Ransom(50)

I close my eyes. That’s it, then. He does know.

“I called a few old friends. I don’t keep in touch with many people from your class, so I wasn’t sure if they would know anything—”

“Everyone knew,” I say, clenching my hands into fists, “the whole town.”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t take too long to figure it out. And when I heard your dad sold the house and you weren’t in town anymore—”

My eyes snap open. “What did they say about that? Did they know where I went?”

His gaze immediately flicks to the cuffs that cover my wrists. “There were some guesses.”

Levi knows everything, knows about my suicide attempt, knows about the pictures. Oh, God. What if he saw them? Despite the court order, I know they’re still out there, somewhere. “Did you… did anyone send you the—”

“No,” he says firmly. “Of course not. And I never looked for them.”

I let out a relieved sigh, thanking God for small favors. Then I think of something else. “When was this?”

He looks away, not meeting my eyes. “In June.”

My mouth drops open. “You’ve known a whole year? And you never told Daltrey?”

He shakes his head. “I went back and forth every day for weeks. I knew he would want to know. But then I would think about the way you cut off all communication, how you even had your dad tell him you didn’t want to talk. It wasn’t my secret, and it obviously was a secret you weren’t comfortable talking about. So how could I tell it for you?”

My eyes watered. “That’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard.”

He shakes his head. “It didn’t feel sweet at the time. Mostly, I felt guilty that I knew what was up and Daltrey didn’t.”

“Still, I appreciate it.”

“But it doesn’t matter now, right? Didn’t you say that you told him?”

I hunch my shoulders. “I told him a little, that people started bullying me and I didn’t want to be at school anymore, that I was in therapy. I didn’t tell him about Justin or the pictures.” My gaze falls to my wrists. “Or the hospital.”

“So it was Justin, huh? That’s what I heard. Damn it! I want to beat the hell out of that kid.”

I can’t muster a laugh. “Yeah, well, he wasn’t even the worst of it.” I think of Joanie and the things she put on my ConnectMe page. I can still picture the website she created. I close my eyes again.

“Are you okay now, Daisy? I mean about the, uh, hospital stuff?”

“Yeah, I mean, obviously, I’m still totally fucked up. You saw what happened in there.” I tilt my head toward the theater. “But I’m not… suicidal anymore.” I barely get the word out; it’s always been so hard for me to say.

“What was that, exactly?” He jerks his chin, indicating the theater.

“I have panic attacks. They started around the time the, uh, pictures got out.”

He grimaces. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it in there with people around. I’ve just been debating whether or not I should tell you that I know. If I had known it would trigger—”

“No, it’s fine, really. A lot of times I get them just because people are looking at me. You should have seen me trying to navigate college when I finally started. I was the freak girl who couldn’t talk to anyone. You didn’t do anything wrong by bringing it up.”

“You’re not a freak, Daisy. Don’t say that. Besides, you made friends with Karen and Paige, didn’t you?”

I laugh. “That was a total fluke. I’m sure when they met me they would have agreed with the freak part. But they were nice enough to keep trying.”

“Is that why you never called him? You thought he was too high profile?”

I shrug. “That’s part of the reason. Embarrassment was a big one, too. And not wanting him to feel like he had to come home. But the crowds were a big part of it, yeah.”

He gently places a hand on my knee. “For what it’s worth, Daisy, I think you’re doing great.”

“Thanks, Levi.”

“You ready to head back in there? Show’s about to start.” He stands up and holds out a hand.

I take it without hesitating and follow my old friend back into the building.





Chapter Seventeen


Daltrey





We play a kick-ass show in Raleigh. Maybe that sounds arrogant, but it’s true.

It’s one of those shows where my brothers and I just click. I never feel as close to them as I do when we’re playing well. We’re not an emotional, touchy-feely family. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve ever heard one of them mutter the words, “I love you,” to one of the others. We’re just not like that. Reed told me once that it was different before Mom left, but I have no memories of that time. I like to think that we express that stuff through our music, and the best performances are the ones where we’re subconsciously telling each other that we’re a unit, a team. Family.