15. Blake
BLAKE
So, the last few days have sucked.
I spent most of the weekend recovering in my room… and avoiding my brother. Thankfully, Satch has been around to deal with all the stuff he needs, so I could play the hermit and use catching up on schoolwork as my excuse.
Every time I ventured downstairs for sustenance, Wily cornered me, asking if I was okay and why I yelled at Grady. He was worried about Grady’s fat lip. Did I know anything about that?
I managed to deny, deny, deny!
But I think Wily’s getting suspicious, and it’s freaking me out.
Why oh why did I tell Grady I got kicked out of school?
It’s not even true. Although it felt like I got kicked out, I actually only got threatened with an academic suspension, because I was failing all of my classes and I’d royally fucked up.
The school was beyond frustrated with me and threatening disciplinary action.
I couldn’t face any of it, so I told them I’d pack my bags and leave so they wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore.
But I went and told Grady I got expelled.
Shit, I must have been so fucking out of it!
He took a fat lip for me. He took me to the hospital to make sure I was okay.
He hasn’t told me all the details, and I haven’t asked, but I did slide an envelope of cash under his door last night to cover the initial hospital bill.
Insurance will cover the rest, and I don’t even want to think about how the fuck I’m going to explain a hospital visit to my parents, but hopefully it’ll take weeks for the insurance company to notify them.
I have no idea how much Grady had to pay, but when I woke up this morning, the envelope was on my floor with a thank-you note and the leftover change.
Shit, he’s so fucking nice… and I haven’t even looked at him since I screamed, “Leave me alone!”
Yeah, that glorious moment on Saturday morning is burned into my brain—another scorching mark to add to my Wall of Shame.
Shit!
I have no idea who he fought with, but I know it was over me.
Wily mentioned something about Grady defending a girl at a party.
That was me.
He was defending me.
And how did I thank him?
I yelled in his face, and now I’m ignoring him because I’m too chickenshit to deal.
He even texted me on Saturday afternoon. I have no idea how he got my number, but his message was simple :
Here’s my number in case you ever need me. Grady.
I mean, what the hell is his problem? Why does he feel so compelled to be nice to me?
I can’t let that happen. He knows too much, and if I let my guard down, who knows what might come out.
I tried to deny everything he said I confessed, but I’m sure he saw right through my bullshit.
He totally did! You’re not fooling anyone.
Except I am. Because Wily and my parents still think I’m their perfect little angel, and they’re worried about me because I’m working too hard. Well, Wily’s worried that I study too much. My parents keep piling on the pride, which is a stress all its own.
They are going to be so disappointed in me.
I’ve never done anything wrong before. I’ve always been the good girl, done my best, tried my hardest… gotten all the A+s and gold stars.
And now I’m practically a homeless loser. If it weren’t for Wily’s injury and the excuse of looking after him, where the hell would I be?
My monthly allowance, although decent, can only stretch so far, and it’s being sucked dry right now.
I can’t go home.
And Cleo got away with all our shit, so she’s still in Chicago, happily playing college student while no doubt ruining someone else’s life. It’s not like I could stay with her, or Simon or Nico… I don’t even want to be around them anyway .
And my friends from high school?
Yeah, I’m not admitting shit to them. They are perfect. I’ve been stalking their socials, and they’re thriving at college.
But not me, right?
I had to lose the plot completely.
Shit!
My phone dings, my muscles tensing like they always do as I reach for my device.
No! Leave me the fuck alone!
Tears burn as I glare down at the screen—at another evil message from my ex-roommate. Another threat.
I wish I could just delete it without looking, but I can’t risk that.
With a shaky thumb, I unlock my phone, and Cleo’s message pops right up.
Cleo: Send another grand or these are going to Mommy and Daddy.
Below the text box is an image of me sprawled out on the ground, laughing my ass off. There’s a spray can in my hand and blue paint all over my fingers.
With my heart in my throat, I flick to the next image and cringe at the brick wall where I messily painted the words F is for fun, dickbag!
Quickly deleting the two photos, I run trembling fingers over my forehead. What the hell was wrong with me?
That brick wall? Yep, it was the outside of Professor Helliwell’s apartment.
He’d told me just that afternoon that “F is for failure, Miss Wilson.” His stern voice had made my cheeks flare with heat, every eye in the class turning to stare at me while he told me off for not putting in any effort.
“Maybe you should think about hitting the books or walking out the door! Because you’re wasting my time! ”
Beyond humiliated, I grabbed my bag, shoving my way down the row and storming out of the classroom. I got back to my room in tears, and Cleo found me, consoled me, then told me exactly how I should get my retribution.
At three o’clock in the morning, fueled on pure adrenaline, I’d left my mark.
And she had photographic proof of it. Proof that got me hauled into the dean’s office. Proof that will ruin my life if she sends it to my parents.
With an irritated huff, I quickly transfer a thousand dollars from my savings account to the number she gave me a few weeks ago.
It’s dropped by nearly seven thousand dollars since I left our dorm room, and most of it has gone to keep Cleo quiet.
I’ve been trying to top it up with my monthly allowance, but at this rate, I’m gonna be broke by the end of April.
Shit!
But those photos can’t get out.
She has me over a barrel, and there’s nothing I can do.
I text her back with a low growl.
Done. Now delete those fucking photos !
She replies a few minutes later.
Thanks. Photos gone. I’ll be in touch again soon.
I shudder, hating to think what else she has stored on her phone. We got into so much shit together!
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
I have to get out of here. These walls are closing in. I need air. A space to breathe!
My insides sizzle, painful electric currents shooting through me as my chest starts to constrict. The air in my lungs is stifling. I push my hand against my chest, feeling my racing heart as a wave of dizziness whips around my head.
Jerking to my feet, I grab my jacket, desperate for escape. When I open my bedroom door, I listen for noises in the house and figure it’s safe to head downstairs. I nearly make it to the back door in the kitchen when I hear Wily calling me.
“Hey, butt face, come say hi to Mom and Dad!” His voice is so cheerful. So oblivious.
I tense, digging my nails into my arms before forcing myself to turn around and walk back to the living room.
Game face on. Let’s go. You’re sweet, angelic Blake now, remember?
“I wish you wouldn’t call her that, Wily. It’s so vulgar,” Mom’s complaining.
“She calls me shithead. It’s only fair. ”
Dad laughs while Mom continues to sigh and complain that she tried to teach us good manners but obviously failed miserably.
“Hey, Daddy.” I put on my bright, cheerful voice. The one my father loves the best.
“My sweet girl.” He beams at me through Wily’s phone, then looks at Mom. “You didn’t fail, sweetheart. These two are perfect.”
Mom’s lips twitch. “They are.”
The pressure inside me blooms, pushing against my chest cavity and making my smile waver.
I force it back into place, playing along and sharing an eye roll with my brother.
“I was just telling them how well my recovery is coming along. The PT was really positive yesterday.”
“Yeah, he was.” I nod, happy to be focusing on my brother. “Wily’s been doing all the exercises and not missing a beat.”
“Well, he’s motivated.” Dad beams at him. “Proud of you, son. Your football career isn’t over.”
“Yeah, I know.” Wily nods at our parents. “Everything’s gonna work out.”
I’m not sure he’s 100 percent convinced of that, but it’s what our parents need to hear, so he sells it the way he always does.
And I sell it the way I always do, having to work extra hard when Mom turns her attention to me and asks, “So, when are you heading back to Chicago?”
Shit, I hate that question so fucking much!
Blowing out a breath, I quickly spill the lie I’ve been refining. “I’ve been in touch with all of my professors, and they said because I’m keeping up with everything so well, they’re happy for me to stay in Nolan and keep going with online studies.”
“But what about exams?”
“Yeah, that part’s a little trickier.” I wince. “I might just fly back to Chicago for exam week. The test I missed last week, I can submit online. My professor figured out a way to help me do that.”
Bullshit. Allllll bullshit.
“That was nice of him. Or her.” Mom smiles, obviously relieved. “And I’m glad you’re flying back for exam week, but don’t you think you should head back earlier than that?”
I shrug. “I was always planning to be here until after spring break, and… it’s nice hanging out with Wily and his roommates. I’m enjoying my time here.”
Wily frowns up at me. “You’re always studying up in your room or doing stuff to help me. How is that fun?”
“I get to have dinner with you guys and help Satch prepare meals and hang out with Sienna and Zoey sometimes. I’m not always studying.” I roll my eyes and force out a laugh.
“She’s studious.” Mom stands up for me. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re proud of you, sweetie. You keep up that hard work. You won’t regret it.”
“Thanks, Mom.” My smile is so forced my cheeks are starting to hurt.
“You’ve always been the smartest girl in the room.” Dad winks at me.