Page 32

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

In the week since we’ve returned for spring semester, Liv has referred to Braden as her boyfriend four times.

And on each of those occasions, I’ve had to bite my tongue.

I still have my misgivings. He called her twice over the break.

“ Called , Betts, not just texted.” But that’s not enough to convince me they’re exclusive.

I’ve heard enough locker-room talk at the O-Chi house to know what the Braden-type is looking for.

If, for the time being, he’s guaranteed a wild night with a beautiful girl, he’s going to take advantage of it.

As long as she’s adoring, convenient, and satisfying, he’ll keep stringing her along.

As she flits around our dorm room, ignoring the stack of homework on her desk, I try to share in her excitement. There’s a “welcome back” party at O-Chi tonight, and next week is Rush. She’s a live wire of nervous energy.

“I think it’s all gonna be fine,” she says of Peyton’s threats. “Braden says he’s seen Peyton, like, a million times, and she doesn’t seem mad at all.”

God, I hope that’s not because he’s sleeping with her again.

Liv holds a plum suede skirt Mom bought me to her waist and inspects herself in the full-length mirror. “If you’re not gonna wear this next week, can I?”

“Sure.”

She goes back to my wardrobe and, over the scrape of hangers on metal, whines, “She bought you so many pretty things. Must be nice. Mom and Dad still don’t want me to Rush. They keep reminding me I’m on probation .” She rolls her eyes and makes air quotes.

“Because of your grades?”

“Yeah. And they weren’t even that bad. I mean, I pulled out a C in Spanish and a B-minus in chemistry, but is that good enough for them? Noooo.” She curls her lip at me. “Not all of us can get straight A’s.”

I beg to differ. She could get straight A’s too if she got her priorities in order.

“Omigod!” she gasps when she spots my new cocktail dress. “Is this for the masquerade?” Eyes popping, she yanks it out of the wardrobe. “It’s gorgeous.”

It’s also the only thing Mom bought me on our shopping trip that I’m a hundred percent happy with. Pale blue, one-shoulder, figure-hugging. A sexier version of the purple dress I wore for Halloween. Faerie 2.0.

Liv sighs as she reverently hangs it back up. “Braden had better ask me.”

Yeah, he’d better, because it’s going to be an incredible night. O-Chi broke the mold this year, and instead of a generic spring formal in April, they’re holding a full masquerade ball for Mardi Gras.

I assure Liv, “Well, if he doesn’t, you can come with me.”

“But you’re going with Zander.”

“So? He’ll love having a girl on each arm.”

She lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. “Braden’ll ask me.”

I stifle a growl. I don’t trust that man.

And obviously, neither does she.

The welcome back party at O-Chi is more of the same, only bigger.

For Christmas, Zander got me a new cooler, a large one with a padlock engraved with his Greek letters, “so no one can touch your stuff ever again.” Tonight, it’s filled it with Corona, far more than I can drink in one night, and he presents it to me like he’s performing a magic trick, aquamarine eyes sparkling and curls flopping boyishly over his forehead.

My cute, charming Zander. At times like this, it’s hard to believe he’s the same guy who, at the Halloween party, charged at Leo, drunk and raging.

It helps that Leo’s been so considerate, meeting me mostly in a group or at places Zander wouldn’t be likely to go. Hence why I’m shocked when I spot him tonight in his usual place in the kitchen, elbow on the counter and eyes scanning the crowd.

Heart pounding, I make straight for him. “Are you insane? What are you doing here?” Luckily Zander is out back, taking his turn manning the keg.

“Don’t worry,” Leo says, drinking me in with his eyes. “I’m not staying. I just wanted to see you.”

“Here?” There are a million other places we could’ve gotten together. Why in god’s name would he come to O-Chi?

He turns up his hands. “Where else am I guaranteed to find you?”

“Uh. My dorm room?”

“Your roommate doesn’t care for me.”

And Zander does? Leo’s not making any sense. It’s almost like he has a death wish, a need to push Zander’s buttons.

No. To push mine .

This man loves to drag me out of my comfort zone.

“If Zander sees you here?—”

“I’m not worried about Zander.”

“Well, I am.” I’m the one who’ll pay the most if there’s a confrontation.

Leo’s expression softens. “I promise you, he won’t see me.” With a hand on my elbow, he nudges me into the nearby pantry. “Better?”

No, because it’s so cramped in here, our bodies touch. And like some sort of cruel joke, his eyelashes are catching the light coming in around the cracked door. The door anyone could open at any time.

“I know the break was only three weeks,” he says, “but it felt like forever.”

I can’t argue with him there.

He adds, “That’s a lot of time with your family and your boyfriend.”

I stiffen. “What’s your point?”

“I’m just wondering if you’re still the same girl I left in December.”

“And what girl is that?”

“Not this one.” He’s so close I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. “You’re trying to be two different people, Betts, and only one of them is who you really are.”

Ironic words, considering he has two sides, too.

There’s the easy-going Leo, the one who relaxes beside me and reads for hours, the one who can coolly stare down my hostile, jealous boyfriend.

And then there’s the Leo who recklessly, persistently, pursues his obsessions.

He devours books and neglects his coursework, chases down mysteries, and comes and goes without consideration—like no rules apply to him.

And this, the latter, is the Leo I’m trapped in the pantry with.

Coolly, I remind him, “You really need to get out of here.” I push against his chest, but where is there for him to go?

“So do you.” He grabs me by the waist like he’s going to drag me out with him.

“Leo—”

“You know I’m right.”

I know sometimes he frustrates the hell out of me.

You’re clairsentient.

You deserve friends who understand you.

You’re not an ornament.

Leo is the reason I’m split in two. With all his questions and experiments and pushiness! For god’s sake, I’m not going to cut myself off from everything I know just because I’m psychic. Why can’t I just enjoy a party in peace?

When I brush his hands away, he hisses, “You’re more than this.”

No, I’m not. I’m a tipsy girl in a dusty pantry stocked with ramen noodles, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and boxed mac and cheese. I’m no different from the people on the other side of that door, laughing and shouting over the music, looking to get drunk, laid, or both. This is who I am.

“What do you want me to do?” I whisper-yell. “Just walk out of here with you and never come back?”

I’m floored when he says simply, “Yes.”

“You know I can’t do that!”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because this is my life!”

He takes hold of my chin. “I’m going to say it again—you’re more than this.”

I growl his name, ready to rip out my hair—or, better yet, his—when he shoves open the door and exposes us both to the light. I yank away from him and stumble out into the kitchen.

“Hey!” Zander emerges from the crowd, wearing a grin. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. What were you doing in the pantry?”

Oh god. I reach for the counter as the blood rushes from my head. Don’t come out yet, Leo. Please. I can’t deal with a fistfight.

“Easy there, babe.” Zander rounds the island and takes me in his arms. “I leave you for ten minutes and you drink half the cooler.” He’s amused. Giggly. With relief, I realize he’s stoned. Baked Zander is almost impossible to piss off.

Over my shoulder, I see Leo slipping past, heading for the exit. I wipe the fear from my face and turn my attention back to Zander. Shit, his eyes are directed at the kitchen door. I grab him by the face and kiss him, so hard he chuckles low in his throat, and thrusts his tongue in my mouth.

When his kisses shift to my neck, I steal one last peek behind me. Just in time to see Leo’s broad back as he disappears out the door. I’m braced for Zander’s rage, but he never stops gripping my rear end and humming against my neck. Is he that far gone? How did he not see Leo?

Zander gives me a wink and a grin. “You wanna go upstairs?”

Yes. No. Oh god, I don’t know. I’m so confused I want to scream.

He’s carrying a water bottle full of something that is definitely not water. I reach for it. “Can I?”

“Knock yourself out.”

I down half of it.

“Whoa. Careful, babe. There’s grain in that.”

I hand the bottle back to him, coughing to clear the fire out of my throat. “Let’s go downstairs for a bit.”

Zander shrugs and leads the way.

Among the clammy, pulsing crowd, I find Liv dancing with Jenna and some of the other girls. “Where’s Braden?” I ask her.

She tosses her hair. “How should I know? I’m not his babysitter.”

Uh oh. An hour ago, they were making out on the couch. Liv may not be Braden’s babysitter, but I’m appointing myself hers. I’m glad to have something to focus on that has nothing to do with me. I join in on the dancing and wait for Zander’s water-bottle cocktail to knock me off my feet.

Somehow, through the stench of sweat and mold, I catch the scent of lilies. Maybe I’m clair…nasalent? Scent-ient? I giggle to myself. But when the lily smell grows stronger, it occurs to me who’s approaching.

I scramble to get a hold of Liv, hoping we can hide deeper in the crowd, but I’m too late. Peyton steps right up to us and flashes us her supermodel smile.

“Oh, hello,” she says, as if she hasn’t been stalking us.

“Hey.” I squeeze Liv’s arm and she squeaks out a “Hi.”

Peyton asks, “How are you?”

“Good,” I mumble. “How are you?”

“Great. Did you have a good Christmas? ”

“Yeah. You?” I don’t know what Liv is doing, but she’s not talking.

“Oh, very nice, very nice. Are you two ready for Rush next week?”

I nod as I watch Peyton’s eyes slant to Zander. Her smile broadens. No doubt he just winked at her. He’s putting in his plug for me, and considering his status among KPT, it’ll work like a charm. But probably not for Liv.

“Well, good luck.” Peyton pats Liv’s arm. “To you both .” And before I can strangle or kick her, she disappears into the crowd.

I whip around to Liv, prepared to vent our shared fury, but she’s smiling and bouncing on her toes.

“Did you hear that?” she gushes. “She wished me good luck! See, I told you she’s not mad anymore.”

I gape in disbelief. “But…but…” How could she not see through Peyton’s pasted-on smile?

“Ooo. This is going to be so great!”

I grab her shoulders. “Liv?—”

Her beautiful brown eyes shine with happiness, and her smile, a thousand times prettier than Peyton’s, lights up the whole dark basement.

Am I being paranoid? Oversensitive. Maybe this whole psychic thing has gone to my head and I’m seeing undertones where there aren’t any. Liv could know something I don’t, something Braden told her.

I let go of my reservations. For now. But I’ll be going into Rush next week with both eyes wide open, one for me and one for my best friend.