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“Good.”

The warning bell rang. “See you, babe!” she said, and airkissed me before running out the door. When she was gone, I tugged my shirt a little lower so that more cleavage was showing, and stalked down to the science hall.

Ms. Goodman passed out yesterday’s quizzes as we walked in. I had missed five points on the last question. I was in my chair frowning at it, when Liam walked up and flashed me his 100%. “Maybe I should tutor you.”

“Ha. Ha,” I said, forgetting to sound nicer.

He laughed, and went back to his desk.

It was hard not to fidget for the rest of the hour. I needed to seem nonchalant, like getting an invite to a party at his house would mean absolutely nothing to me. But the longer Ms. Goodman lectured, the more everything wore on my soul—the photos this morning, the texts I’d only caught snippets of yesterday, how impossible everything was seeming, and how I had to keep trying, for Lacey’s sake.

At the end of the class I stood up and made sure to block Liam’s path and tried to look adorable. “Hey—about that invite—can I change my mind?”

His eyebrows rose, but his head bobbed. “Yeah, of course.”

“What time?”

“Whenever the game is over.”

“Uh, when is that?”

“Uh, when it’s over,” he laughed, making fun of me. “I don’t know. Most people go to the game first.”

I pouted. A little. It was hard. “I don’t want to participate in your barbaric sports rituals to get to go to a party. Plus, I might have to babysit my sister.”

“I’ll shoot you a text when we’re leaving. Okay?”

“Awesome. Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and angled around me and out the door.

CHAPTER 28

The bus was the bus. Kortney saw me first and elbowed Emily to make sure she saw. She in turn hopped onto ZB and sent me a message, I felt it ping through:

It doesn’t matter how much make-up you put on—you’re still the friend of a whore.

I pretended not to check my phone and stared resolutely out the window until my stop.

Homework was completed at the McMullen residence in record time, the trailer spotless, and dinner on the table by the time my mom emerged.

“Well, well. This is nice,” she said, coming out to the sight of me dusting.

“Thanks!” I put the duster away under the sink and calculated out how long I needed to be nice versus getting what I wanted, without seeming like I was trying too hard.

“You know what you said last night, Mom?” I asked, broaching the subject as I cleared dishes post-dinner and she tilted back, drinking something on ice.

“Yeah?”

“Well,” I did my best to be a little nervous in front of her. She reacted to cocksure poorly. “Liam invited me to the post-game party at his place tonight.”

“Yeah?” she said, eyebrows rising over the edge of her glass.

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t the game on right now?”

“Well, yeah, but—I had homework to do?—”