TMI (20 page)

Wednesday morning dawned bright and warm, but still, Bailey feigned illness. Gran didn't buy it. She did, however, drive her to school, which was cool because Bailey didn't have to face Meg or deal with the rest of the kids on the bus.

Her relief didn't last long. The second they pulled into the school parking lot, a group of boys hooted and whistled as she got out of the car.

“Bailey,” Gran called as she was about to close the passenger door. Bailey turned back. “Hold your head up high, sweetheart. You have nothing to be ashamed about.”

Bailey nodded, wondering how Gran always knew exactly what was going on, and waved as she drove off.

Meg's little Facebook post hadn't gotten the same reaction hers had. Instead, it created buzz. Bailey walked down the main corridor, and heads came together to whisper behind hands. Fingers pointed. Eyes assessed.

She tried so hard to look at the positive side. No one was throwing their underwear at her, so that was good. And they wouldn't be toilet-papering the house, which was even better.

“Hey, Bailey.”

Startled that anyone would actually dare address her after Meg's Wall post, Bailey looked up into the face of a senior named Matt Benson. “Hi, Matt,” she answered with her trademark bright grin.

That's when Donna Gantry pounced.

Suddenly, she stood directly in front of Matt like a human shield—like highlighted hair and lip gloss will save you!—and waved a French manicured fingertip in Bailey's face. “Back off, skank. He's
mine
.”

Bailey did not stay long enough for the nervous laughter and the collective “Aww” that was sure to follow the hush spreading through the corridor. She hurried down the hall to her first class, only to collide with someone large and solid.

“Jesus, Bailey.”

She jolted at the sound of Simon's voice. She hadn't talked to him since that day at the mall. He had the best voice. She always thought it sounded the way melted chocolate tasted. She knew that was silly—voices couldn't sound like food—but God, she really missed it. “I'm sorry!”

He frowned down at her and then looked quickly away. He moved past her and then turned back. “Hey, you okay?”

She'd always loved how tall he was. She managed a brave smile. “Sure.”

“Good.” He took another step away and stopped with a frown. “No, you're not.” He shut his eyes and shook his head. “Look, it's none of my business, but I saw your post about Meg and her post about you. Just hang in there, okay? You guys are best friends.” He cracked the smallest of smiles and took off at a jog.

She shook her head and whispered, “Not anymore.” She dragged her feet down the hostile hallway, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. She made it all the way to her locker when something made her look up.

She froze in the middle of the east wing, a gasp stuck in her lungs.

Meg walked in her direction. And she was holding Chase's hand.

For a minute, she forgot to be mad, forgot to be hurt, forgot to be jealous. For a minute, she felt the most amazing happiness that Meg had finally—after all this time—opened her eyes to see what was right in front of her. For a moment, she forgot the ugly things she'd said and everything was perfect—everything was the way it was supposed to be.

And then she remembered Meg's Facebook post, and suddenly,
nothing
was the way it was supposed to be. The entire school thought she was a whore. Ryder kept blaming himself for ruining her friendship with Meg and even Chase—good old solid and reliable and dependable and sweet Chase shot her a glare. Something ugly twisted inside Bailey and then it ate her alive.

She clenched the muscles in her bubbling stomach, forced her hands to her side, and pulled in a deep breath. Meg had spotted her and halted in the center of the hall, waiting. A hum of anticipation ran up and down the hall when all the haters stopped minding their own business to watch hers. Bailey ignored them and started walking.

Meg had the decency to look apologetic. “Bay, I'm—”

Bailey's hand shot up. “Don't even. I don't want to hear it. I only want to warn Chase.”

His head whipped around. “Warn me about what?”

“Her.” Bailey jerked her head toward Meg. “She's not what you think. She's sure as hell not what I thought.”

Meg's face trembled. “That's not fair, Bailey. You started this—you and Ryder. All I asked was for you to trust me, but you couldn't. And I still gave you another chance.”

Another chance? Bailey's teeth ground together when Chase swung an arm over Meg and pulled her close to his side. Meg had no idea—no freakin' clue how many chances Bailey had already given her, but when…when exactly had Meg ever done that for her? Okay, after her snarky post and the resulting stabbed hand, Meg
had
forgiven her. But what about all the times Meg had stepped all over Bailey's opinions and feelings? Meg had been glossing over her, rolling her eyes at her for years—even the idea for the stupid video game was hers. And now she gets the guy when Ryder—oh, God, Ryder—just thinking his name made her chest tighten. He wouldn't even man up enough to meet her in person.

The crowd had grown. Bailey saw the glow of cell phones as people started recording the floor show. She took a step closer and angled her head. “I don't know what made you open your eyes and finally say yes to Chase, Meg. But I am curious. Does he know the reason you kept saying no? The
real
reason, I mean.”

Meg went pale, and there was a part of Bailey that cheered at the sight.

“Bailey,” Meg whispered. “Don't. Please.”

Bailey blinked and couldn't resist the urge—the
need
—to hurt Meg, to make her suffer the way she did. Still was. “You're dumber than I am if you think you can hold him without telling him the whole story.”

Meg shook her head. “I don't think you're dumb. I never did.”

Bailey scoffed. “Yeah, right. And how many times was it that you told me not to trust Ryder? More than I told you Chase was right for you. You finally listened.”

Meg looked down at her feet but said nothing.

“Bailey, just leave it alone.” Chase tried to break things up, but Bailey was too furious.

“No, Chase. You need to know. Why don't you ask her? Ask her why she wouldn't be with you sooner?”

Meg's eyes popped when Chase turned hurt green eyes to hers. “Chase, please…don't listen.”

“Tell him, Meg! What's the big deal. You love him, right? And he loves you right back. Don't you trust him?”

“Of course I trust him!”

“Then say it. Tell him why you said no over and over again.”

“I was scared, Bailey! He knows that. I told him.”

“Tell him why, Meg. Tell him why straight A's mean so freakin' much to you.”

Chase pulled her by the hand that wasn't bandaged. “Come on, Megan. Let's just go.”

Bailey's heart constricted. “I was scared too, Meg. But that was never good enough for you. You kept hammering me, and when I didn't listen, you went after Ryder. For my own good. Right, Meg? It was for my own good.”

Meg's eyes overflowed, and Chase kept pulling her away, glaring furiously. “Yes, Bay, I don't want you hurt.”

“So you hurt me yourself by calling me a slut on Facebook.”

“I deleted it!”

Bailey rolled her eyes. “Eventually.” And a thought crossed her mind that made her heart cry. “Because Chase told you to, didn't he?”

Meg didn't answer. She didn't have to.

“It's okay, Meg. I get it. I know why you were so scared. It's about your dad. Tell Chase. If he loves you, he'll understand just like I did.”

“Bailey, please—” Meg begged.

“Megan, what the hell is she talking about?” Chase tugged on her elbow.

Meg shook her head and wrestled away.

“Tell him!” Bailey shouted.

“No!” Meg screamed back. “For God's sake, Bailey!”

“For your own good, Meg.”

Meg looked at Chase and quickly turned away. “I hate you, Bailey. I hate you for this.”

Bailey didn't blink. “I know.” She turned to Chase and revealed Meg's biggest secret. “She killed her father.”

The pain in her chest was big, too big for her alone. Meg needed to feel it too.

Chase's eyes popped. “What the hell is she talking about?”

“Come on, Meg. Tell him! Tell him why you're scared!” Bailey screamed over and over again.

Meg was crying now, but Bailey didn't stop. She couldn't stop. “Tell him!” It was for her own good. Meg's hands came up to cover her ears and Chase kept trying to pull her away, but Bailey wouldn't let up. “Tell him what you're afraid of!”

“You promised, Bailey. You swore!”

“Just like you did, and we all know how great you keep your promises. So now it's your turn.”

“Bailey, shut up—”

“No, Chase! You need to know. She's going to kill you. Right, Megan? Isn't that the messed-up truth?”

Meg's knees folded, and she went down to the floor. “Yes! Are you happy now? I killed my dad, and I'll kill Chase too.” Meg hid her face. “I hate you for this. I hate you.”

Bailey didn't feel a thing. “I know. That's why you posted every one of my mistakes online—and the poem—and even Miss Monroe. Because you're not a friend. All you are is the daughter of a dad who never wanted you.”

Meg's head snapped up, and for one horrible moment frozen in time, their eyes met. Meg broke first and tore her gaze away with a sound halfway between gasp and sob. She stumbled to her feet and ran.

The bell rang, but still, no one moved except for Bailey. She turned and walked to the nearest exit with her head high just like Gran told her to.

Meg ran.

She couldn't go home.

Chase would look for her there, and she couldn't face him. Not yet.

Her chest burned and her stomach pitched, but she kept running. Pauline was at work and would probably flip out if Meg called her, but she needed her mother. Meg ducked into the Starbucks near the high school and called her mother.

“Megan, what's wrong?”

“Mom.” She managed to squeeze out of her burning chest. “Oh, God, Mom.”

Thirty minutes later, Pauline had Meg tucked onto the couch in the living room, a cup of hot cocoa in her hand.

“Megan, let me see your hand.”

Meg stared at her hand for a moment.

“Does it hurt?”

She flexed it and felt the answering burn. Right. “I…um, forgot about it.”

Her mother gave her a tired smile. “Yeah, I guess you would. So when did all this start?”

Meg caught her up, finishing with that morning's performance in the main corridor.

Pauline reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Meg's ear. “Honey, I owe you an apology.”

Meg's eyes went round. “For
what
?”

Her mother lowered her eyes and lifted a shoulder. “The last time we talked, I told you to stop overreacting to this thing between Bailey and Ryder. I was wrong, and you were right. And I'm so sorry.”

Meg handed her mug to her mother and buried her face in her hands. Pauline put the cup on the table and stroked Meg's hair until she fell into a restless sleep. It was hours later when she jolted awake, still in her mother's arms.

“Mom! What time is it?”

Pauline glanced at the clock on the TV cable box. “About noon.”

“You didn't go back to work?”

“No, you needed me more.” Pauline stood and headed into the kitchen with the now-cold cup of cocoa. “Hungry?”

“Need the money, Mom.”

Meg scraped out a chair and sat at the kitchen table.

“We don't need money that badly.” Pauline took the can opener to the top of a tuna fish can.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you.”

“Meg, honey, I am so glad that you did. You needed me. You never need me.”

Meg pressed her lips together and looked away. “I'm sorry,” she repeated. “I didn't want you to worry.”
I
didn't want you to leave me too.

“Give me your hand.” Pauline washed her hands and started unwrapping the layers of gauze to the black row of puffy stitches between Meg's thumb and index finger. “So much blood. I cleaned up what I could. But your painting is ruined.”

Meg's head shot up. “Did you move it?”

“No.” Her mother held up her hands. “I know better than to touch your work.”

Her mother's smile and raised eyebrow made Meg shift uncomfortably. When she was little, her mother used to clean her room and move her paintings while they were still wet. Meg had stomped her little feet and shouted and raged until her mother promised never to move one of her “masterpieces” again.

Meg's lips twitched. “I was so full of artistic temperament back then.”

“Was?” Her mother laughed and reached for her handbag. She pulled out a drugstore bag, emptied its contents on the table. Fresh gauze, antibiotic ointment, tape, analgesic cream, and one last item that made Meg laugh out loud: Hello Kitty bandages.

“I bought all this the other day. Remember these?” her mother asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded. It was a lifetime ago. When she was little and skinned her knee, her mother always put a pink Hello Kitty bandage over her wounds when she got home from work that night. It was all Meg ever needed to feel better. Then her father died, and nothing held that kind of power again.

She stopped laughing. “Thanks, Mom.”

Her mother squeezed antibacterial ointment over a gauze pad and glanced up at her with a smirk. “You never told me—how did it go at Chase's house?”

Meg flinched. “Fine.”

The smirk spread to a grin. “That's it? Fine?”

“Mom, seriously. He tucked me into his bed—”

“He tucked you into
his
bed?”

“Relax! He slept on the couch downstairs.” Meg's face burst into flames, and she forced her hands not to fan it.

“It's wonderful that you have someone who cares about you so much.”

Meg forced her gaping mouth shut and fought the urge to check her mother for alien implants or something—anything—that could explain her comment. It was…well, it was downright romantic, and her mother was, as a rule,
not
.

“I love him, Mom. It's…it's confusing and annoying and distracting and exciting and scary, but I can't help it.” She spread her arms apart. “I haven't been able to tell him that yet.”

Her mother's tired eyes lost their glint of humor before they once again fell to Meg's injured hand. She quietly wrapped the medicated pad with a few more layers of gauze and taped it in place. “Meg, I think it's wonderful. You're such a bright and talented girl. Chase is lucky to have you.” Pauline went back to the tuna and mixed in a little mayonnaise.

Lucky?

Cursed was more accurate.

“Where is he, by the way?”

Meg shrugged. “At school, I guess.”

“Hmm. I'm surprised he didn't call or text or even follow you. You were hysterical before.”

Frowning, Meg tugged her phone out of her pocket. No texts.

She stared down at the tuna sandwich Pauline slid across the table, her stomach revolting at the thought of food. “Mom, what if he…you know, changed his mind?”

Pauline smiled grimly and ran a hand over Meg's hair. “It happens, honey. Better you should find out before—”

Meg understood what her mother left unsaid. She took her sandwich to her room and tried to work on her portfolio, which was hard because everything in it was Chase. She kept staring at her phone.

It insisted on remaining spitefully silent.