveal his surprise. Instead he perches on the edge of the bed, tentatively, like a bird on a branch.

“How long?” His eyes are glued to the door.

“Until my mom gets home?” I wave my hand. “Don’t worry, she won’t care that you’re up here.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Until the cookies are ready.”

“Oh.” I hover by the bed. “Ten to twelve minutes.”

“Then that’s how long you have.”

“Until what?”

“Until my mouth will be too full of cookie goodness to talk about serious stuff.”

I sit on the other side of the bed. I’m keeping my distance. “Come on.”

“I’m serious. You don’t know how much I’m looking forward to this.” He leans back on his elbows. “You need a new decorator, Princess.”

Just like that, he’s up to his old tricks. I can’t help but feel relieved. I’ll have a hard time romanticizing him while he’s infuriating me.

“So . . . Cara’s having a party tomorrow,” I say, playing with my hands.

“Ooh. Fancy.”

“You know where she lives?”

“I got a general idea.” He lies back on the bed, hair splaying out around him. It’s dark and wavy, only curling on the ends. I wish my hair were like that instead of a tangled mess. It takes me an hour every morning to straighten it.

“Can you do better than that?” I ask.

He closes his eyes. “Gated community. Fifty or so servants.”

“She lives close to Kennedy.”

“I know where that is.”

I wonder if he meant to give me that piece of information. His indifferent expression doesn’t change a bit.

“I need you to come to the party with me.”

“Like a date-date?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. And I like it. I like it too much.

“I need you to question Kennedy about something,” I say, shifting my gaze from his face. But it trails back.

“And then I come running to you with her answers?” he says.

“No. I’ll be listening.”

“In the closet?”

“Sounds better than under the bed.”

“Wait, are you serious?” He stands. In one instant, all that playfulness has left his face. “This is psycho shit.”

“No, it’s not.” My cheeks are red. I can feel it. All the blood in my body is rushing to my face.

“We’re not spies, Angie.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

“No.” He’s heading to the door. “No way.”

I push off the bed. “Wait.”

“No.”

“I’m serious. Wait. Please?” My voice is rising. Panic fills my throat like bile. If he leaves, that’s it. I’m screwed. “Kennedy will never confess to me.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.” His hand’s on the knob and it’s turning, turning. This is slow-motion torture but I can’t stop him. I feel like I’m trapped in a dream.

“Just listen to me!” The strength of my voice surprises both of us. I slump onto the bed, head in my hands. “Fuck.”

“Angie,” he says, whisper-soft and sweet.

Tears seep through my fingers. I’m utterly humiliated. “Just go.”

“Come on.” He sits next to me. “Angelina.”

“Go.” I squeeze my eyes shut so that nothing can escape. “You wanted to go so badly. Get out of here.”

“What about the cookies?”

I seriously cannot believe it. I lift my gaze to find him grinning.

“Goddamn it,” I say.

“They’re probably done by now, don’t you think?”

“Don’t make me laugh,” I say, but a chuckle breaks through my hand.

“I mean, I don’t want to be a dick, but if those suckers burn, I’m going to be
pissed.
”

“Stop it.” I’m laughing more than I’m crying now.

He scoots in close. “Can I hug you?”

“Yeah. Yes.” I can’t even explain how good that sounds.

His arms go around me, slow like wings. I bury my head in his neck. He’s so warm, and I feel frozen from the inside.

“The last person who hugged me was Drake,” I say into his skin. “And it’s just, really . . . It’s not the same.”

“I bet.” He cradles my head with his hand.

I close my eyes. I’m not crying anymore. Enough time has passed that I can almost pretend I never did. My mother isn’t the easiest person to cry in front of. I sort of have this guilt associated with it.

Stop analyzing.

I take in a shaky breath. “Sorry.”

“Stop it.”

“I feel stupid.”

“Well, don’t. You got to let this go, baby,” he murmurs in my ear. Slowly, he untangles himself from me. I realize I was sort of clinging.

Baby.

The word hovers in my brain. It’s probably something he says to everyone. To Kennedy. To Shelby. But it makes me feel like I’m still in his arms.

“I can’t let go,” I tell him.

“You have to.”

Heat rises. I want to cry again. But I won’t. “I just keep thinking of Lizzie,” I say before my throat can close.

“I know.”

“I don’t just mean her. I mean what they did.”

He just looks at me.

“I think of Gordy too, and all the people whose lives are just shit. I think of how we destroy them.”

“Bullies suck.”

I shake my head. “That sounds like some big kid kicking a little kid on a playground. It sounds like a cartoon.”

“Easier for people to ignore.”

“But it’s more than that. It’s ripping someone to shreds for our own fucking amusement.”
Or to distract from our own insecurities
, I think. “Until they have nothing left.”

“Angie . . .”

“Until the only possible relief comes from dying. You know how messed up that is?”

“You’re preaching to the choir here.”

“Then you understand why we have to do something.”

“We can’t do what they did,” he says. “We’d become them.”

My heart skips. Feeling reckless, I reach up and brush the sugar from his cheek. His eyes follow the movement. “What else can we do?”

“Live above it. Be better than that.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Angie.”

Call me baby again.

God, that thought just fucks with me.

“I mean I
can’t,
” I tell him. “I’m angry all the time. I just want to hurt everyone who hurt her.”

He sighs. “You know I can’t help you do that.”

“I know, but . . .” My sigh puts his to shame. “I need your help. I need it.”

“I will not willingly help you attack people. I’m sorry.”

“I won’t ask you to do that. I just . . .” I pause, glancing at my alarm clock for effect. “Let’s go check the cookies.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” I wait for him to grin.

He doesn’t. “You honestly think you can ply me with delicious baked goods?”

No. Unless you let me.

I laugh but it’s forced. “Yeah, right, come on. You really think I would do that?”

“I think you’re doing it.”

“I— Oh God.” I drop my head into my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You lost your best friend. It’s making you crazy.” He lifts my chin with his hand. “And it
is
making you crazy. I’m not afraid to tell you, girl.”

I smile, a little. “I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

Yes, I am.

“I mean, I’m not trying to hurt you.” I hold his gaze so he can see that I’m being sincere. Those dark eyes stare back at me. “I just need to understand.”

“Can you promise me you won’t use the information against her?”

A pause. “Is that the only way you’ll help me?”

“Yes.” He answers without hesitation. It must be nice to have that kind of integrity.

But I’m the one who’s going to get things done. “You have my word. I just need to know if she’s guilty.”

“Guilty of what, exactly?”

“Writing SLUT all over Lizzie’s car.”

He takes in a breath. “Really?”

“She was spotted at the scene of the crime. On her hands and knees, no less. The whole shebang.”

“Who told you this?”

“I can’t reveal my sources. I have it on good authority, though.”
Well, I have it on
an
authority. “But what I really want to know is why. Did she really hate Lizzie that badly?”

He squirms. “I’ll be lucky to get her alone for two minutes.”

“She likes you. You told me that.”

“To fess up to this, she’d better love me.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

I’m teasing. I totally am.

“I meant what I said before.” He touches my hand. “You have to let this go.”

“You have to let this go,
Princess,
” I correct, though it’s not the word I’m wanting. Too many games I’m playing. My head starts to spin.

“As you wish,” he says, bowing his head.

“Get up.” I stand to hide my burning cheeks. “Your cookies are going to be black.”

“They better not be!” He skips past me to the stairs. “Cookies, cookies, cookies,” he sings.

I’m laughing as I follow him down.

And I’m thinking of how I never felt this comfortable with my ex.

B
Y THE TIME
we were in high school, Lizzie and Drake were both gorgeous in their own way. Superficially speaking, they were made for each other. But there were other factors to consider. Like, for example, Drake’s parents were separating just as mine were finalizing their divorce. Who, in all of Verity, could comfort him better than me?

I just needed to get his attention. I needed, at least, to keep these beautiful people from leaving me behind.

So I decided to give myself a new look. I spent a decent chunk of my savings on tools to straighten my hair. Then came the contacts, the form-fitting clothes. I even practiced my walk. And when I swaggered into Verity High, with a carefully perfected look of disinterest, I pretty much expected someone to hurl fruit at me.

But you know what? They kind of bought it. The girls didn’t sneer at me, at least not to my face. And the guys actually noticed I existed. Sure, I lived in fear of someone discovering my inner freak, but I’d felt that way for years.

This way, I got to have a little fun.

So there I was, the first week of school, lounging by my locker with my BFF, when who should appear but Boy Crush No. 1, dark-haired, blue-eyed Drake. He’d grown even taller over the past few years, and his wavy hair crept past his ears. He looked like a god. No, he looked like a model, and I was willing to buy whatever he was selling.

Too bad he wasn’t selling to me.

“Hey, Lizzie.” He smiled sweetly at my beautiful best friend.

“Hi, Drake,” said our resident flower child. She was wearing brown boots and a white lace dress. Homemade. Suddenly I felt incredibly generic in my low-rise jeans and department store T-shirt. Like a copy of a copy. “You know Angie?” she asked, nodding at me. Bless her, she remembered me. I wasn’t invisible.

“Of course I know Angie.” Drake’s hypnotic eyes shifted to me. He actually smiled.

“Hey,” I said, all ease and grace. Of course, any minute I’d forget how to use my legs. Never mind that I was propped up against the lockers.