Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
The door of Connor’s classroom was covered in blue and yellow butcher paper, festooned with glittery winged shoes, and phrases of encouragement for the cross-country team written in sharpie.
Crane Cove High School was bigger than he’d expected, but still much smaller than any of the schools he’d shot in in Los Angeles. Connor’s classroom was at the end of a hallway and, at a glance, was across from a math class. He could feel the misery exiting the room in waves.
Connor’s door was open and his room was empty, just like Mallory said it would be at this time.
Peter knocked on the doorframe carefully so he wouldn’t spill the coffee he’d brought as a peace offering.
Connor looked up from the papers he was grading and frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“Bringing you coffee,” Peter said innocently, holding up the cup as proof. “Can I interrupt your prep period?”
“You already did.” Connor put down his red pen and motioned for Peter to come inside. “What do you need?”
“Who said I needed anything?”
Connor gave Peter a look that possibly worked on rowdy teenagers but definitely worked on him. He put the coffee he’d brought on the corner of his desk, then boosted himself onto the top of a student desk.
There wasn’t any point in beating around the bush, so Peter laid it out, plain and simple.
“You don’t like me, and I want to know why.”
Connor popped the lid off the coffee and peeked inside before taking a cautious sip. Satisfied with the contents, he took a longer drink, keeping one eye on Peter the entire time, like he’d vandalize the classroom while Connor was distracted.
“You really want to know why I don’t like you?”
“Wouldn’t bother asking if I didn’t.”
Connor sighed and leaned back in his desk chair. “Because you’re going to end up breaking Sybil’s heart.”
Peter opened his mouth to protest, and Connor held up a hand to silence him. It worked, because he closed his mouth to listen. No one ever scored points by arguing with the person they were trying to win over.
“You don’t see what I see. You don’t see how she looks at you when you’re not looking. I’ve known Sybil since we were seventeen, and I have never once seen her look at someone the way she looks at you. And maybe you won’t mean to hurt her, but you will. You’ll leave her alone in a room full of people she doesn’t know. You’ll give her cause to doubt your faithfulness, and that will be splashed across the pages of a magazine for everyone to see. Sybil is a very private person, and you’re very…loud.” Connor pursed his lips. “The doubt, the worry, the fear that she’s not enough for your oversized life will eat at her day by day until she’s nothing. She’s the strongest person I know, but even strong people have their breaking points, and I see you being hers.”
“That’s it?” Peter asked .
Connor’s eyebrows raised.
“You don’t think I’m cruel, dishonest, manipulative, or abusive. I can handle you thinking I’m feckless because I know that’s not true and eventually you’ll believe me. Truthfully, I’m worried I’m not enough for her. She’s smart, ambitious, resourceful, loyal. I can’t even cook eggs. I’ve been staying at her place, and sometimes I fight sleep because I’m scared she’ll realize I don’t bring anything to the table except for unwavering devotion and she’ll leave me in the middle of the night.”
“She wouldn’t leave her own house,” Connor assured him. “She’d kick you out.”
And for the first time, he grinned at Peter.
“I still don’t like you.”
“That’s fine. You’ll get there. Drink your coffee.”
Connor took a sip. “Did Sybil tell you my order?”
“Actually, no. I got it from Mallory. Same with when your free period was and where your classroom was. Speaking of Mallory, I’ve planned a game night tonight, and I’m inviting you. Really quiet. You, me, Sybil, and Mallory.”
Connor’s cup stalled halfway to his mouth.
“It’ll be fun. You’ll hardly notice I’m there.”
“Yeah, that’s a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“Remember how Sybil is very private? If you don’t know, then it’s not my dirty laundry to put on the line, but trust me.”
Peter hopped off the desk. “I’ve got wine and Sam drew me a diagram for a charcuterie board since that doesn’t involve heating anything up, so I will see you at seven.”
“Are you just going to ignore my warning?” Connor asked.
“Like a group of teenagers stopping at a creepy gas station in a horror movie.”
“That’s a lot of meat for four people,” Sybil said, stealing a piece of salami from the tray Peter was arranging.
“That’s something you’d never hear in porn.” Peter shooed her hand away when she tried to snag another piece. “Stop trying to touch my meat.”
“Definitely something you’d never hear in porn.” She grinned at him, and while he was distracted by the dazzling glimmer in her eyes, she poached another piece of salami.
“Thief!”
She put a hand on his chest and tilted her head to the side, looking at him from under her lashes. “If you cancel this game night right now, I’ll put your meat in my mouth later.”
He was sorely tempted.
“Mallory and Connor are already setting up the board.”
Sybil rolled her eyes and backed away. From the floor, Agatha chirped, like she couldn’t understand how both of her humans could be in one room and neither of them were petting her. Sybil scooped her up and scratched her behind the ear.
“Your daddy doesn’t have the sense he was born with,” she cooed to the cat. “He even picked Monopoly.”
“It’s the only board game you own.”
“Only because I forgot I had it, otherwise I would’ve thrown it out.” Sybil kissed the top of Agatha’s furry head and headed for the front room, where Mallory and Connor were supposed to be setting up the Monopoly board.
And they were, in a way. If setting up the Monopoly board involved repeated games of rock-paper-scissors over who got to be the car, they were absolutely setting up the board.
“Ah-ha!” Mallory raised her hands above her head, triumphant.
“That doesn’t count. You shot early. Redo.”
“I won the best of twelve,” Mallory said .
“Seven. You won seven of twelve,” Connor rebutted. “That’s basically a tie.”
Sybil reached between them and plucked the car from the tray. “My house, I pick first. Now neither of you get the car.”
“I call banker!” they shouted at the same time.
Sybil looked up at the ceiling, like she was gathering strength from on high.
“Peter will be the banker, since he’s the closest thing we have to a neutral party in this house,” Sybil declared, and put Agatha in her cat tree, which dominated a corner of the room.
Peter put the charcuterie board down. “Is this a bad time to mention that I was homeschooled and not because I was a genius who needed to work at a faster pace?”
“There’s a calculator on your phone,” Sybil reminded him. She sat down and started to divide the colored paper bills into everyone’s starting stacks of fake cash.
It looked like he was banker in name only. He could handle being the bank’s figurehead.
Peter picked up the dog piece while Connor and Mallory picked up the hat and train, respectively. Then, they went around the group and rolled the dice to determine who got to move first. Mallory won, which made Sybil and Connor frown deeply.
On her first roll, she got a five and landed on the first railroad, which she purchased without a second of hesitation.
“That’s why I picked the train. I’m going to be the railroad baron.”
An hour later, Peter was teetering on bankruptcy.
He’d spent the majority of the game in jail. The Morgan-McMahon Rules of Monopoly dictated that a player could either stay in jail for three turns, or roll doubles to be set free. The catch was that if they rolled and didn’t land doubles, they had to pay a fine.
Peter hadn’t landed a double yet and was starting to think the dice were loaded.
Connor had a portfolio balanced between cash on hand and property. He’d managed to win a railroad out from under Mallory when, on one of his forays out of jail, Peter had landed on it and had decided against purchasing it because he had his eye on property further down the board that he had yet to land on. According to the Morgan-McMahon Rules of Monopoly, any property declined was then auctioned off to the other players. He didn’t know if it was a coordinated effort, but Connor and Sybil drove the price of the railroad to dizzying heights, but Connor hadn’t been watching Mallory’s purse close enough because she bowed out after Sybil did and left Connor on the hook.
Mallory was cash-poor but property-rich. If it wasn’t for Connor’s singular railroad, she would be the railroad baron. A few bad rolls by the rest of the group, and she’d have the cash she needed to start building on the cheap properties she’d been able to afford when she landed on them.
Sybil was sitting on a fat stack of cash. If Peter was a jailbird, she was queen of the community chest. All of his misroll fines had ended up directly in her pocket. If she could roll a six, she’d land on Pennsylvania Avenue, complete her acquisition of the green properties, and then they were all screwed because she had the capital to do major building.
“Blow on them,” Sybil said, holding the dice under Peter’s chin. Then she glanced at his money and curled her fist around the dice. “Actually, never mind.”
She jiggled the diced in her palm, then rolled them on the board.
A four and a two .
Mallory groaned. “You have all the fucking luck.”
Sybil slid her car across the spaces to Pennsylvania Avenue. “It’s not luck. It’s strategy. Maybe if you managed your money better, you wouldn’t have to rely on luck.”
“At least I take risks. We’ve been playing for an hour, and you just purchased your third property.”
“And how are your railroads working out for you?”
“I’d take advice from you, but when was the last time you won?” Mallory tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. Sybil didn’t answer. “Exactly. You play it safe, and you lose.”
If Peter had a time machine, he would have gone back to exactly that moment and intervened.
“Am I losing? I have a house, a business, and a retirement account. What do you have? Three part-time jobs and a passport?”
“At least I live my life,” Mallory retorted. “You’re so scared of making a mistake you won’t move forward. You’re so stuck in your fucking rut that you can’t see a good thing right in front of you.”
“I’m not moving forward with my life?” Sybil shouted. “You can’t stick around long enough to acquire any grown-up responsibilities! And the ones you do have, I take care of!”
“I never asked you to do that!” Mallory shouted back.
“What was I supposed to do? Let the registration on your vehicle lapse six years ago? Because that’s the last time you renewed your tabs.”
“Yes! Because it was my problem. You didn’t do it to be nice, you did it so you could lord it over me. ‘Mallory fucked up again, I’m such a good person for saving her.’ I’m so sick of being fodder for your savior complex. You think you know better than everyone, but you’re full of shit.”
“You gave me a savior complex because someone had to save you from yourself. Do you know how much easier my life would’ve been— would be —if I wasn’t constantly worried about you?” Sybil threw her hands in the air. “I’m sorry making sure you didn’t go to jail or die was such a fucking hardship for you .”
Sybil shoved herself to her feet and stormed out of the room, her steps pounding up the stairs. Mallory followed suit, but she marched out the front door, slamming it behind her.
Connor sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment and frustration.
“I told you this was a bad idea.”
He got up, but instead of going up the stairs to comfort his best friend, he slipped on his shoes, grabbed his coat, then picked up Mallory’s shoes before heading out the front door.
“Mal…”
A lot of information that had been uselessly floating around in the back of Peter’s mind suddenly fitted together.
Connor had feelings for Mallory.
“Oh…shit…” Peter breathed, blinking a few times as he assimilated the information.
At least if Connor ever tried to convince Sybil to leave him, it wouldn’t be to take his place.
Peter knocked tentatively on Sybil’s door frame. Her door was three-quarters shut, like she’d run out of rage-fueled steam before she was able to slam the door.
“Go away,” she whispered.
Peter ignored her and slipped inside. Maybe he wasn’t so good at following directions.
Sybil sat on her bed, back to the door, her shoulders sagged, like her entire body was frowning. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.
“I thought I told you to go away.”
Peter sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her sad shoulders. “I’m not going to do that.”
Sybil melted into him, her body conforming to his edges. “Sorry we ruined your game night.”
“If I’d known it was going to be the start of a very cathartic family therapy session, I would have catered differently,” he joked and squeezed her shoulders. “Can you explain what just happened so I don’t accidentally trigger the minefield again?”
She sighed, curling inwards on herself more. “We had a really shitty childhood. I don’t know if Mallory understands how shitty because I’ve always done my best to protect her. She’s my little sister. That’s my job.” She sniffed, then wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Our mom?—”
Her voice cracked on “mom,” and it would have hurt less if she’d driven a knife through one of his ribs to stab him in the heart.
“Our mom wasn’t a stable person. Nothing was ever good enough for her. We were never good enough for her. I don’t know what her vision of motherhood looked like, but we weren’t it, so she mostly ignored us. I figured out a lot faster than Mallory that she didn’t give a shit. Mallory tried so hard all through elementary school to make her proud. Student of the month, spelling bee champion, academic awards. None of it mattered. Whatever boyfriend she had at the time was more important.” Sybil’s hollow laugh sent icy shivers down his spine. “She hoed for a home. Lots of stepdaddies. But she was never satisfied with her life, so we moved a lot. Fresh city, fresh start, fresh dating pool.”
She pushed her face into his neck, and he felt her hot tears slide silently into the collar of his shirt. The quietness filled the space while he waited patiently for Sybil to gather herself together to continue, all the while stroking her shoulder.
“We got harder to ignore as we got older. Or Mallory got harder to ignore. I was happy to fly under the radar and be left alone. But Mallory liked to see how hard she had to push to get a reaction. I think the only reason she didn’t fail classes on purpose was because she liked doing sports. I really think if we hadn’t come here, Mallory would’ve ended up in juvie.”
“Which stepdaddy brought you here?” Peter asked, finally daring to speak.
“None of them, actually. The last guy before we came here was a little too interested in me and Mallory. I refused to give him the time of day, but sometimes Mallory would flirt to annoy our mom. And one night, I was in the kitchen making myself a sandwich because I’d been sent to my room without dinner, and I heard footsteps in the hall. I don’t know why I grabbed the big knife, but I had a bad feeling. And I caught him at Mallory’s door, trying to pick the lock. I told her to lock her door at night, and for once she fucking listened. I held the tip of the knife against his dick and told him if he so much as blinked in my sister’s direction again, I’d cut off all his favorite body parts, starting with that one.”
This time when she laughed, it had a manic edge.
“He peed his pants.”
Her laugh dissolved into a singular sob.
“He kicked us out. And for once, our mom didn’t have an exit strategy, so we came here to live with her sister, who we’d never met. There was a moment when we were carrying our clothes inside that I thought maybe this time, without a man, she’d finally be happy.” She sighed. “Two weeks into living here, we came home from school and she’d left a note on the fridge giving Aunt Faye custody of us. I don’t think you could get away with that now, but you could then. She didn’t even stick around to say goodbye or explain herself.”
Peter didn’t think his heart could break anymore for the women he loved, but the shards shattered into dust.
“I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
Sybil shook her head. “No—I mean, it is fucking awful because who fucking does that? But with some distance I can see now it was the best thing she could have done for us. Aunt Faye never wanted to be a mother either, she didn’t know what to fucking do with us, but she at least tried . And we got Bitsy and Greg, who treated us like their own kids. I just…I just wish Mallory saw me differently. I wish she liked me more. I wish she knew that when she thinks I’m nagging her, it’s because I love her and I want what’s best for her and I’m so fucking frustrated watching her waste her potential.”
Peter pressed his lips against the top of her head. “I knew that you were brave and strong, but fuck.” He wrapped his other arm around her and hugged her tightly, afraid she’d try and slip away to avoid her own vulnerability. “I don’t have any siblings, so I can’t pretend to know how any of this feels, but have you tried talking to her about any of this?”
“We’d just end up fighting again. I don’t know how to talk to her anymore without it ending like this.” Sybil picked at a loose string on her sleeve.
“Do you want advice, or do you want me to be silently supportive?”
A watery laugh escaped her lips. “You don’t know how to be silent.”
“It might kill me, but I’d do it for you.”
She laughed again, then hiccupped. “What advice do you have?”
“Well, after years of therapy to keep my head on straight, I feel like you’ve got some options. You both wave the white flag, sit down, and have an open, honest, vulnerable conversation with each other about how you feel and what you want. Or you put on some headgear and boxing gloves, get in a ring, and wail on each other until you’re too tired to shout, and then talk.”
“Is there a third option?”
“Yes. You do nothing, nothing changes, and you feel like this for the rest of your life.”
She groaned. “I don’t like any of those.”
“My personal favorite is door number one.”
She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes.
“You don’t have to do it tonight,” Peter said, “but you should do it soon. This only gets worse if you keep letting it fester.”
She huffed and pouted. “I don’t like it when you’re right.”