Page 15

T URNS OUT, SLEEPING IS REALLY challenging when you find out your sister’s popularity has been partially due to her being the school’s go-to for pills. There’s a whole legal mess my mom clearly doesn’t want to dig into and “thank God she’s a minor” comes up about a hundred times, but the tl;dr is there was a deal on the table for Sierra to attend rehab and it was now or never. Which I guess does kind of put them not attending Parents’ Weekend in perspective.

But it still feels like ass.

The worst part is that I actually want to talk to Sierra now, to find out what the hell was going through her mind, and how exactly this fit into everything she did to me. Did Craig know? Did Claire? Were either of them using with her? I would be 0 percent shocked to find out Craig’s loser gamer friends were customers.

My brain is bursting with questions and expletives and more questions, and I break my rule again and look through Sierra’s posts, and Claire’s, and Sierra’s friends’, and I see nothing, except then I realize I do see one change, which is that I don’t see pictures of Sierra at all. Pictures I know existed on her friends’ pages are gone. Plausible deniability, I think, and I almost feel bad for her.

I don’t know what her life is going to look like when she comes back. I don’t know how she got caught in the first place—my mom didn’t offer, and I didn’t ask. There’s definitely some irony in that I took the ticket out she’s probably going to wish she had, but she has no one else to blame for that. Saving your sister from herself is strictly a Salem Grayson move, I guess.

Then again, Sabrina doesn’t know what really happened, and neither do I; maybe Sierra was saving me from a life I shouldn’t have been living. I mean, it is because of her that I’m here, that I got a fresh start at romance and friendship and making a name for myself. And for once, it’s not her fault that I’m hovering somewhere around a C+ at it all.

I argue with myself for hours about whether it’s worth reaching out to someone to get some answers, watching the clock move like molasses when my eyes are on it, then way too quickly when I look away. I’m tired, but I won’t be getting any rest at all until I can get some of this off my chest. If only I kept a diary.

Then I hear it, the slight creaking above me that means either Matt or Salem is up and about. I look at the clock, and see that it’s a little past three in the morning. Probably just a quick bathroom trip. But the urge to talk to someone is so great, I feel it with the same desperate ache I felt wanting Salem to hug me.

It’s sad, and it’s pathetic, but I just need a friend.

I slide into my slippers—designed to look like aces of spades, naturally—and creep upstairs, not particularly worried about being caught by Hoffman at this hour. But my hopes of catching Matt or Salem in the hallway are dashed when I see their door is closed; apparently, no one left the room after all. I stand there, staring at it, willing it to open, but there’s nothing other than silence, and no way I’m knocking.

My entire body deflates as I turn to go back downstairs, and then, miraculously, I hear the knob behind me turn.

“Evie?” Salem says on a yawn.

I whirl around, and see him leaning against the doorway in a pair of black drawstring pants and… nothing. It never in a million years would’ve occurred to me that Salem Grayson sleeps shirtless, and the fact that he does and that I am staring at a wall of lean muscle is very unsettling. “Hi,” I say, because I have to say something, and also I have to look up into his eyes. His eyes, which look sleepy and soft and a little concerned, long lashes slightly fluttering, and all of this is very confusing.

It is really not a good time to be noticing any of this.

“Hi?” He scratches his chest, giving me permission to glance again. It’s not a broad chest, or a particularly defined one, and yet. The urge to feel it under my palm is obnoxiously strong. “It’s like three A.M. ”

“I know. Sorry. I just… I’ve been having a really weird night, and I was dying to talk to someone, and then I heard you moving, so I figured I’d see if you were up. But it’s really late. You probably wanna get back to bed. This was stupid.”

“Nah, I’ve been having a weird night too, and then I heard you skulking outside. You wanna come in?” He holds open the door. “Don’t worry—once Matt’s out, he can sleep through a zombie apocalypse. I’ve stuck so many things in his nose to test this theory.”

I smother my laughter in my hand and join Salem on his bed, curling my legs up underneath me in the corner while he sets his pillow behind his back and sits up to face me. “Are you okay?” I ask. “You know, before I dive into talking about my stupid shit for an hour.”

“Yeah, yeah. Also stupid shit, but not the kind worth talking about.”

I take him at his word, mostly because I’m about to break. “My sister’s in rehab. That’s why my parents weren’t here this weekend. They were checking her in.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. And I don’t even know how much she’s actually using or anything, but apparently, she was dealing, and this was part of the arrangement they made, along with her license getting suspended.” I fix him with a dark look. “Please tell me you were never that stupid.”

“No way, that would’ve been way too much work. My dealer was just one of the guys in my band back home.”

“You were in a band? God, I really did call it from the beginning. I can’t believe you lied about playing guitar. Who lies about that?”

“I didn’t lie about playing guitar; I said I wasn’t going to be giving an emo acoustic performance, and that my guitar’s name wasn’t Betty.”

“Okay, so what’s her name?”

He sniffs. “Janis.”

I burst into laughter, and Salem dives forward to cover my mouth with his hand. “Okay, I hadn’t considered that your laugh is louder than the zombie apocalypse,” he growls.

“Hmph.” I press my lips together to stop myself, but now I’m hyperaware that Salem and I are in his bed, touching, so close I can feel his body heat through my thin tank top.

I am not thrilled about noticing this, either.

Or that my next thought is that I could swipe my tongue out and lick his palm.

I don’t know if similar thoughts are running through his head—probably not, because unlike me, he is neither single nor deranged—but he releases me and backs away with a quickness, leaving me nothing to do but pretend to be offended by the entire exchange before we finally steer ourselves back to the conversation at hand.

“You did give an emo acoustic performance,” I point out, though I omit the fact that it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard in my life, because I don’t know how to begin to process that.

“I did,” he concedes with a sheepish smile, “but I honestly didn’t plan to at the time.” Now it’s his turn to furrow his brow at me. “Did any of this stuff with your sister have to do with why you ran out after it?”

God, it would be so easy to say yes, and even easier if it were the truth. Right now there are so many question marks in my brain and I really do not like where it leads when I try to come up with the answers.

Especially with this added shirtlessness component that’s making it a lot harder to ignore the creeping, inconvenient truth of my feelings.

But when school was just beginning, I talked myself into a stupid mistake with the wrong boy, and now Salem’s with the wrong girl, and this is why I cannot be trusted with my own heart, my own body, and God, are those tears, again ? How am I not completely dehydrated already?

“Evie?” Salem reaches out to place a hand on my knee, and while words and my brain can lie to me, the lightning that travels through my entire body at that contact can’t. “Hold on, let me get you some water.” I watch him grab a bottle from their little dorm fridge, and when he heads back toward me, my savior with drink in hand, it hits me like a cannonball to the gut.

The Knight of fucking Cups.

I am so stupid.

I am so, so stupid.

I have to get out of here.

“Thanks for the talk,” I babble, leaping off the bed, “but I’m good now. I’m gonna go to sleep. I’m sure I’ll be just fine. I—”

“Evie.” Salem looks down at the hand that was just on my knee, and back up at me in horror. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“No!” I blurt. “I mean, I know. Of course I know. You’re… I mean. I did not think that. Jenna! I mean, hi, I know about Jenna. You guys are great. So cute. Well, not cute, because she’s kind of a she-devil, but—”

“Evie.” Salem stands and slowly approaches like he’s trying to soothe a wild animal, and that’s how I feel, caged by this room and the sight of that bed and the fact that I want to pull him down into it and kiss his stupid emo face. He’s standing between me and the door, and I can’t bring myself to go any nearer, to get a closer glimpse of that concern, of those shoulders, of the way his pants are hanging way too low…

The rope ladder! How could I forget? This is the one room at Rumson that comes with its own alternate exit. I run to the window and grab it, trying to toss it over, but it’s heavier than it looks and not nearly as seamless a motion as when I’ve seen Matt do it. Stupid basketball biceps.

“Evie!” he whispers fiercely. “What are you doing? This is crazy.”

This is crazy. Where have I heard that before? Oh, yeah, when I went down to Craig’s basement to find him rolling around with my sister. Apparently, it was “crazy” to lose my temper at that, and “crazy” to throw his stupid video game controller at him. Crazy Evie, always overreacting.

And maybe this time I am, but I am just so tired of screwing things up. The way I hated Craig and Sierra in that moment is the way I hate myself now, for trying so hard to become someone else, and for what? To prove I could be as fun and spontaneous as my sister? To make myself desirable so I can keep falling for the wrong guys?

There will always be girls who are better people than I am, like Heather. And there will always be girls who can beat me, who can have everything they want—everything I want—like Jenna. And there will always be girls like Sierra, who’ll do anything to get their way, and mostly succeed.

But where in there do I fit? The girl who isn’t nice enough or fierce enough or compelling enough or just simply enough —

“Evie! You have to—”

Or smart enough to secure a fucking rope ladder is my last thought before I hit the ground and everything goes black.

What follows is total chaos that, between pain, drugs, and exhaustion, passes in a blur. By the time I wake up in the infirmary, the sun is high in the sky, my ankle is on ice and elevated, and all at once, the previous night floods back in a humiliating rush.

“Oh, thank fuck you’re up,” Sabrina says on an exhale, jumping up to peer into my eyes. “Are you okay? Do you know who you are?”

“Jesus, Sabrina, yes, I’m fine, thank you. At least I think I’m fine. How long have I been out?”

“A while, but some of that was the doctors keeping you out to deal with your ankle. Turns out it’s only a sprain, but they were worried it was dislocated.” She points to the corner of the room, where a pair of silver crutches stand. “You’ll have to be on those for a bit. Good thing you already have an accessible room, right?”

“How long have you been here?”

“Not that long—the doctors came in about ten minutes ago, which is the only reason I know anything. Salem had to get to class—he has a quiz—so he asked me to take over. No one gives a crap if I miss art.”

“Salem was here?”

“Wow, you really have been out,” she says with a tip of her head. “Salem’s the one who found you. Said he heard a thump outside that woke him up, and realized you’d fallen out of your window. Which raises the obvious question: What the hell were you doing falling out of your window?”

I register a whole lot of things at once, most importantly that this is the story we’re going with in order to keep Salem, me, and Matt out of trouble. And that’s fine with me—the last thing I need is anyone knowing where I really was last night. But I guess this is an element of the story Salem couldn’t make up for me, which means I have to come up with something believable, fast.

And it’s Sabrina, who, against whatever odds, has become my best friend at this school other than Salem, so I give her the truth. Well, most of it anyway.

The parts that don’t involve her brother and my realizing I’ve got a heinous crush on him, specifically.

When I’m done, Sabrina gives me a hug, and fills me in on this morning and the news spreading around campus. Apparently, some people think I was trying to off myself, which is just sad. Others think I was meeting someone outside, which is mostly funny, considering my access to tens of guys within my own dorm. To everyone, I’m pretty much that deranged klutz who fell out of her first-story window.

It’s all not great.

The nurse comes in and gives me the rundown of my care, tells me I’ll be staying there for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours so I can be monitored for a concussion and stay off my ankle until my parents pick me up to bring me to a specialist. Honestly, hiding away for a day or two sounds so good, I think they might expect a protest from me, but they don’t get one.

Then they tell me the dormmate who found me will be coming back later with my clothes, toothbrush, and whatever else I need.

Which means I have just a few hours to figure out how to talk to Salem again.

Sabrina leaves for her next class, telling me Heather plans to visit later, and I plaster a smile on my face as if that doesn’t make me want to put all my weight on my ankle right now just to black out again. I don’t have my phone or laptop or even a deck of cards, but I’m still plenty exhausted from last night, and woozy from what I assume are pain meds, so I let my eyelids flutter shut and hope I’ll just sleep through Heather’s visit.

When I wake up, Salem’s sitting in Sabrina’s seat.

“Hey,” he says, so softly I don’t even have a second to convince myself my feelings aren’t real. “You feeling any better?”

“Depends.” At the sound of my dry, raspy voice, Salem pours me a cup of water from the little plastic pitcher on the nightstand, and I take a sip before continuing. “Has ‘the Klutzy Slut’ caught on as a nickname for me yet?”

“It’s still being workshopped.”

“Oh, good.” I struggle to sit up, and Salem reaches out to help me, then thinks better of it and lets me do it alone. “I guess you guys got the ladder back up in time.”

“Yeah.” I expect a snarky follow-up, but none comes. He just looks… drained. “Fuck, Evie,” he mutters. “You fell out my window. I don’t know what I did, but—”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, and this time, I’m the one to grab his arm, even though I know I’ll regret it. “You were really, really nice to listen to me last night. This is all me. Crazy Evie,” I add through gritted teeth.

“You’re not crazy.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe I am. It wouldn’t be a brand-new nickname, even.”

He clicks his stubble-shaded jaw. “Ableism is shitty. And I’m guessing so’s your sister. Or your ex. Or both.”

“Both is good dot gif.”

“Is it weird that I hate everyone in your life?”

I snort. “I hope not, because so do I.” Except you. The thought spirals until a question occurs to me, and I hate myself for how much I’m about to sound like Lucas Burke, except that I’m going to keep it neutral—Salem’s answer is up to Salem. “Did you tell Jenna what really happened?”

He laughs dryly. “I didn’t have to. She broke up with me. Literally on my way here.”

“ What? God, Salem, I’m sorry.” I mean, selfishly, I’m not remotely sorry, but Salem deserves better than to be unceremoniously dumped because he happens to have befriended a freak. “What happened? Is it real, or is this, like, a silly miscommunication that will resolve over dinner? Because if she thinks anything untoward was happening in your room last night—”

“She doesn’t,” he assures me. “She doesn’t even know for sure that you were in my room, and she’s mad anyway.”

“What’s she mad about ?”

He shrugs. “She thinks I’m into you.”

Oh, Jenna, you sweet summer child . “Aaaand did you correct her?”

“What’s the point?” he asks, rolling his eyes. “It was gonna end soon anyway. I’m tired of being a secret fuck-buddy to someone I barely even like.”

I hadn’t realized how tightly wound every muscle and organ of my body was until I feel my chest loosen at that proclamation, and a laugh bursts from my throat. “Oh, thank God you just said that. The world finally makes sense to me again. I still have so many questions. ”

“Yeah, well, I have no great answers. I do, however, have your bag”—he pats the familiar backpack sitting on the floor next to him—“which has your phone, deck of cards, a book, and some clothes. Not gonna lie, it was fun choosing your underwear. I went with the heart print. It just said ‘healing’ to me.”

“Have I mentioned how much I hate you?”

“Not in the last ten minutes, which feels like a new record,” he says with a grin. “I gotta run again—they told me I can only stay for a couple of minutes, and then you need to eat lunch. I’ll come back with some visitors tonight, see if we can’t get a poker game going.”

“Sounds perfect.” We say our goodbyes, and the nurse wheels in a tray of some kind of pasta and obviously canned vegetables. Somehow, I don’t think the infirmary fare is the same stuff they’re serving at the Beast, but the convenience of being able to eat in bed is pretty great.

I’m just finishing separating out the lima beans when my brain flashes back to Salem telling me that Jenna broke up with him. I still can’t believe he let her dump him over something that isn’t even true. Okay, so he wasn’t exactly in love with her, but he must’ve been enjoying himself enough to stay with her until now, to sing that song to her. So why did he let her, instead of denying it? Why didn’t he just say she was being ridiculous?

Unless… she wasn’t?

“As if that’s how things work out in my life,” I mutter as I stab my spork into a noodle. “He told me exactly why he didn’t tell her the truth, and it didn’t leave a lot of room for interpretation.” These pain drugs are good, but clearly, they inspire way too much wishful thinking.

Unless…

Oh, shut up, I tell myself, and I pull out the deck of cards and shut my brain off completely.