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“Why don’t you just say it, Mom?”
“Say what?” she asks, moving from one toenail to the next.
“That you wish it was me instead of Harley.” That she’d much prefer I dropped dead instead of him.
“At least Harley had goals and aspirations.” She glances at me, looks me up and down, unable to hide her disgust. “What do you have, Harlow?”
Pain turns to liquid in my eyes, flows down my cheeks, and I whisper, “Nothing.”
“Oh, poor Harlow and all her tears…” Mom laughs. A quiet, sinister sound. “Quit acting as if you didn’t do this to yourself.”
24
Jace
Since I had to leave early yesterday, I asked Jonah to keep an eye on Harlow—from a distance, of course. I’m fully aware that Harlow doesn’twantprotecting, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need it. And not just physically—if that asshole figured out what school she attends—but also emotionally.
I wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of leaving her alone, because I knew what she was about to walk into. I’d been there before. Granted, I was far younger, but still… the gossip stays the same.
Jonah sent me a text last night to give me a rundown of how the day went. According to him, everyone talked shit, but Harlow didn’t engage. She merely existed, her head down, barely looking up, and stayed that way on the drive home, even while he did his best to make her smile.
The last part had that fire burning in my chest again, but it was easier to push aside.
I replied, asking him to drive her to school this morning, because while I was reading the wall of text he’d sent, I was also out searching for my grandpa.
I couldn’t find him last night, and so I got up early this morning tosearch for him again and had the same result. I was late to school this morning, only by a few minutes, and now, I’m in the back corner of the classroom, where I usually sit, doing the same thing I’ve been doing for the past two hours—the same thing I do most days I’m here—I stare at the back of Harlow’s head.
She was the only reason I came today, and the first thing I wanted to see when I got here. I was hoping to at least get a read on her when I walked into the room, but… she didn’t look up when I entered, and she hasn’t looked up since. Her laptop is open, still on the home screen, and she hasn’t touched it once. Shoulders drooped, her loose hair curtains her face, as if she wants to hide from the world.
I get it.
Honestly, I do.
But man, what a shame that would be—for the world not to know her existence.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I’m quick to read the text from Mae telling me she just found my grandpa, asleep, next to the dumpster behind her shop. With a heavy sigh, I reply that I’m on my way and hit send, then pocket my phone. I aim for the exit, but my feet lead me elsewhere…
Harlow
The chair beside me scrapes along the floor, and I turn just in time to see Jace sit down. He doesn’t greet me, doesn’t smile, doesn’t even look at me. He simply brings my laptop closer to him, pulls up the notes app and starts typing:
It’s not because I hate you.
Confused, I turn the keyboard toward me and write:
??
He writes back:
That night, out by the creek, you assumed I couldn’t look you in the eyes because I hated you, and you’re wrong.
Then what is it?
You intimidate me.
I rear back, my eyebrows pinched, and type:
Intimidate how?