14. Zoey
14
Zoey
G ently pressing a kiss to the photo of me as a child in the hospital, I pull the frame away and glance down at the little version of me. “Wish me luck,” I say, the nerves pounding through my body and making me want to hurl.
Monday mornings suck at the best of times, but this is the first Monday morning after Liam’s disastrous party that I’ll see Noah, and I can’t think of anything worse. Friday night started out great. It was fun . . . until it wasn’t.
Having at least twenty cheap cocktails thrown on me wasn’t exactly the type of good time I was looking for. Though to be honest, I was drunk enough to be able to shrug off the humiliation. Had that happened any earlier in the night, I would have crumbled right there on the dance floor. The fact that it happened right in front of Noah didn’t help. Not to mention his inability to be the hero I always needed him to be. But it wouldn’t be Shannan if she didn’t strive for maximum effect.
Forcing him into the bathroom to tear him to shreds was one thing, but the walk home was pure torture. I shouldn’t have said anything about that day at the park three years ago. I don’t know what I was trying to achieve. Maybe I wanted to see if he remembered, or maybe I just needed to remind him how it used to be. But hearing him recite those words killed me. He remembers it all just as deeply as I do, and despite that, he’s still capable of denying that I mean a damn thing to him, and I think that’s what hurts the most.
Had he forgotten it all or buried it so deep that it was impossible to recall, I might be able to understand how he could so easily push me away. But it’s right there for him, tormenting his mind in the same way it does mine, yet I need him now more than ever. I don’t understand how he can keep pushing me away when he still feels it. He can deny it all he likes, but I heard it in his broken tone as I watched the agony drive him to his knees in the quiet street. The idea of hurting me is killing him inside, but maybe that’s what he needs. I think he wants to feel numb to our past because the memory of his brother is woven intricately through each memory of us, and if he lets even a sliver of light shine through the darkness, he’d be left to deal with Linc’s death, and I don’t think he’s even a little bit ready to come to terms with it.
All I know is that when it comes to Noah Ryan, tiptoeing around the issue isn’t going to work. He needs to be pushed to the edge and then thrown right over. I need to make him break, but he’s not going to do that easily, and he’s sure as hell isn’t going to allow me to lead him there.
I have to force this, and I have to bring him to me to make it happen. But that’s not going to be easy. Noah Ryan has never been easy to navigate, but if anyone can do it, it’s me. At least, I hope it’s me. If some other girl is holding a piece of his heart hostage, it’s going to destroy me. How could he let another where I belong? I’ve never even been remotely interested in dating or sex because, for me, it’s always been Noah.
Am I saving myself for him? Maybe. I don’t know. The thought of being intimate with him like that . . . wow. I can’t even think about it without goosebumps spreading across my skin. I know there’s something special there, and I just hope he has the strength to claw his way back to me because, despite how much I want to hate him right now, we both know that we belong together.
I fear I’m his last shot, and I hate the thought of this monster he’s allowing himself to become. That’s not the real him. He’s sweet and caring . . . mostly. He was always an asshole with a mean streak, but never to me. His popularity forced him to be like that, learning how to keep people at arm’s length when they wanted to use him for a step up in the world.
Putting the photo frame back down on my desk, I let out one last shaky breath before reminding myself that I’m stronger than any of the bullshit. Anything Noah, Shannan, or the rest of the cheerleaders can throw at me means nothing, and the only reason they continue to torture me is because they’re still trying to break me, but it won’t happen. Not today at least.
Grabbing my things, I race downstairs, pleased to find Hazel already waiting by the door for me. “What took so long?” she says, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “We’re going to be late.”
“Not if I can help it,” I say, flying out the door with Hazel on my six.
After quickly locking the door behind me, we scurry to the car, and within seven minutes, we’re pulling up at Hazel’s school with barely seconds to spare. She races through the front gates, and I hit the gas, only having a few minutes to get my ass to school.
Pulling into the East View High parking lot, I search for a space and find only one available—right next to Noah’s matte black Camaro.
Great. I thought I could turn today around with my glowing pep talk this morning, but deep down, I knew today was going to be a disaster. I’ve barely put my Range Rover in park when I hear the bell sound through the school, and I suck in a breath. “Ah, crap,” I mutter, grabbing my things and flying out of the car.
I hurry through the front gates and into the school, finding most of the students already well on their way to homeroom. Having barely seconds to spare, I quickly stop at my locker and key in my code before tearing the door open and scrambling through my things.
“HOLY SHIT,” I hear Tarni from right down the other end of the hallway. “YOU’RE ALIVE!”
My head whips up, and I catch the slightest glimpse of her grinning at me, walking backward before disappearing around the corner. I laugh to myself. I didn’t exactly stop to say goodbye to the girls on Friday night before stupidly taking off from the party with a stalker, and in hindsight, that probably wasn’t the smartest choice to make. If Noah hadn’t made sure I got home alright, who knows what could have happened to me. My dad made sure to remind me of that bright and early Saturday morning, drilling into me the dangers of drinking and how stupid it was to leave the party without a safe way home. To be honest, I think he was hurt that I didn’t even think about calling him to come be my hero.
I felt sorry for myself all day Saturday and then spent Sunday with Mom and Hazel and never got a chance to text the girls, but now that I think of it, I don’t think I ever got a message from any of them asking where I’d gone on Friday night, not even on Saturday making sure I was alright.
That realization has a pang of hurt residing in my chest, but I don’t have time to dwell on it now.
“Get to homeroom,” Principal Daniels says to the few stragglers still lingering in the hall.
I cringe and get a move on, making it to homeroom just moments before the door closes behind me. Letting out a sigh of relief, I drop into my seat and as Mrs. Pembroke goes through attendance, my mind spins, trying to figure out how the hell I can bring Noah to me.
I need to get him alone, trap him, and force him to talk.
So far, every time we’ve been alone, I’ve been on the defense, coming at him with hurt and anger, but clearly that isn’t working. Though there’s no doubt that I’m starting to break through his walls. The stranger I saw in the student office last Monday never would have followed me home, or maybe he would have, and I was just too blinded by my own pain that I couldn’t see that.
Either way, this isn’t going to be easy.
I spend the day in a haze, staring out windows and zoning out when the whispers and snickers hit me in the hallway. For the most part, Shannan and her tribe of assholes leave me alone today, but there’s no mistaking the word trash that seems to follow me around the school like a bad smell.
My day passes in a blur of schoolwork, and during lunch, I sit with the girls. My mind is too preoccupied to hold a conversation, but they don’t seem to notice I’m even here, and honestly, I’m starting to question why I even bother.
The end-of-lunch bell sounds through the school, and just as I stand from the table, watching Noah walk out of the cafeteria, it hits me.
I know exactly how to force him to me, and it’s probably the most moronic thing I could ever think of. Maybe even dumber than getting drunk at a party and trying to walk home alone.
No. No, this is too stupid. Too risky. I can’t. Scratch that. I’ll go back to the drawing board.
But then . . . shit.
I have to. What other choice do I have? I have to push him while I still can because if I leave this too long, he’s going to fall in with the people here and then seeing me every day will get easier. I need to strike while those old memories and feelings are swirling around in his head. I can’t risk giving them a chance to settle. I can’t risk this becoming our new normal.
Making my way out of the cafeteria, I walk to my locker, my gaze set on Noah down the hall, wondering how the hell I’m going to pull this off. Though one thing is for sure, it’s going to have to wait until after school. There’s no way I’ll get away with doing this now.
My hands start to shake, and I force the plan to the back of my mind, needing to concentrate on my last two classes before the end of the day.
Nerves pulse through my body, and despite my need to focus and actually learn something, all I seem to be able to do is stare at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. By the end of my last class, a bead of sweat is trailing down my spine, and I’ve almost convinced myself to bail on the plan, but I keep reminding myself that this isn’t for my twisted enjoyment, despite how exciting it might be. I need to do this to help Noah. At least that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself. I mean, the fact that it’s going to get him where it hurts is kind of nice too. It’s going to be the sweetest victory. Assuming I can pull it off, of course.
Not knowing how long this might take, I pull my phone out and hold it discreetly beneath my desk before shooting a text to Hazel.
Zoey: I’m going to be a while! Could you catch the bus?
Hazel: The bus? Gross! Worst chauffeur ever!
Zoey: I am not your chauffeur!!!!
Hazel: That’s not what Mom says!
Zoey: You’re such a brat! Can you catch the bus or not?
Hazel: I suppose so.
Zoey: Perfect. I’ll see you at home.
Putting my phone away, I concentrate on the last few minutes of class, furiously taking notes, knowing the second I’m out of here, everything the teacher has said is going to fall straight out of my brain. Then as the bell sounds for the end of school, a vicious wave of anxiety cripples me, my chest heaving with nerves.
I remain in my seat as the students pack up and bail around me, my hands gripping the sides of my desk, not sure if I have the lady balls to pull this off. If I get caught . . .
This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.
Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap on a cracker.
“Everything alright, Zoey?” my biology teacher, Ms. Lennon asks, her bag slung over her shoulder, more than ready to get out of here. Though I suppose she can’t leave while there’s still a freaking-out teen taking up residence in her classroom.
I swallow over the lump in my throat and force a smile. “Umm, yes,” I say, my tone wavering and making it clear that I am anything but alright. “All good.”
Ms. Lennon’s brows furrow, and she watches me a little too closely as I scramble to pack up my things and get to my feet. “If there’s anything you need to talk about, or just need a friend, my door is always open,” she says, following me out of the classroom and pulling the door closed behind her before searching for her keys. “You know that, right?”
My forced smile shifts into a real one as fondness spreads through my chest. I’ve noticed the teachers watching me ever since the whole trash thing started in the cafeteria last Tuesday. I think they’re waiting for me to break, but either way, it’s nice of her to offer. “Thank you,” I tell her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ms. Lennon gives me a wide smile, and with that, I take off, knowing it’s now or never. I can only hope this crazy little stunt doesn’t end with a pair of handcuffs strapped tightly around my wrists.