“Do you think anyone will guess we got this shit from the bakery?” Lyla asks, holding up a stack of wrapped cookies.
I take the clear plastic bag from her, tied with a red bow, and set it back down on the long plastic table. “It’s not shit. Because it’s from the bakery.”
School ended four hours ago, but the parking lot is packed full of cars as we stand behind our table, greeting people before they enter the ball park. The sun has already set, and the field lighting overhead shines down, brightening the area as the last of the crowd filters through the gates.
Lyla and I were picked by the coach to work the bake sale tonight, and as a requirement, we have to wear our cheer uniforms. Fundraising is one of our many duties, and since we’re not busy rallying the crowd during the baseball game that’s about to start, we’re trying to earn some money for the team and acclimate some of the new girls coming in next year.
Technically we were supposed to bake the goods we’re selling—with the help of the team moms—but we’d dropped the ball, not planning ahead. It’s spring, school’s almost over, and I’m already swamped as it is. So we raided Lieber’s Bakery during school today and got dismissed from final period to package everything in our own bags with ribbons of the school’s colors.
“Come on, freshmen!” Lyla claps her hands. “Smile. It’s your new thing. I promise.”
I laugh to myself. I don’t envy them at all. The will to plaster a smile I don’t feel on my face has very nearly left the building.
I push the packages of cookies and brownies up to replace what has already been sold. Looking up, I see Masen standing near his truck with a group of guys from school. My stomach somersaults.
He’s watching me with an amused look on his face. I’d told him about the bake sale during Art today, so we agreed to meet afterward to do whatever it is he’s got planned, God help me.
After sneaking into my room this morning, catching me with my vibrator, and damn-near waking up the whole house—because he needed to get laid—the rest of the day passed relatively calmly. Everything else was easy peasy compared to that.
I resist the urge to pull out the huge-ass black bow on top of my head that we’re required to wear as part of the uniform. I can feel the laugh he’s holding back all the way from here.
I see him and his friends approach.
“Jesus, it’s like the Disney channel puked all over this table,” he jokes, scanning the array of polka-dotted plastic bags and the flowery tablecloth.
I put my hands on my hips.
“Nice bow.” He jerks his chin, eyeing the top of my head. “If I pull it, does it have a string that makes you talk and move?”
A snort breaks into a laugh, and I shoot a glare over to Ten, standing behind Lyla. He hunches over just a little, his body shaking.
He glances up at me, sees my stare, and tries to hold it back. “I’m sorry, okay? It was funny.”
I arch an eyebrow and turn my eyes back to Masen. He cocks his head, looking delighted with himself.
I grab the collar of his black hoodie and pull his face close, leaning into his ear and covering my whisper with my hand. “You left bruises all over my tits this morning,” I tell him, “and if you’re not nice, I won’t let you kiss them better later.”
He sucks in a breath.
“Now buy some cookies,” I order, pushing him away.
A smile pulls at his mouth, but I raise my chin, watching him pull out his wallet.
He hands Lyla a hundred-dollar bill, and I blink, trying not to look like I’m taken off guard. Okay. I guess he’s okay on money, after all.
Where’d he get that much cash? An unnerving feeling settles in my gut.
“How much will this buy me?” he asks her but keeps his eyes on me.
She takes the bill and stares at it for a moment. But then she takes a package of ten cookies and shoves it at him. “Here.”
A laugh catches in my throat. That stack of sweets costs five bucks, but I don’t care that she’s hustling him. He deserves it.
He gives the package a look, clearly knowing he’s being swindled, but he keeps quiet and tosses it to a friend behind him. Slipping his wallet back into his pocket, he holds my eyes briefly before walking away, his crew following.
“Nice.” Lyla waves the hundred in front of me. “What did you say to him?”
“I forget.”
I don’t fear Lyla’s judgement about Masen, and part of me wants people to see him touch me, but for some reason, Masen still feels like a fling, and I don’t want to try to explain it to others. I’m still trying to figure him out myself.
And part of me likes the sneaking around. I love having this one thing that makes me happy that I don’t have to share with anyone else.
Kind of like Misha.
Misha. Why do I feel like I’m betraying him? He abandoned me.
After the national anthem and the first pitch, Lyla, Ten, and I call it a night, sending the other girls home and then packing up. Lyla grabs the rest of the snacks, saying we’ll just give them to the baseball team when they’re done, and Ten heads into the game, probably to find J.D. and the rest of our friends.
I hook my bag over my shoulder, grab my water bottle, and walk for the parking lot instead of the ball field.
“Where are you going?” Lyla asks, turning with the box of cookies in her arms.
I gesture to my bag. “Taking this to my car.”
I walk away, not waiting for a response, and head straight for my Jeep, seeing that Masen’s black Raptor is parked on the other side of the aisle.
His eyes are on me as he leans against his door and two of his pals stand in front of him, their heads turned and watching me, too.
Tossing my bag into the back, I reach up and unclip my bow and pull out the rubber band that held the top half of my hair back. I comb the strands with my fingers and fluff it up, letting it hang loose down my back. Turning around, I lean back on my Jeep and hang my elbows over the edge of the car, looking straight at him.
“I don’t know, man,” Finn Damaris muses, smirking. “She looks like she wants something. What do you think?”
“Yeah.” The one with the Mohawk whose name I don’t know nods and bites his bottom lip, letting his eyes fall down my body. “She definitely wants something.”
Masen watches behind them, amusement in his eyes.
“She’s so clean,” Finn comments, turning to his friend. “I’ll bet she likes to get dirty, though.”
Mohawk laughs. “Oh, yeah.”
I roll my eyes, waiting. I’m sure they’re loving this. The stuck-up girl playing with one of their own…
“You guys take off,” Masen says. “I got this.”
I walk over, fall gently into his chest as his friends disappear, snickering.
“So where are we going?” I hover over his lips.
He inhales a deep breath and plants a quick peck on my cheek, standing up straight. “Come on. Get in.”
I cross my arms over my chest to keep from fidgeting. “I should’ve changed my clothes.”
Masen peers over, driving past my neighborhood and deeper into the countryside. “Why?”
“Because if we’re seen doing whatever it is we’re doing,” I explain, “I won’t be hard to identify in a Falcon’s Well cheer uniform.”
He smiles to himself and looks back at the road. “You won’t be seen.”
I take in a deep breath and reach over and turn up the radio, trying to drown out the worry in my head as Breaking Benjamin’s “So Cold” plays.
I try to act like a badass, but honestly, I’m nervous as hell.
I should’ve told him no this morning. I’d stopped writing on the walls, and doing anything more illegal would be risking too much. I have acceptance letters to NYU, Cornell, and Dartmouth. Like I’m going to jeopardize that simply because I’m infatuated with him and will use any excuse to be close to him.
Actually it was hard to refuse him anything while he was inside me. I would’ve told him I’d tattoo his name on my neck if he wanted.
He’d probably love that. I glance over at him, laughing inside at the idea. His brown hair, wispy and sticking up a little, is pushed forward, and I stare at his mouth, remembering the warmth of the smooth metal ring grazing the dozens of places he’s kissed on my body.
I suddenly want to know everything. What he was like as a kid. What his favorite kinds of music are. Where he goes when he wants some peace and quiet and whom does he go to when he needs to talk.
Who does he love? Who’s there for him? Who knows him best?
Who knows him better than me? I can’t help the jealousy I feel at that thought. He has an entire life and history with people who aren’t me.
I chew on the corner of my mouth, feeling so many things I know I shouldn’t say.
But I want to.
“I like you,” I tell him, looking down, my voice quiet.
I see him turn his head toward me, not saying anything.
“You said some nice things last Friday night,” I go on, “and I wanted you to know—in case you don’t already—that I actually kind of like you.” I raise my eyes, seeing him watch me with something I can’t read going on in his eyes. “I know I can be…me. I don’t get sappy, and I don’t give up what’s going on in my head a lot. It’s hard for me.” I pause, feeling a little more resolute. I want him to know. “But yeah, I like you.”
I know it’s not much, but it’s a lot for me, and I hope he knows that. Admitting I like him makes me vulnerable, and that’s not usually a card I ever give up. Not anymore.
Because, to be honest, I don’t just like him. It’s more than that. I think about him.
I miss him when he’s not around.
It’ll hurt if he has to leave as suddenly as he appeared.
He’s quiet, and the heat of embarrassment blankets my skin. Awesome. Good going, Ryen. Maybe all he liked about you was that you weren’t clingy, and now you’re acting like you’re in love with him.
“When are we going to be there?” I ask, my tone curt as I try to change the subject.
I watch as he slowly pulls over to the side of the road and parks next to a wall of trees.
“We’re here now,” he answers.
I peer around the hedge, taking a better look, and then dart my eyes around, taking in the quiet, spacious neighborhood.
“This is Trey’s house,” I point out, my guard definitely up now.
He nods, taking off his seatbelt. “There’s something of mine in there. A family heirloom.” He gestures to Trey’s house on the right. “And I need it back.”
“What are you talking about? Why would Trey have something of yours?”
He shakes his head. “Not Trey.”
“What?”
He takes my phone out of my hand and punches some buttons on the screen as I try to figure out what the hell’s going on. There’s something of his in there? Something he wants back? Trey and his entire family are at the baseball game, so no one’s home.
Are we breaking in?
“Masen, I’m not breaking into his house.”
“You don’t have to.” He hands my phone back to me. “I programmed in my number. I think it’s about time you had it anyway. Call me if anyone comes home or you see anything weird.”
What?
I stare at him, appalled, but he just climbs out of the truck and jogs for the house.
Excuse me?
I push open the door, jump out, and slam it behind me, chasing after him. “I can’t believe you!” I whisper-yell, catching up to him in the middle of Trey’s lawn. “You won’t tell me anything, and now you’re breaking and entering, and you’re involving me? I could get into trouble, and yes, I don’t mean to seem like a hypocrite, being Punk and all, but I don’t want to do this.”
He stops, and I clutch my phone in my hand, kind of wanting to throw it at him. Where the hell does he get off? He has friends. Why not ask them?
“Why would you ask me to do this?” I demand.
“Because it’s important.”
He glares at me, but I don’t think he’s angry.
Letting out a breath, his expression softens as he approaches me. “Because I need what’s in there, and because…you’re the one I trust. You’re the one I want here.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m serious, Ryen. Trust me, would you?”
“I trust people who don’t deliberately put me in danger,” I shoot back. “I thought we were doing something at the Cove or climbing a water tower or something. Not breaking into the principal’s house.”
“You break into the principal’s school,” he points out.
I twist up my lips, folding my arms over my chest. Jerk.
He regards me for a moment and then drops his eyes. Taking my hand, he places his keys in my palm. “You’re right. Go ahead and take the truck to your house. I’ll meet you there,” he tells me, relenting. “It’s only a mile away. I can walk it.”
What? No—
But he turns around and walks for Trey’s house, not giving me a chance to protest. I don’t want to get in trouble, but I don’t want him getting in trouble, either.
Something of his is in the house. So we’re not taking anything that doesn’t belong to them then. Okay.
I let out a sigh and run after him.
Just go. Don’t think.
I wonder how many people who got prison sentences said the same thing when they committed their crimes.
I see him head for the front door, digging something out of his pocket, but I eye the doggy door on the garage and then look around me. Anyone could drive by or a neighbor could possibly spot Masen at the door, trying to get in.
“The doggy door is a better idea,” I tell him, knowing Trey’s parents probably took the Husky with them to the game.
He jerks his head, eyeing the rectangular hole in the door. “I can’t fit through there.”
Of course not. Their dog is big but not that big.
I shake my head, hesitating for a moment. But then I heave a sigh and move toward the door.
I can try to convince myself that I know this house, having been here before, and I can get him through it and try to find what he needs a lot faster than he can. But the truth is, I want to know what he’s looking for and why. So far he’s been like a ghost, and I’m curious.
Crouching down, I push my hand through the doggy door, listening for feet to come running or a bark. But all I hear is leaves rustling in the wind.
Masen comes up behind me, and I stick my head through, seeing only the inside of the pitch-black garage. Sliding my arm in, I turn on my side, maneuver my shoulders through the tight space, and put my hands down on the cold cement floor, wiggling my body through the small hole.
I inhale the musty air and make out the little, green dot of light by the kitchen door, guessing that must be the opener.
Stepping cautiously in the dark, I hold out my hands and move toward the door, trying to avoid the pool table, couch, and other furnishings I know are in the converted man-cave.
“Don’t turn on any lights,” Masen calls.
“Duh.” My foot hits the step, and I reach out my hand, pressing the button for the opener. The motor starts turning, and the garage door begins to lift up. Masen bends down and slides in under the door, and I press the button, lowering it again.
I twist the handle to the kitchen door and open it, immediately seeing moonlight streaming through a large kitchen window. Masen comes in behind me, closing the door, and I inhale, smelling Trey. It’s funny how people smell like their houses. Or vice versa.
Combinations of leather and wood furniture, Febreeze, laundry soap, the different colognes and perfumes your parents and siblings use, the food your family cooks…all coming together to create a single, solitary scent in your house.
Except Masen. He smells like the leather from his truck with a hint of soap. That’s it.
“Let’s go.”
He leads me through the house, looking around as if figuring out where to go, which I could tell him if I knew what he was looking for. But rounding the stairs, he jogs up, and I follow.
“Are you going to Trey’s room?” I ask.
“If so, I’ll find it,” he bites out. “I don’t need to know that you know where it is.”
I smile to myself. “I don’t. I was just asking.”
He opens a door, and I peer into the darkness, seeing pink walls and toy hot air balloons hanging from the ceiling.
It must be Emma’s room. Trey’s half-sister. I know Principal Burrowes married Trey’s dad when Trey was about four. Even though he calls her Gillian and doesn’t treat her like a mom, she practically raised him and then gave birth to a daughter several years younger than Trey.
I look at Masen, wondering why he’s not closing the door. What he needs can’t possibly be in here. Emma is only like six. She didn’t steal anything from him.
But he just stands there, letting his eyes drift around the room. His chest moves with his shallow breaths.
“Masen?” I prompt.
But he doesn’t answer.
I touch his arm. “Masen?” I say louder. “What are we looking for? I want to get out of here.”
He blinks, turning away, almost like he’s angry. “Alright, come on.”
He leaves the room, and I shut the door again, catching a flash of movement. The shadows of the leaves outside the hall window dance over the carpet, and my heart skips a beat.
Walking to the next door, Masen strolls in and stops for just a moment, looking around. Heading for the armoire, he pulls open a drawer and takes out a small flashlight from his pocket. He clicks on the small light and starts inspecting the jewelry case.
“You can’t be serious?” I bark in a whisper, stepping up to him. “Did the principal steal your favorite string of pearls?”
“It’s a long story, babe.” He pulls open drawer after drawer, quickly scanning the contents and shuffling items around, searching for what? I don’t know.
“And I’m fascinated,” I retort. “But if you steal anything, I’ll make you bleed.”
“Hold this.” He shoves the flashlight at me. “I won’t take anything that’s not already mine.”
“What’s yours? What are we looking for?”
“A watch.”
A watch? “Why would the Burrowes have your watch?” I ask, confused.
“Later,” he says. “Now hold up the light.”
I purse my lips, growing impatient. But I hold up the light and shine it on the drawers he’s sifting through. I follow him when he moves to the dresser, dipping his hands in sweaters and shirts, feeling around.
“So do you want to take a shower tonight?” He glances up at me.
I frown. He’s flirting? Really?
He chuckles. “I don’t really need one, but I’d love to wipe that little scowl off your face, and I’ll bet you’ll feel good wet.”
I shake my head, trying to look unamused at his shitty choice of timing for dirty talk.
Although a hot shower with him, kissing and touching him, sounds really good.
“Just hurry up,” I whisper, wiggling my legs underneath me, getting anxious.
He searches the rest of the room—some small boxes in the closet and the bedside drawers—while I hold the light, waiting for him to give up, so we can just get out of here. But he pauses briefly, standing at the foot of the bed, thinking.
And then, before I have a chance to push him again to get us out of here, he whips around and heads out of the room and across the hall.
Trey’s room. Finally. I expected him to search there first. I don’t know why Trey would have anything of his, but he’d be a hell of a lot more likely to steal something from Masen than the parents.
Glancing around the principal’s bedroom, I make sure everything is put back in place—closets and drawers closed—and shut the bedroom door, hustling across the hall and following him into Trey’s room.
I brave a glance around. I should feel guilty that I’m sneaking around the room of the guy I’m going to prom with, but I let my gaze fall on his queen-sized bed, a navy blue comforter with gray sheets, and I feel a shiver crawl up my arms instead.
There’s no way I ever want to lie in there with him.
I watch Masen open the bedside drawer and pick up a box of condoms, flashing it to me over his shoulder.
“What do you think?” he teases. “Is he stocking up for prom?”
Oh, whatever. “You know, you keep bringing up prom,” I point out, stepping up behind him and whispering in his ear. “If you’re that worried about what might happen with those condoms, maybe you should do something about it.”
I feel his body shake with a quiet laugh as he tosses the box back into the drawer.
“Ask me,” I whisper, running my lip over his lobe. “Ask me, and I’ll say yes.”
He leans into my mouth, looking at me. “Maybe tomorrow.”
I push away, displeased. “Douchebag.”
He chuckles behind me. I flash the light around the room as Masen makes his way over to the dresser and opens the left drawer, mussing the socks as he digs.
But I notice something in the dark and pinch my eyebrows together, coming over and reaching in, touching his hand.
“This drawer should be deeper,” I tell him, my fingers hitting a plank of wood. I’d noticed his hand and wrist in the drawer when the depth should’ve eaten up half his forearm.
We both feel around, and Masen narrows his eyes, finding something and pulling on it.
He lifts up the piece of wood, the clothes fall back, and I see another compartment underneath.
Masen reaches in and pulls out what looks like a stack of cards. He turns them over and looks at them, but then he drops his hand back into the drawer, stuffing the cards back into the compartment.
“What?” I prod, reaching in and trying to grab the stack away from him.
“It’s nothing.” He tries to replace the board. “It’s not what I’m looking for.”
But I force my way in and rip the stack out of his hand.
Shooting him a joking little scowl, I turn the cards over and look at them.
My chest caves. Oh, my God.
They’re not cards. They’re pictures. Four by sixes by the looks of it, and I stare at each image, shuffling the cards one after another, my stomach churning.
Lindsey Beck, a senior who graduated last year.
Fara Corelli, a senior in my class this year.
Abigail Dunst, another senior.
Sylvie Lanquist, a junior.
Georgia York. J.D.’s older sister. He probably doesn’t have any idea about that.
Girl after girl, naked and in a variety of different poses. Some of them are selfies, some of them taken by someone else, and in one of them, Trey has a girl straddling him. His face holds a sleazy smile.
Disgusted, I curl my fingers around the pictures.
Brandy Matthews is naked and on her hands and knees, the camera catching the side of her face as Trey, I would assume, kneels behind her and takes the picture.
My heart races, and I feel like it’s going to jump out of my chest. I shuffle the next card and see Sylvie, her mouth open and…
I drop my hands, looking away. Gross.
My God. What’s wrong with him? Who takes pictures of that many women—girls—committing sexual acts? Did they know he was doing it to all of them? And Sylvie’s the sweetest kid. How long did he sweet-talk her to get what he wanted?
“I’m sorry, babe.”
I scoff, tossing the pics on the dresser. “You think I don’t know what he’s about?”
“Well, you are still going to prom with him.”
I shoot a look over to him, aggravated he keeps bringing that up.
No. I’m not going to prom with Trey. Not anymore. If he treats girls he’s able to get naked like that, how will he treat someone he can’t get into bed?
But I won’t tell Masen that. He’ll just gloat.
I look down and see another picture in his hand and inch forward. “What is that?”
He hoods his eyes, shaking his head like I need to leave it alone. I dart out and snatch the picture, holding it up in front of me.
Lyla is naked and wet, her hair soaked and sticking to her cheeks and neck, and she’s posing against what looks like a shower wall, her arms over her head and her breasts on display. Her eyes taunt the camera—or whoever’s behind it.
Trey. If he’s not the one with the camera, he still has the picture of her.
But I’m not fooling myself. They fucked. And recently, too. Lyla’s wearing the bronze wrist cuff she bought when we shopped three Saturdays ago.
I don’t care about him, and I don’t really like her, so why do I feel my eyes burning and my throat aching with a scream?
I’m not jealous he got from her what he wasn’t getting from me, and I’m not jealous they got off on each other. But why did they feel they could do it behind my back?
I feel a warm hand touch my face. “You know what she’s about just as much as him,” Masen says. “This doesn’t surprise you.”
I shake my head, blinking through the thick tears I can’t stop from welling up. “No,” I barely whisper, staring at the photo.
No, I’m not surprised. I just feel like shit for some reason. The whole time I thought I was winning. I thought I was on top. But behind my back, the people I thought I could handle were handling me. They think I’m stupid, after all. Someone they find easy to humiliate.
Just like before.
I knew Trey wasn’t holding out for me, so I didn’t care. But I did think I had Lyla figured out. I thought I had her respect.
What fun she must have had, standing next to me and knowing that she’s getting a piece of someone she thinks I might want.
Fat tears spill over, and I feel a weight on my shoulders. It’s not Trey. It’s not Lyla. It’s me. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.
“You know, I turned into this,” I tell him, my voice cracking and an ache settling behind my eyes, “because I was a kid and I thought there was something more. I traded friends I didn’t think were good enough for friends who really aren’t good enough.”
I blink long and hard, my wet lashes falling against my cheek. “Even Misha gave up on me.”
Masen cups my face gently. “I’m sure Misha has a reason,” he says sadly. “Because there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“There’s so much wrong with me.” A sob shakes my chest, and I cry harder. “I don’t have any friends, Masen.”
I don’t. Not really. I can understand people at school. I got what I deserved. I chose shallow, I acted shallow, and I got nothing that would last.
I don’t know if Ten will stick with me, and now Misha is gone, too. I don’t know what I did, but it had to be something, because when you find that everyone hates you, it’s not them. It’s you.
“You have a friend,” Masen tells me, his tone hard and sure. “The rest of those fucking losers are deadweight. Do you hear me?” He runs his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the tears. “You’re beautiful and smart, and you have this fire in you that I’m addicted to.”
Warmth fills my chest, and I raise my eyes to his.
He leans in, forehead to forehead. “You’re an incredible pain in the ass, but God, I love y—” He stops, and my breath catches in my throat.
“It,” he finishes. “I love it. I can’t get enough. I think about you all the time.”
I sniffle, taking some deep breaths and wiping my tears. My heart skipped a beat there. It almost sounded like he was going to say something else.
“Let’s just get out of here, okay?” I pull away, replacing the board in the drawer and closing it. I know he hasn’t found what he needs, but I have to get out of here. I need a shower after those pictures, or I want to do something with Masen and forget coming here.
Gathering up the pictures, I head out of the room and take a left to head down the stairs. But Masen grabs my arm, stopping me.
“What are you going to do with those pictures?”
“Burn them,” I answer. “He probably printed them, because he didn’t want his parents finding them in his phone, so he won’t have copies. I wouldn’t put it past him to be showing these to his friends.”
But Masen shakes his head. Taking them out of my hand, he makes a U-turn and opens the parents’ bedroom door.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-yell.
But then I see him throw out his hand, sending the pictures flying all over the room, falling to the floor and even the bed.
“Oh, my God.” I choke out a laugh and cover my mouth.
“Let the parents sort him out,” Masen says, taking my hand and closing the door behind us.
I laugh quietly, but I still laugh. I can’t stop. The Burrowes will definitely know someone was in their house tonight, but judging from the photos, they’ll probably just assume it’s a disgruntled girl pissed at Trey.
We leave the house, going out the same way we came in, and hurriedly hop into his truck, looking around to make sure there’s no one around.
The street is dark and quiet, and Masen starts the engine, getting us out of there.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted.”
He gives me a weak smile. “I got what I want.”
Flutters hit my stomach, and I bring up my hand, running my fingertips over the top of his hand that’s resting on the console.
After a couple minutes, he pulls up in front of my house and puts the truck in Park, leaving the engine running.
I sit up and lean over to him, not wanting to say goodnight.
Never wanting him to leave, actually.
“There’s a tree house in the back yard,” I look up at him teasingly. “You game?”
He smiles. “I would love to. But I have something to do right now,” he tells me, whispering in my ear.
I feel disappointment, but I brave it and plaster on a flat expression like I always do.
“Do me a favor, though?” he asks, kissing my cheek slow and soft. “Make sure the key’s under the pot. And don’t touch yourself tonight. Save it for the morning when I can watch.”
My body warms with excitement, and I smile. If it weren’t so dark in the truck, I’m sure he’d be able to see me blush.
“Be early,” I beg. “I might not be able to wait.”
He kisses me, and I linger for a moment before pulling away. Climbing out of the truck, I look back at him once and then unlock my door, entering the house.
As soon as the door’s closed, I hear him pull away.
How easy it is to get lost with him. A few minutes ago I was crying, and now none of that seems to matter. I want friends, of course. I want to know Ten will stay by my side, and I want Misha back, but…
Masen just makes everything seem smaller. Like I have a new perspective. He’s becoming a part of my heart, and I feel good when he’s around.
Almost like none of my fears matter as long as he’s there.
Tomorrow he said he would tell me everything, but honestly, part of me isn’t sure I want to know anymore. Of course the more I know about him the more I’ll feel like he’s real and the more I’ll be a part of his life instead of him just being a part of mine, but I like him. A lot.
I walk up the steps and down the hall, entering my room. Switching on the lamp, I kick off my shoes and collapse onto the bed, hanging my head off the end and staring upside down at all my chalk wall scribbles.
My eyes feel heavy with exhaustion, but I’m not tired.
Misha’s words and my words mix together, running into each other along the wall, and I can’t even remember whose are whose anymore. His thoughts and lyrics, my dreams and musings, his anger, and my confusion about everything in my life… Misha is everywhere, and I miss him. For a long time, he was my savior.
But Masen makes me feel courage, too.
I don’t need him to fill the void Misha left, but I like how he pushes me and expects more. He’s a reminder of what I want to feel every day, whether it’s with him or on my own. He’s taught me that who I am when I’m with him feels too good to sacrifice for the approval of everyone else. The way I dress, the guys I talk to, the games I play…it’s all plastic, and when I’m with him, I’m gold.
My eyes fall on the list of words I drew over the past couple of weeks.
Alone
Empty
Fraud
Shame
Fear
And below it, I’d added the line he spoke to me in the back of the truck at the drive-in.
Close your eyes, there’s nothing to see out here.
I’d loved that line. As if everything we needed to know, we couldn’t see. It was all inside of us.
I blink at the list, reading them over and over in my head.
Alone, Empty, Fraud, Shame, Fear,
Close your eyes, there’s nothing to see out here.
Hmm. I read them again in my head and once more out loud.
It rhymes. Like a song.
Alone, Empty, Fraud, Shame, Fear,
Close your eyes, there’s nothing to see out here.
I flip over and study the words again. It’s kind of weird how they fit together like that.
Of course he’d given the words separately, and he never indicated a connection between them, but I knew there was some kind of meaning other than what he was telling me. The first word was at the Cove, not meant for me, after all. I’d had a feeling the words were coming from somewhere specific.
Hopping off my bed, I pull out my desk chair and have a seat, waking up my laptop. Typing the words into the search engine, I hit Enter and wait.
Pictures and YouTube videos immediately load onto the screen, and I sit back, scanning the hits to see if it’s from a song, and if so, which one. One of the YouTube videos is titled Pearls, and I click on it.
The video is grainy and dark, but I can see the stage and lights of the small venue, and I hear a crowd shouting and calling out.
And then I peer closer at the guys on stage, not blinking and my heart picking up pace. A band with their drums and guitars, and…
Masen?
I breathe harder and faster. What?
Everyone is positioned, one guy sitting behind his drums, two others flanking Masen with guitars, and Masen looking casual with a hand in his pocket and no instrument. My blood runs hot, and my chest aches. What the fuck is this?
The song starts, hard and loud, the drummer pounding in steady beats and the crowd jumping up and down as Masen bobs his head. I dart my eyes down, underneath the video, and see the band name.
Cipher Core. He has a band?
The scavenger hunt. Oh, my God. I’d thought he was just a guest that night. Some random guy hanging around, but he wasn’t. That was his band’s event.
My hand shakes as I move the cursor and click on the Show More section. The lyrics are written there, and I see Masen close his eyes and hold the microphone on its stand as his smooth, deep voice starts singing the words I’m reading.
A picture is worth a thousand words,
But my thousand words slice deeper.
What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,
Fuck that. I’ve become a hide and seeker.
Treat others how you want to be treated,
But what if tonight I want to be burned?
You told us it’s better to be safe than sorry,
And little sister listened, but I was the one who learned.
Reap, reap, reap, you don’t even know,
All you did suffer is what you did sow!
Necessitate, medicate, eradicate, resuscitate.
Swallow your Pearls, but for me it was too late.
Do better, be more, too many, too much,
I’m about to fucking choke, I can’t force it down.
So string up the little Wisdoms and wrap them ‘round my neck,
I’ll strangle myself with your Pearls of Wisdom and die a wreck.
The lyrics ring a bell. I repeat them in my head. Reap, reap, reap, you don’t even know…
Misha and I put those lyrics together. The entire fucking song is Misha’s. I remember it, and something terrible and hard curls through me as I stop breathing and read the short bio at the bottom.
Cipher Core is an American rock band based out of Thunder Bay.
A band in Thunder Bay. No… I swallow, acid bile rising in my throat.
Members:
Dane Lewis—guitars and backing vocals
Lotus Maynard—bass
Malcolm Weinburg—drums
Misha Lare—lead vocals, guitars
“Oh, my God.” I crumble, sinking out of my chair and to the floor, sobbing and shaking my head. “Oh, my God,” I cry.
I run my fingers through my hair, holding my head and my chest growing heavy. I suck in short, shallow breaths. I can’t breathe.
Masen is Misha. “What the fuck?!” I yell.
The whole time. All this time I’ve been missing him, worried about him, wondering where the fuck he is and why he hasn’t written, and he’s been right in front of me the whole time!
I scream, slamming my hands down on the floor and curling my fingers into the carpet.
I can’t believe it. He wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t make a fool out of me and play with me like that.
Shooting up, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and glare at him on the screen. He finishes the final note, long and languorous, into the microphone, and from the distance in the crowd, I can see him dip his head as if still lost in the song after it’s over. People cheer, the last chords of the guitar ringing out, and I hear a couple girls call out for him.
Calling for Misha.
Everything is shaking, and the room is spinning as my mind races.
Masen. Mysterious, quiet Masen who no one knows anything about and who came out of nowhere. The guy who knew I’d loved Twilight, where I lived, and exactly what to get out of my backpack when I had my asthma attack without me telling him.
Oh, my God, how did I not know? I close my eyes, angry tears streaming down my face.
Misha, my best friend who got me into bed and fucked me with a lie.
You have a friend, he’d said earlier.
“No,” I whisper to myself, rage building as I slam my laptop closed and leave the room to get my sister’s car keys.
I have no friends.
