Chapter Six
Troian
Despite having Economics with Gage first thing, I manage to avoid him by waiting until the last possible minute to slip into class. By the time I make it through the door, there are only two empty seats—the one I always sit in beside him, and one in the very back.
I scurry to the seat in the back, ignoring the way his disapproving stare burns into me the whole way.
I'm not even in my seat before I see him preparing to rise from his.
Mr. Blake saves me with a sharp clap of his hands.
I sink down, letting the desk swallow me as I pretend to listen. I'm not sure I hear anything the entire class, but I do feel Gage staring at me the entire time.
He's so damn confusing!
I try not to think about what he meant when he said that he intended to send me that text, but it's all I can think about. He's messing with my head.
Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's his game. He wants my head and heart all tangled up. He doesn't really want me. He just doesn't want me to want anyone else, either.
Well, screw him. Friends don't treat friends that way.
As soon as the bell rings, I'm out of my seat, bolting toward the door.
I hear him calling my name, but I ignore him, letting myself get lost in the throng of students rushing to their next class. I hide out in the bathroom.
At least, that's the plan.
I'm not even inside for a full thirty seconds before the door swings open and Victoria sashays inside with two of her little groupies, Marnie and Melissa.
"Oh." Her lip curls in disgust when she sees me standing there. "It's you."
I roll my eyes instead of giving her whatever response she wants, slipping into a stall.
Her heels click across the linoleum floor in angry taps.
"Did you see Gage with his girlfriend last night?" she says to her annoying-ass friends, her voice loud. "She's hot, isn't she?"
"Totally," Melissa—or maybe it's Marnie—says. "No wonder he's crazy about her."
"Right? I was beginning to think he was gay or something, but I guess he just likes them older," Victoria says.
"I can't really blame him. I'd probably go for someone older, too, if I had that thing following me around all the time.
Seeing her sad, fat face all the time probably ruined the appeal of high school girls. "
Her little friends laugh in response to the vicious dig. I clench my hands and bite my tongue, refusing to cry over the insult, over Gage, over any of it. At least, that's the lie I tell myself until they slip out of the bathroom a minute later, still laughing.
I drop down onto the toilet, a miserable whimper climbing up my throat. He lied to me this morning. He does have a girlfriend. Victoria and her friends saw him with her last night.
God. Was he with her when he was texting me?
Does he send her the same kind of texts that he sent me?
Silent tears roll down my cheeks, and for the first time, I wish I could learn to hate him. It'd be easier than feeling like this—like I lost my best friend and the best part of my life. Was I ever that to him, or was Victoria right all along? Have I always just been someone he pitied?
The fact that I'm no longer sure hurts like hell.
I'm late for my next class. As soon as I walk in, Gage's eyes are on me, his expression full of worry. I pretend not to see him as I hurry by his desk, heading for the only empty one left in the room.
I keep my eyes focused straight ahead, pretending that I'm listening to Ms. Delby drone on about the American Revolution.
Halfway through class, a murmur of careful activity ripples through my classmates, drawing my attention. I watch as, one by one, they pass a note.
My heart climbs into my throat when Derek, the boy in front of me, turns like he's stretching and casually drops it on my desk.
I stare at the neatly folded paper, my eyes locked on Gage's distinctive scrawl, torn between ripping it in half unread and opening it to see what he wants.
Curiosity wins out.
I open it cautiously.
Butterfly,
Meet me at your spot in the library at lunch. I need to talk to you privately. Please?
Gage
I stare at the words on the paper for a long time, not sure if I want to hear what he has to say or not. They're probably just more lies. But then I make the mistake of glancing over at him.
"Please," he mouths, his eyes burning with an intensity that pins me in place. He looks…afraid, like his whole world hinges on my answer.
Apparently, even when he's lying, I'm as weak for him as ever.
I nod, giving in.