I SCROLL THOUGH Liv’s Twitter and TikTok, not seeing any new posts since the day of Night Tide. Nothing since our showdown. Nothing about the flag or the picture of me on Macon’s bed that had made the rounds in our friends’ text messages.
I draw in a deep breath, uneasy. Something’s up. I mean, it’s totally like her to refuse to acknowledge me, but she hasn’t posted anything. Not even trading a barb with a politician or calling out injustice in the Sudan.
Nothing. Not even a response to anyone posting for her birthday today.
It is today. She’s eighteen now, still off limits as a student, but otherwise perfectly legal for Martelle.
I grab the flag out from under my bed and stuff it in my backpack. Leaving my bedroom, I head down the hallway, touching Henry’s door as I go, and racing down the stairs.
I pass a long table with three small glass vases of calla lilies and take the bunch out of one, swiping the water off the stems.
But then I hear my mom. “Clay?”
I pause, hearing the elliptical going from our home gym beyond the kitchen, and sigh.
I head over and peek my head inside, seeing the sun barely up out of the window behind her. It’s Monday, and we have team workouts this morning. Olivia should be there. I tuck the flowers behind my back.
“We’ll be coming to your game this weekend,” she says, sweat glistening across her chest in her pink sports bra.
“Both of you?”
She smiles. “You don’t have to be nervous.”
I cock an eyebrow, looking away. It’s an away game about an hour from here. I’m surprised he’ll be home.
“You used to like us coming to your games,” she tells me.
“A lot of things were different then.” I shift on my feet. “Now, I’d just like you both to stop pretending you’re married for the cameras.”
I might like it if they pretended for me a little bit, but hey.
She stops moving, the elliptical sinking to a resting position and her body along with it as she looks at me.
I keep going. “I think we can agree the façade is downright painful anymore, isn’t it?”
The pain in her eyes feels good, and I hate that it feels good. I used to love my mom.
I know she’s alone. She’s suffered, and this week is especially hard, but no one is safe from me, I guess. I’ve started bullying my parents now.
How could my father not be here for us? After all we’ve lost? And did she really get an abortion like Macon said? How did he know that? Was it my father’s baby? I don’t know how it could’ve been. He’s never home.
My parents have even less figured out about life than I do, it seems, and I can’t trust anyone. Even my grandmother. What pieces of work they all are.
She says nothing, and I turn and walk out before she has a chance to. Squeezing the stems in my hand, I climb into my Bronco and drive to school with them in my fist the whole time, racing toward the one thing I don’t want to hurt anymore.
The hallways are empty, only a few cars in the parking lot yet, and I look around me, making sure no one is here. A pencil hangs off a string of yarn next to the carpool signup on the bulletin board, and I snatch it off its staple, keeping the pencil on one end as I tie the other around the flower stems.
I stick the pencil through a slit in the vent of Liv’s locker, the yellow paint on the wood scraping off as I shove it through. Hanging from the inside, the little bouquet dangles down the outside of her locker, a few of the pretty white petals floating to the ground.
She probably doesn’t like flowers. She’ll probably think it’s a prank and rip them off and throw them away, but maybe she’ll think they’re nice, whoever they’re from.
Something for her birthday, because she didn’t get flowers or cards or candygrams like the rest of us on Valentine’s Day, and I’d hated seeing that.
I walk away, looking back at the bouquet, a flutter in my chest. Everyone likes flowers. Even girls in motorcycle jackets.
She should be here soon.
Heading into the locker room, I open my locker and hang my backpack. I dig my AirPods out of the pocket and take my phone. The Seminole flag peeks out. Liv will be working in the theater after school today. Maybe she’ll be alone. Maybe I could take it to her.
I take out my pill bottle and open it, wanting to calm myself down a little, but I stop, staring at the container for a second. I didn’t take any all weekend. Not once. Since Henry’s death, I certainly haven’t needed it every day, but it didn’t even occur to me. That’s weird.
“You okay?” Amy asks at my side.
I recap the bottle and stuff it in my backpack, quickly zipping it up. “Of course.” I close my locker. “You?”
“Still a little nervous.”
And I know what she’s talking about. She texted fifteen times yesterday. My grandmother gave me a stern look in church, so I muted it.
“They won’t report it,” I tell her. “And who knows? They might cross the tracks for a little more fun.”
“I’m not worried about them reporting it,” she retorts.
I know. The Jaegers would exact their own justice before going to the police. I still feel shitty about Callum and Milo trashing their house.
“Hey!” Krisjen chirps. She heads to her locker, rubbing a hand on my back. “How are you doing, babe?”
“Fine,” I blurt out. “What is it with you guys?”
Why do they keep asking that?
Amy and Krisjen exchange glances, and Krisjen broaches softly, “It’s just… I know this week is hard…on your family.”
I turn away, slipping my phone into the side pocket on my leggings. It’s been four years since Henry died, and I wait for the sting in my eyes to come like it always does the moment my mind wanders to him, but it’s not coming.
I’m distracted. It’s not… I don’t know. I miss him. I miss him so badly I’d give up my hands to have him back, but it’s not the only loss I’m feeling right now.
I glance around again, keeping an eye out for Liv, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
And as we all head into the gym, and I jump on the treadmill, she still doesn’t show. Where is she? Maybe she skipped for her birthday, but I feel uneasy.
I fit my earbuds in and pretend to start music as I stalk her social media, looking for a reason why she isn’t here. A dentist appointment. Suddenly sick. Self-care day.
Sudden death?
But nothing. She hasn’t posted all morning.
“Conroy?” Coach calls, walking into the weight room with a tablet. “Your time has come. I need you to take Jaeger’s position at midfield.”
Krisjen’s mouth falls open as she stops the treadmill. “You’re not serious.”
That’s Liv’s position.
I step forward. “What’s going on? Where is Jaeger playing now?”
Coomer turns her eyes on me, looking almost hesitant. “She’s…withdrawn from the team.”
“What?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Coach assures. “Don’t worry.”
She starts to leave, but I jump off the treadmill, stopping her. “Hey, wait a minute. She just…she just quit? You’re joking.”
Coach turns and looks around at the three of us, other girls faltering in their workout to listen.
“She’s finishing the school year from home,” Coach announces.
My stomach drops. “What?” Like hell .
But Coach just looks at me, replying calmly, “Well, what did you expect, Clay?”
And I fall silent, because my behavior hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice, it seems. Coach looks like she’s surprised Olivia Jaeger lasted as long as she did, under the circumstances.
She leaves, her question hanging in the air, and Amy rushes to my side. “Oh my God.”
“She actually left school?” Krisjen joins in.
Amy’s eyes smile and a lump swells in my throat. I turn away, pretending to look at my phone. The world spins in front of me, static in my vision, and I’m going to scream if I don’t get out of here.
I don’t have anything to prove. I don’t know why I ever thought I did. Especially to you. This is what she meant when she told me to take care of myself. If it weren’t for me, she’d be here. She’d be happy.
So, she left. She let me win.
She just let me win. Just like that.
Amy and Krisjen talk, and I just stare at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen and my head spinning in a million different directions, so much so that I don’t know what I’m doing.
The allure of her will be gone now. That’s good. Whatever my obsession was, she did me a favor. I can concentrate on other things: boys, friends, getting ready for the ball and prom and college…
It’s over.
“You get to play now!” Amy argues, and I snap my attention back to my friends. “Why are you whining?”
“I like my minimal position, thank you,” Krisjen says. “I can’t play Jaeger’s. Especially against Gibbon’s Cross.”
“Yeah,” Amy sighs, agreeing. “Jaeger was good for something, I guess.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest tightening painfully. I can’t… I can’t.
I leave, whipping open the door and heading back into the locker room.
“Clay!” Amy shouts after me.
But I keep going.
I don’t have to get angry about this. I’m not a toddler. She’s leaving the team high and dry, but other than that, it’s no loss. I drove her out. I did what I set out to do. I win.
So why do I want to kick every door I see? I pass Megan in the locker room, expecting a dirty look, but once she sees my face, a slight smile graces hers.
She gets to have her now. No one will know.
Stripping off my clothes, I wrap a towel around myself and carry my caddie into a shower stall. Closing the curtain, I turn on the water, breathing in and out as I wet my hair and let the hot water soothe me. I close my eyes, my shoulders heavy and my head feeling like it weighs a hundred pounds. I just want to sit down.
I just want to—
But all of a sudden, the rings on the shower rod slide together again. I pop my eyes open, spin around, and see Liv stepping into the private stall with me. My heart leaps as she closes the curtain behind her and approaches me, holding her towel to her body.
For a moment, I’m flooded with relief. She’s here. She didn’t leave.
I find my voice, confident again and refusing to smile, even though I want to. “What the hell are you doing?” I whisper. “Get out. Now.”
I reach for my towel to cover myself, but in one swift movement, she pulls hers off of her body and knocks my hand away all in the same shot. I stare down at her naked body, and the wind leaves my lungs. My chest caves, and I barely notice her backing me into the wall as she tips her head back and wets her hair. Streams of water cascade down her golden skin, and I can’t breathe as it spills over her breasts and drips off the hard, little points. My clit pulses as I hate her all over again.
She meets my eyes, smoothing back her hair, and approaches me until her nipples brush mine. I can’t think, and I can’t swallow.
“Maybe these separate shower stalls your bigot mother had put in weren’t such a bad idea, after all,” she says.
I watch as she tips her head back, opens her mouth, and places it under the stream, filling it with water. The pulse between my legs pounds so hard, I almost groan.
She kisses me, opening her mouth, the warm water spilling inside and down my chin and neck, and I lick my lips, thirsty for more, because tasting what she tasted makes me go mad. I throb down low, my body beating like a drum. I whimper, about to fucking come when she pulls away.
My lip quivers, and I can’t find my words for a minute. “G—Get out,” I tell her.
But she doesn’t. Grabbing the showerhead off the hook, she sticks it between my legs, and I gasp, stopping just short of crying out.
“Ah,” I moan. I cup her face and hold her to me, almost in tears it feels so good. “Liv…”
The spray pulsates over me, and I’m already too close to stop it. I hold onto her, her forehead pressed into mine as she watches what she does to me, and my orgasm crests, so wound up it takes no time for her to get me there. Heat floods my stomach, my thighs shake, my knees go weak, and I hear voices and lockers slamming shut just as I cover my mouth with my hand and scream.
Fuck. I shake, and I don’t know if I’m crying or what, because it feels so good.
“You don’t feel with him what you feel with me,” she whispers. “Do you?”
I shudder and grip her, every muscle clenched, and I can’t stand it. Nothing feels like this. Nothing. “I hate you,” I murmur in her ear.
But still, I don’t let her go, grazing her skin with my lips.
Oh, God. She lets the orgasm run through me before placing the showerhead back on the hook, and then she leans into my ear, the showers around us filling with people. “It’s a shame you’ll be wasted on him,” she whispers, steam billowing around us. “We would’ve had so much fun.”
Would’ve.
I don’t look up as she takes her towel and leaves. I sink to the floor, unable to move another inch for minutes as everyone showers, dresses, and the first bell rings for class.
Would’ve had so much fun, she’d said. Would’ve.
When I finally come out, her locker hangs open and empty.
• • •
Over the next few days, word spreads that Olivia Jaeger is finishing the school year from home—some story about her family needing her, but almost everyone knows it’s because of me. Sideways glances greet me when I pass students in the hall or cafeteria, some with smiles of approval and some with hints of fear. Speculation is abundant on what I supposedly did to scare her off, but no one knows for sure.
On Wednesday, I pass her main locker, noticing the flowers were still there, dried and yellowed. Did she see them before she left? She would’ve taken them if she’d wanted them.
I have to hand it to her. She wasn’t bluffing. She hadn’t come back to school. She was serious.
I sit in calculus, our fifth-period class we share—or used to share—her desk to my left and at the very front still sitting empty. It’s nice not to have her here anymore. She always had to look so different. All that silver in her ears, glinting with the sunlight streaming through the windows, hugely distracting.
The slutwear, the short skirts and the fire engine red lipstick that no one understood the point of. I mean, was she trying to get the boys’ attention? Because she did, which seemed opposite of what you’d think she’d want.
Still, though. The lipstick really was perfect for her skin tone. The little braids peeking out of her ponytails looked like they grew that way, and it was hard not to look at her.
It was hard for anyone not to look at her.
I draw in a deep breath and exhale. The school is more peaceful now. I’m better. Clearer.
The shower comes back to me, and fuck, it felt good, but if anyone found out, I’d be ruined. My friends might understand, but their parents wouldn’t. My grandmother would send me to therapy, and my parents would break, thinking they’d failed after so much loss already.
“Yes,” I hear Ms. Kirkpatrick say. “Come in, come in.”
I look up, the rest of the students filling their seats as a young woman holds the strap of her backpack over her shoulder and hands the teacher her schedule.
She leads her to a seat—Liv’s empty desk—and smiles, handing her paper back to her.
“Class?” She says loudly. “This is Chloe Harper. She’s joining us from Austin.”
The girl turns her head, offering everyone a smile with her shade of pink gloss that could easily be mine. Her eyes land on me, and she hesitates on my gaze, nodding once in hello, a beautiful, small smile grazing her lips.
She turns back around, and I shake my head, looking away. That’s Liv’s seat. So quickly filled like she was never here at all, and sun streams through the windows, making the world bright and beautiful as if everyone has just moved on.
The talk has even started to die down. Most people have stopped mentioning her.
She’s not in the locker room. The weight room. The lunch room. Her desks don’t exist anymore. She was never here.
Classes end, and I head to practice, passing her locker and see something drawn on it in red nail polish. I stop, reading Dyke written vertically down the long locker .
And I straighten, glaring. Who did this? How dare they?
Even though I know I’m one of the culprits who’s been calling her that name for years.
People wrote things on Alli’s locker too, I’d heard. I’m sure it was hard to have someone be cruel—I can certainly dish it but can’t take it—but I finally realize it was probably more painful to see the taunts in full view of everyone who passed by. Hundreds of people are invited into your suffering.
I blink, charging off to the locker room to change into my gear. I throw on my clothes, grab my equipment, and head out to the field with my friends, needing to run to get rid of the urge to scrub the front of her locker with nail polish remover. The janitors will take care of it tonight.
My head overflows with lava, and it just keeps coming and coming, the fact that she’s not here. And she won’t be here tomorrow.
Krisjen takes up Liv’s place on the field, Amy and Ruby laughing and joking around, everyone carrying on their conversations like she’s not gone. Like she wasn’t important.
She’s smart. She works hard. She’s in that theater every night, without pay, no one more devoted to earning everything she deserves. She comes from nothing, works her ass off, is honest, and a good person. She’s the muscle on the team, and they’re all just acting like we actually have a shot without her. Like she isn’t irreplaceable.
But to them, she’s nothing. She’s just the dyke who once went here.
“Come on!” I yell when Krisjen misses the goal again.
“I can’t…” She gasps. “Clay, I can’t. It’s too fast.”
“Too fast?” I bark, getting in her face, the numbness of the last few days gone. “Are you kidding?”
Krisjen backs away from me, scared.
“Gibbon’s Cross is gonna be a lot harder on you. Stop pussing out!” I yell.
Everyone stops, sweat coating my back and no one’s fucking laughing now.
“I’m not losing the biggest game of my senior year because everyone wants to get lazy all of a sudden!”
The game is in two days, for Christ’s sake!
“Collins…” Coach warns.
But I throw down my stick and my eyewear, sprinkles of rain hitting my arms. “God, you guys suck!”
I stomp off toward the locker room. Coach grabs my arm, but I yank it away.
“Coach, it’s okay,” I hear Krisjen tell her as I keep walking. “We’ll go.”
I leave, heading for the locker room without looking up.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
I yank my locker door open, but I haven’t had enough, and I do it again and again, tears spilling down my face as I dig in my backpack for the pill bottle.
I fumble with the cap, finally giving up and resting my head on the locker next to mine, the cool metal feeling like heaven after the heat of the blood rushing under my skin.
“It’s fine,” I sob.
Someone comes up and hugs my back, and I crumble to the floor, Krisjen hanging on and falling with me.
“Clay, it’s okay,” she whispers, and I hear the tears in her throat. “I know you miss him. It’s okay. You can cry.”
Yeah .
Henry. Right.
I let her hold me, giving into it as Amy kneels down beside us, and probably only there because she thinks she should be, but I’ll take it, because the world feels empty enough. There’s nothing. I’m nothing.
I wish tomorrow would never come.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
She’s the one who loses. Not me. Everything is as it should be now.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Just leave her alone. Forget about her.
She’s gone.
