Page 30 of Dream On

She eyes it like it’s a steaming sack of dog shit, then looks up at me like I’m no better. “Listen to me,” she says, pushing her sunglasses back in place. “I’mletting Lexington indulge this need to feel ‘normal’ for now. But just because I’m allowing him to slum it at your little rural public school for a year doesn’t mean he should be wasting his time on some silly high school musical or spending his days with someone like you.”

She wrenches the book bag from my grip.

And slams the door in my face.

I’m a stone statue on his doorstep, my heart beating a mile a minute, my insides shriveling with shame.

Someone like me.

Poor, homely, and underwhelming.

With a stinging knot of indignity burning a hole in my throat, I find my footing and step off the porch step, beelining toward my bike. Everything blurs through a glaze of tears. Her words echo like a cruel mantra I can’t escape.

I’m hauling myself onto the bike with shaking legs when a figure comes jogging down the driveway from the side of the house.

Lex.

He does a double take when he spots me, his eyes rounding to volatile spheres.

I try to move faster, try to situate my feet on the pedals—because he can’t see me like this—but the soles of my shoes have no traction, and I sag in place like a beaten-down rag doll.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

My mortification morphs into white-hot anger. “Your mom has your backpack. I was just leaving.”

He runs the rest of the way toward me and plants both palms on the handlebars, halting my retreat.

“Let me go.” Tears betray me, gliding down my cheeks and making me feel small. I try to shimmy the bike from his grip, but he holds tight. “I have to go,” I force out.

“What did she say to you?”

“Nothing you haven’t already implied.”

His fingers curl around the handles. “How did you get my address?”

“Just let me go, Lex. I—” My gaze lifts, finally landing on the side of his facewhere blood dribbles from his ear. Eyes flaring wide, I freeze, my pulse kicking up speed. “What happened?”

Lex frowns at me, his entire body vibrating.

Then he blinks, swiping his arm along the side of his head, his shirtsleeve coming back red. Swallowing, he stares at the stain for a beat before slowly looking back to me with an expression I’ve never seen before. Panic, fusing with anger.

I can’t fight my instincts. I jump off the bike and let it tip sideways, my hand extending to his face.

He shoves my arm away, takes a full step back. “You can’t tell anyone about this. Not a single fucking soul. Do you hear me?”

“What…” I try to reach for him again, but he dodges me. “Lex, tell me what happened.”

“Tell me why you’re here, at my goddamn house.”

His rage is a loaded gun, his words bullets. “I told you…I was bringing you your backpack. You left it by the tree.” I swallow, trying to rein in my unsteady breaths. “Your script.”

“My script.” His tone softens marginally but does nothing to minimize the hurricane in his eyes. Then he pivots away, putting his back to me, and tugs on his hair with both hands.

He’s hurt.

He’s clearly been struck by something.

When his mother’s bruised face flashes back to mind, all I can think of is…