Dear Ava(25)

Your life is so fucked up, a dark voice insists, laughing mirthlessly.

If only you’d staked a claim before Chance.

If only…

I jerk away from her and she gapes at me, shaking her head in confusion.

“Knox?”

I look away from her and stare at my feet. Familiar shame and guilt ride me hard, slugging at my heart, ripping it apart.

I left her.

I fucking left her because I was upset because she kissed her boyfriend.

How messed up is that?

I want her.

I fucking do.

But you can’t take a beautiful, soft flower and crush it under your cleats, not when she’s halfway to broken already.

“Tulip…” I push out, and I don’t even know what I’m going to say, but she ignores me, because I’ve stood here like an idiot for too long.

She’s in her car and “You Need to Calm Down” blares from her speakers. Wearing a frown, she pulls out, and me…I’m just standing there, watching her taillights.





13





“…And then Dane said, ‘But why does Charlotte have to die!’ I can’t believe we got through the movie at my house. He sniffled at the end even after I said at least Wilbur got her eggs and that means there’ll be little baby spiders for him to take care of, and he just glared at me. I swear, I think those drugs have addled his brain.” She stuffs a burrito in her mouth as we eat lunch on Friday then wipes her lips and lets out a groan. “Okay, okay, I wore my Bambi shirt when I knew he was coming over, you know, just to make him uncomfortable. Was that mean? He never said anything, so I guess it was okay.” Another groan. “I mean, come on, what guy is so ridiculously soft about animals?”

“I don’t care how he feels. Asshole Shark,” I mutter.

“I saw Knox turned your paper in early today. How was it?” She gives me a careful look, and I’m sure it was apparent in class that Knox and I were barely speaking. Gone are the snide comments. Gone are the tentative glances. Since the movie night, he’s a different person. We had this fun camaraderie at Lou’s, and then it all went wrong when I fell asleep. Did I say something in my sleep? Nah. He’s just…

Out of your depth.

Playing games.

I glare at my Diet Coke. “He didn’t even ask me to help write it, just wrote it himself, and on top of that, he switched our romance theme for feminism without asking when he was the one who liked the romantic aspect. Jerk. Big stupid jerk. Should have been Star Wars from the get-go.”

“At least you didn’t have to do it,” Wyatt says with a grin.

The thing is, part of me was looking forward to hashing out our ideas and working together. He gave me a copy of it today when I walked into History of Film, and when I said, “Dude, what the hell?” he only gave me grunts and nods. Caveman!

I read his essay, huffing, while he sat next to me, tense and wired.

“Maybe he really is pissed I wrote his cell number on the stall in the bathroom. Dammit, I should have written it at Lou’s. Missed opportunity.”

Wyatt’s eyes flare. “You’re the one who blabbed his super-secret phone number?”

“Weak moment.” I grin.

He puts his fist up and we bump. “Sneaky. Remind me to never tell you my secrets.”

“Meh, he really didn’t care that much,” I say. I haven’t told them about us at Lou’s or Vandy. Part of me wants to just pretend it never happened, because hello, he has.

Inevitably, my eyes scan over to the Shark table. He’s there, sitting next to Tawny. She keeps chatting up at him, batting those lashes. He barely notices her, typical, and focuses on his phone. Dane sits on the other side of him, pushing food around on his plate, his eyes at half-mast. In class, he was the same, sluggish and off. Chance sits across from them, Brooklyn plastered to his side. I don’t see Liam and Jolena. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen them at the Shark table since the fight earlier this week.

I glance back to Wyatt and Piper. “So, Knox has a black eye and Liam does too. I’m assuming the fight was at practice, but what’s the word on the street? Anyone know what it was about?”

“No clue. I’ve been buried in homework and trying to keep my grades up there with a certain someone,” Piper says.

“Me.” I laugh.

She giggles.

Wyatt cocks his head. “I may have heard it was over you.”

I drop my burrito. “What?”

“Seems like Liam was badmouthing you and Knox shut him up.”

My mouth drops. “Me?”

“You,” he repeats.

“But why?”

He shrugs. “I can’t even begin to understand how he thinks. He keeps shit close.”

No joke.

Wyatt dips his fry in ketchup and tosses it in his mouth. “Why are you staring at him?”

“I’m not!”

He laughs, glancing down at one of the hummingbird tattoos on his forearms. He gives it a little brush, his face thoughtful. “I saw that your locker was scrubbed pretty good. Heard it was done after practice by a couple of football players.”

“Chance and Knox,” I mutter as I push my burger away from me. The words were mostly gone by the end of the day it happened, but I was able to see a few faint outlines, the E in leave, the L in slut.

It was Chance’s idea, Knox said.

My eyes linger on Chance, and he glances up and stares right back. Brooklyn tugs on his arm and he finally drops his gaze.

Piper follows my gaze. “Jockass! I hope he rots! Saying that you hurt him. What a dick.” She shakes her head. “Geeze, he was all over you last year—”

“Let it go,” I grumble. We’ve hashed this out in my dorm room, and I’m sick of thinking about it. I blow out a breath. The truth is, I’m exhausted. Last night, I had dinner with Tyler at the group home, worked a shift at the diner, then came home and tried to do homework. Between Knox and this hellhole, my nerves are stretched thin, and there’s dread and unease nipping at my heels. The flat tire and locker incident won’t be the end of it. Something else will happen.

The bell rings and we gather up our trash. Piper and Wyatt head off, and I dash to the restroom. I’m walking down the hall when my phone vibrates with a text, and I pull it out of my blazer pocket.

Hey. I’ve been thinking about you. How’s your day?

Well, well, I’d almost forgotten about my admirer. A small part of me—a silly part—briefly entertained the idea that it was Knox. He did come to change my tire from out of the blue.

But I asked him at Lou’s in a roundabout way if it was him, and while he didn’t say no, he seemed cool about it. So, not him.

I stop in the hall and lean against the wall.

What do you want? I type.

Students rush past me, but I’m oblivious as I wait for his response.

You.

Could this person be Chance? He said some revealing things in that apology, and he did leave me little notes in my locker last year…

Is this Chance? If it is, you can go fuck yourself sideways. And I hope you pull a groin muscle and break your penis.

Ouch. That sounds painful.

Yet…he doesn’t answer my question.

I watch the dots on my phone, my heart beating faster than it should.

I read something for my Contemporary Poetry class and it made me think of you.

I rack my brain for who’s in that particular class, one of the senior favorites. I didn’t take it because my focus is math and science. History of Film is my only elective.

Yeah? Send me the poem.

I expect him to send me a name and title, but instead a longer text comes in, the lines typed carefully.

I yearn for her,

To ease the monsters in my head.





My hard heart wants the glass heart in her.





Obviously, I am out of my mind.





It’s good, short and succinct.

Nice, SA. I happen to like poetry.

SA? He sends.

Secret admirer, duh.

“Slut,” a male voice mutters as he jostles past me in the hall and keeps moving. I don’t even try to see who it was. It’s the second time today. Pushing down the singe of pain those words cause in me, I look back down at my phone.

What am I doing texting with someone who could be an enemy?

Besides, it’s my free period and I want to check out the new auditorium upstairs. They started construction last year, and I left before it was finished. Maybe I can think there. Catch my breath. Think about my goals and hope they can sustain me. As long as I pop by to see the librarian who’s in charge of my period and tell her I have some teachers to check in with, she’ll give me a pass to roam a little.

I have to go, I type out.

What class?

Screw that. I stuff my phone back inside my blazer and book it to the library.

After getting my pass, I head to the stairwell that leads to the fourth floor where one of the inside entrances to the new auditorium is. My footsteps are soft as I take the second flight. I’m adjusting my backpack when I hear the first-floor door open and someone comes into the quiet stairwell. A guy’s voice is speaking, and I pause at the familiar cadence I hear, the slow, burly drawl.

Another voice, soft and cajoling and female, hits my ears.

I strain to hear their conversation, getting frustrated when they lower their voices. They don’t seem to be actually moving up the stairs, so I take a few steps back and hunker down next to the concrete barrier, working up the nerve to peep around it. The key to good eavesdropping is not getting caught.