Chapter 26
It’s been a few weeks since the incident with Silas and Archer, and somehow… things are pretty normal again. Well, mostly. Silas isn’t bullying me anymore, which I’m definitely okay with. In fact, he’s been texting me every morning.
Sometimes it’s just a simple “good morning.”
Sometimes it’s a picture. His coffee mug, the neighbor’s cat perched dramatically on the stone wall outside his bedroom window, or… other morning things.
Yeah. Those things.
“Oh, someone just got their good morning text, huh?” Evan laughs through the phone.
“Oh hush,” I groan, rolling my eyes.
We’ve been video chatting a lot lately. I mean, we always did when I wasn’t allowed to leave the house, but now that we’re so far apart, it’s become our thing.
He’s usually my wake-up call. Then I get my text from Silas.
Then Evan teases me about it. It’s a routine, somehow comforting even in its weirdness.
I still remember the first time Silas sent something very suggestive. Evan thought I was about to pass out. He said my cheeks turned fire-engine red and my eyes glazed over like a Krispy Kreme donut. I told him he was full of it, but yeah, okay, he might’ve been right.
“Still struggling with sewing?” Evan asks as he relaxes back against… Honestly, I have no idea what. His background looks different every time we talk.
I sigh and flop back on my bed. “You have no idea.”
“Well I kinda do,” he says around a bag of chips, using his teeth to tear it open one-handed. “You’ve been complaining nonstop.”
“Hey!” I whine. “You’re my best friend. Complaining is part of the package.”
“Yes, yes it is,” he replies, nodding solemnly while eyeing the bag like it’s a five-star meal. I swear, the boy never stops snacking.
A ripple of guilt hits me.
“Hey, uh…” I hesitate. “How are things going?”
He raises an eyebrow. “All bueno, mamacita. No need to worry about me.” He tips the bag up to get the crumbs, and I make a mental note to send him money later.
“Liv!” my dad shouts up the stairs. “I’m heading out. Are you riding with me?”
“Yeah! I’ll be right down!” I call, climbing off the bed.
I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. “Gotta head to school. Text me. Love you, Ev.” I kiss my fingertips and blow it toward the screen.
He does the same, wiggling his fingers in a dramatic goodbye as we hang up.
The bell rings, signaling the end of class. Morella and I stand, grabbing our things and shove them into our bags.
Another stressful class.
“Hey,” I say as we walk out the door, “think we could do some extra practice after school?”
She groans dramatically. “Oh my god, yes. I’m struggling so badly with this. My house later?” She slings her bag over one shoulder.
“Yeah, sounds perfect,” I tell her.
We hug before parting ways. Me to survive Public Relations, her off to Business Management with Rafe.
A few hours later, we’re standing under the soul-sucking fluorescent lights of a hobby store, armed with determination and very little actual skill.
“I’m so glad it’s Friday,” Morella says, holding up a length of fabric.
We’re both here for the same reason, survival. Home Ec is not going well. Cooking was a disaster, sewing is worse. I smirk to myself, holding back a laugh, but Morella notices anyway.
“What?” she asks, tossing the fabric into the basket.
“I was just thinking about the cookies we made.”
She freezes, horrified, “We swore to never speak of them again!” she shout whispers.
Then bursts out laughing. I join her as we continue picking up supplies.
Thread, fabric, pins, a tape measure, patterns, and a very basic sewing machine.
Morella is determined to make a shirt that’s like a corset…
but not. Hey, whatever makes her happy. I’ll just be thrilled if I can add a zipper without sewing it on backwards.
Back at her place, we lug everything upstairs and take over one of the guest rooms.
We spend at least an hour trying to bring her shirt idea to life. Unfortunately, the shirt does not want to be born. It ends in chaos.
Morella slumps on the ground, pouting. Her lower lip wobbles, and I can see she’s close to crying.
“Hey, hey,” I drop to my knees beside her and gently take the shirt from her hands. “It’s okay. We just have to figure out where we went wrong.”
“What’s going on?” a voice barks from the doorway.
I look up and see Rafe. His eyes land on Morella’s teary face, then flick to me. He looks pissed.
Morella sniffles and snatches the shirt back from me. “I just can’t figure this out,” she says, holding the half-shirt up before dropping it like it betrayed her.
Rafe furrows his brow. “I don’t understand.”
Suddenly, she gasps, jumps to her feet, and bolts for her brother. I flinch back as she grabs him by the arm and drags him into the room.
Then, without warning, she starts yanking his shirt off.
“Morella!” he shouts.
My hand flies over my eyes. I do not need to see this.
“Would you knock it— huh? Uh, no. Absolutely not—”
I peek through my fingers. Bad move. There’s a lot of bare skin. Chest, abs, arms. All of it. He’s trying to protest, but she’s shoving the messed-up shirt over his head.
Yikes. That is definitely not a shirt. One pec is fully out, the seams are crooked, and the neckline is nowhere near where it’s supposed to be.
I giggle.
Rafe growls, eyes locking on mine. I quickly cover my face again, though it does nothing to hide the laugh bubbling in my throat.
“It’s on now,” Rafe mutters, exasperated. “Stupid thing…Is it supposed to fit like this?”
Morella is deep in thought, her chin resting on her thumb and forefinger, her eyes scanning the Frankenstein shirt like it’s a crime scene.
Behind Rafe, I hear footsteps.
Archer and Silas walk past. A second later, Silas backs up and stares into the room, his jaw dropping. Archer leans in beside him, eyes going wide.
They look at Rafe.
Then each other.
Then back to Rafe.
And promptly collapse to the floor, wheezing with laughter. Silas digs through his pocket and pulls out his phone trying to snap a picture.
“Shut up before I knock you two out,” Rafe growls.
“You will not,” Morella scolds. “I need you right here so I can fix this.”
“Damn it, Morella, hurry up,” he groans.
I try to hold in my laughter, really, I do, but I can’t help sneaking one more look.
The shirt’s a mess, sure. But I can still see… a lot. I want to say I was surprised by what I saw, but let’s be honest. Captain of the hockey team comes with a gym membership. What surprises me is how it makes me feel. My eyes flick back up and meet his.
Grey blue gems glitter back at me. But they’re not cold. Not even a little. Suddenly, I’m overheating.