17. Margo
Chapter 17
Margo
I t was only a matter of time before Caleb’s attention moved on to something a little more… stable. He said it himself, I was only a game.
Savannah was a tool to mess with me.
Which is why, when Amelie Page, former best friend, arrives before school, my heart sinks. She flicks her golden hair behind her shoulder, smiling at the circle of people around her.
She has an arm looped around Caleb’s. He stands beside her with his hands in his pockets, completely unbothered by the girl hanging on him.
Seriously. Why is she touching him?
Riley joins me at the edge of the courtyard, keeping her voice low to explain, “Amelie was studying in France as an exchange student.”
Shame seeps into my skin. It’s a cold, vile feeling, and I almost turn away from them. I don’t need to see Caleb with another ex-friend. Did he just go around collecting them after I left? I’m transfixed on her hand. The possessive way she touches him.
Everyone is watching her. A bad feeling twists my stomach. Savannah might’ve been holding the top spot, but Amelie owns it. It’s clear to see how much influence she has, just by standing with Caleb.
It’s all well and good—okay, it’s not, but it’s survivable—until I catch her eye.
She breaks away from Caleb and approaches me. “Margo! Welcome home.”
Uh-oh.
“I should say that to you,” I answer. “Back early?”
She waves me off. “Those things happen. Lots going on back here, I was missed. How shocked I was to learn that you had returned! Have you been reintroduced? You’ve seen Sav…” She turns to her friend across the way, and her perfectly sculpted eyebrow rises. “Oh, that isn’t a happy face on our dear friend.”
Savannah looks like she’s bitten into a lemon.
Doesn’t seem to matter, though. Amelie leads me over to her with a hand locked on my wrist. She throws her free arm around Savannah’s shoulders, cinching Sav to her side.
“Our friend is back,” Amelie says. “We’re welcoming her with open arms.”
That’s a decree from a queen if I’ve ever heard one.
Savannah gives me a polite smile that hides daggers. Uh-huh. Very convincing.
“And you remember Caleb.” Amelie drags me over to him. “My boyfriend.”
Everything stops moving.
I stare at her, unable to even look at him. “What?”
“Darling, we’ve been dating since last year.” She flips her hair back and leans in close. “Sure, you may have had him first… not in the traditional sense, obviously. And Sav got her pound of flesh. But he’s not yours anymore.”
I swallow. “Interesting. I wouldn’t have expected?—”
She smiles. “The bell is about to ring. You know the way?”
“To—”
She drops my arm.
“Let’s go, Caleb.” Her tone is different. Brisk, having lost that sugary sweetness directed at me. “We’re going to be late.”
The bell rings, and I flinch. Was that whole interaction fake?
He takes her away. The courtyard empties in seconds.
Long ago, I thought Caleb and I would have a happy ever after. Clearly… I was so wrong.
Riley stops beside me. We’re the only two left. Everyone else followed her .
“That was the most cunning and brutal thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
I swallow shards of glass. Pretty sure my insides are all hollowed out. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to skip?”
I shake my head. “I really wish we had classes together. I can’t skip. I should go in there with my head held high…”
I’ve dealt with mean girls before, remember? At every school, there’s one who thinks they can take the new girl down a peg. The way to deal with them is to show how unaffected you can be.
And that means not skipping.
“Okay. I’ll check on you after our first class and we’ll see how you feel.”
I successfully avoid Amelie and Caleb together for the rest of the day. Caleb is kind of unavoidable—he’s in three of my classes.
First period, he tries to talk to me. Opens his mouth to speak and everything. But I take someone else’s seat across the room and death-glare at them when they try to say anything.
Crisis averted.
Lunch is spent with Riley, who again asks if I want to skip. But Robert, who dropped me off this morning, would absolutely notice my absence.
Sixth period, I sit in front of Liam. It’s not the best solution, because I can see Caleb out of the corner of my eye the entire class. As soon as Mr. McGuire releases us, I bolt… to Robert’s classroom.
“You can’t avoid me forever.” Caleb is positioned across from me, our easels angled to give us a view of each other.
“I can,” I retort.
He scoffs.
My canvas is a mess. I’ve begun applying the shading technique, sketching out the parts of Caleb’s face in shadow and highlights.
It holds only the vaguest passing for human.
Halfway through, Robert calls for us to set aside those canvases. We clean our brushes and wrap the palettes, then face him for the next lesson. Which, in this case, is watercolors. He demonstrates how to blend colors into a smooth gradient, then turns us loose. We sit at actual desks, usually shoved in one corner, because watercolors require the paper to be horizontal.
I take the opportunity to sit far from Caleb.
My two colors aren’t working.
I chew on my lip and try again. Then again.
“You okay?” Robert asks.
I jerk my head up.
The room is empty except for us.
“The bell rang a few minutes ago. Did you even hear it?”
I stare at my paper. Heat crawls across my cheeks. “Sorry. I’ve had a bad day.”
He drags a chair over and sits next to me. He points to one of my groupings, where I’d managed to make green fade into blue. “You did this one right. You can see the blue and the green, but there’s also the middle space where it becomes a new color entirely.”
“I got lucky on that one.”
He shakes his head. “No, it just takes practice. Like this?” He taps his pencil next to the orange-into-pink one. “We don’t see the two separate colors. May I?”
“Sure.”
He cleans my brush in my cup of water and dips it in the pink. He pulls the brush down, the pink section almost the same size as my little ombré square. He repeats the process for the orange, everything bigger… and suddenly I can see it.
“I was close.” I sigh. So close and yet… not it at all.
“Sometimes it’s hard to see the big picture when you’re so zoomed in.” He glances at me. “A lot can be said about taking a step back.”
“Like impressionism.”
He laughs. “Yeah, like that. Or relationships. How you see people, and how they see you.”
“Do you ever think you and Lenora are too… muddled?”
“Not often. I used to try to only see the good in her, but it doesn’t work like that. You have to accept every part of someone.” He taps my colors again. “Just like this. The colors are nice on their own, but if you only focus on the pretty parts, are they still beautiful?”
“I don’t think someone will accept all of my flaws.” I keep my attention on the paper, not ready to see whatever is going to come across Robert’s face next. They’ve been nice—more than nice, really. It feels like I’ve been welcomed into a complete family.
But maybe I’ve only been paying attention to the good pieces to convince myself that I belong.
“Someone will,” he says firmly. “And not just in a romantic sense. Lenora and I are lucky to have you, too. I’m sure Riley would say the same.”
“Maybe.” God, it’s hot in here.
Does Caleb see only my flaws? Robert’s philosophy of seeing the good and the bad could go the other way, too. If we only focus on the negative traits, are they entirely bad?
Robert pats my shoulder. “Let’s go home, kiddo. Are you still going to the hockey game with Riley?”
I wince at the reminder. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Caleb didn’t even bring it up. Is he still going to show up and take me to the game?
The school is a ghost town by the time we leave the classroom. We walk in easy silence back to his car, and I cast one look back toward the field where the teams have started practicing. Including the cheerleaders.
Atop of the pyramid is Amelie, smiling like a conqueror. On the second level, seeming pained with Amelie’s knee in her back, is Savannah.
Interesting.
Only last week, she was the one on top. I give her credit where it’s due: she’s got talent for it. Except, clearly, Amelie is better. Brighter. Hell, she radiates joy even when she’s not trying.
I take a mental step back. Maybe she is trying, and that’s her secret.
And maybe…
“Margo?”
I stop, and my head snaps forward. I was about an inch from walking right into Robert’s car. “Oops.”
He frowns. “Have you thought about trying out for a sport?”
“I don’t know what I’d go for.” The idea of bonding with a team, involved in a sport where people rely on me… that is too much.
Three and a half more months . That’s how long I have to last here… I’ll figure out the rest later.
“It could give you a sense of community.” Robert watches me over the roof of the vehicle.
“I’ll think about it,” I promise.
And I do. Half-heartedly, I consider how it would feel to let down an entire team. By the time we get home, I’ve made up my mind that I’m not going to do anything. Between painting and Riley, and… I don’t know, Caleb … I’ve got enough going on.
Lenora’s car is already in the driveway. We park beside it and head in. Immediately, the scent of garlic reaches us. My mouth waters.
“We’re home, Len,” Robert calls. “Your cooking smells wonderful!”
She rounds the corner wearing a bright-red apron. “I’m glad you’re back! You’re just in time.”
“For what?” It’s barely three o’clock. Caleb will be picking me up for the game in two hours.
“For you to help me.” She pulls something from behind her back, holding it out to me.
“Is that… my own apron?”
It’s light blue, with embroidered butterflies across the chest.
“Yes, it has your name on it and everything.” She taps the stitched Margo on the top left, nestled between the butterflies. “Come on, before I burn everything.”
My throat closes.
No one has ever gotten me anything like this, and I’m not sure I’m processing it.
I drop my bag and follow her into the kitchen, where there are a million bowls. Okay, more like six, but still .
“This is…” I gulp.
“Overwhelming?”
She helps me put the apron on. The loop over my head, the strings wrapping behind me and tying in the front. She leaves me to knot it, then stands back with a big smile.
“It’s your color,” she declares. “Okay, so we take this one veggie at a time. I’ll show you how to chop an onion without crying and then we’ll move on to easier stuff.”
“There’s a way to cut an onion without crying?” I shoot a glance at Robert. Where was this tip when I had tears and snot running down my face?
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Oops.”
Lenora chuckles. She shows me the proper way. Not surprisingly, she’s as good of a teacher as Robert. Maybe that’s why they’re happy together? Or why they don’t get muddled?
She seasons chicken while the oven preheats. We work in silence for a few minutes. Besides the onions—bigger chopped pieces—we have squared yams, half-moons of zucchini and yellow squash, and broccoli.
“What are we making?”
“We’re going to cut up some chicken and bake all of this together with some salt and pepper,” she says. “I’ll get the chicken going. Here’s the dish.”
She sets a glass dish next to my cutting board. I slide the cut veggies into it, then move on to the broccoli. She demonstrated how to cut it without getting the little bits of green everywhere, and I toss them in.
Lenora cuts the chicken and adds it. She drizzles the garlic-infused olive oil over everything and gives it a toss with her tongs. We cover the whole mixture with a bit of salt and pepper, and then we’re done.
“That was easy.”
“And it’s almost guaranteed to taste good.” She washes her hands. “I’ll put it in the oven. Rob mentioned you’re going to the hockey game tonight?”
I pause. “Yeah. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely! It’s part of the reason why I wanted to prep so early.”
“Caleb is coming to get me at four.”
She tilts her head. “Caleb Asher? Isn’t he on the team?”
I lift my shoulder. “Yeah, but he wanted to drive me. I don’t know.”
“Okay. No worries, honey, I just wanted to make sure.”
By the time the dish comes out of the oven, my stomach is making obnoxious sounds.
“I didn’t think I’d be able to do something like this,” I admit to her.
“I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help. My mother once told me to have at least one meal you’re good at. That you can make for potluck parties or holidays. If you have more than one, that’s fine. This might not be that dish for me, but it is an easy go-to.”
I mirror her smile. “It’s a great one.”
“If you want to choose a meal to perfect in your own way, we can pick up the ingredients and make it next week,” she offers.
Making plans for the future? Butterflies burst to life in my chest.
Plan-making is not something I take for granted.
Robert comes in, eyeing the table. “My mouth has been watering for the last half hour,” he admonishes. “And now that it’s ready, you don’t even call me?”
Lenora chuckles, kissing his cheek. “We were just about to, dear. Wash your hands.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We all sit, hesitating for a split second before diving into the food. I put a bite in my mouth and groan.
“Food made with love.” Lenora sighs. “Always tastes good to the stomach and the soul.”