Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
THEN | SISK
Idon’t know what to say to him. That’s the whole damn problem.
He’s standing there like I owe him a confession, like there’s a right answer and he’s already decided I’m hiding it under my tongue.
And most importantly, he doesn’t know I got in.
That I have a one-way ticket out of this hellhole, a ticket that cuts the brakes on whatever he’s trying to start.
I don’t actually know if he would even care.
Maybe this is all just in my head. My own feelings projecting into him.
“What do you want, Jax?” I ask.
“What do I want?” he bites out. “I want you to tell me what that piece of shit said to you. Word by word.”
I stab at my mystery meat, flip my fork around in my fingers, then push the peas into a neat little pile on my plate. “Pitfire,” I groan. “How could I possibly remember?”
A muscle twitches in his cheek. “Did he mention his dog?”
That makes me look up, my fork frozen mid-air. “What?”
“Ivan,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “Did he ever talk about his dog? Ever?”
I frown. “No. I don’t think so. Why?”
“Shit! I knew it,” he curses.
The cafeteria is a madhouse. I picked this table because it’s tucked against the wall, half-hidden by a banner advertising The Formal—Tar City’s pathetic attempt at a senior dance. It’s a funeral pretending to be a celebration.
Across the room, Whistle sits with his friends.
One eye swollen and a split lip still raw.
His nose is a mess, a crooked ridge of swollen flesh that has already started turning purple at the bridge.
It sits at an odd angle, the work of some hurried ER doc who clearly didn't give a shit about aesthetics, just function.
He's pretending not to look at us. He's failing.
A swirl of thoughts rush to mind. I think about everyone who will still be here next year. And the year after that. I think about never coming back. I think about Jax grabbing me in the dark, kissing me—
I snap myself out of it. “You need to drop this. Whatever hunt you’re on—leave Ivan alone.”
Jax clicks his tongue. “Leave him alone?”
“Yes.”
“If he thinks I’m going to let this go—”
“I said yes,” I cut in. “What part of that don’t you get?
I said yes to him. I’m going with him.” I place my hands on the table.
“We’re nothing,” I add, because I need to say it.
Because he needs to hear me say it. I need to hear myself say it.
“Look at Lucy—I’m sure she’d love to go with you.
She’s practically drooling into her lunch tray every time you walk by. ”
Jax doesn’t even turn. His eyes stay on me, searching my face like he’s waiting for the lie to surface.
I stand, clutching my tray. “I’m going to The Formal with Ivan. And you can’t do anything about it. So just—forget it.”
His face darkens, a storm cloud rolling in. “You think that’s what this is about?” he asks quietly. “You think I give a shit about some stupid dance?”
I look at him, caught off guard.
“You know his dog’s been missing, right?”
“What?”
“For weeks,” he says. “His dad told me this morning.”
“Why the hell were you talking to his dad?” I ask, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach.
“He came asking about the lot party. They found blood by the pit. Too much blood. People mentioned Whistle’s nose getting smashed.”
My eyes flick to Jax’s hands and his bruised knuckles.
“Don’t worry,” he adds flatly. “I told him it was all in good fun.”
I stare at him. “You’re insane.”
“Anyway,” he says, ignoring me completely, “you know what people trade. You know what that place takes in exchange for wishes.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in this shit. And you don’t get to say things like that about Ivan,” I snap.
Jax straightens to his full height. “You think it’s a coincidence that the same time his hands show stains, his dog disappears?”
“That’s not proof of anything,” I say. “He told you what happened. A dozen times.”
“And I didn’t believe a word of it.”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “None of this matters.”
He stills. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”
I swallow. “I’m leaving Tar City.”
His breath catches. “What?”
“I got in,” I say. The words still feel unreal. “The Academy. Full ride. Residential.”
The cafeteria noise rushes back in.
“You… got in?” he says.
“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”
“No—of course not. You were amazing. You are—” He stumbles over the words. “When do you leave?”
“After graduation.”
He stares at me.
“So this—” I gesture between us, the school, the air. “It doesn’t matter.”
He doesn’t say anything else. He just stands there, his face a mask of shock and something that looks a hell of a lot like devastation. But of course, it can’t be. Not over me.
I grab my bag and walk past him before he can say anything else.
* * *
The thrift store smells the way it always does—like mothballs and forgotten lives, a dusty graveyard of other people’s clothes.
It shouldn’t even bother me anymore at this point.
It’s basically the scent of my life. It’s not even the fact that these clothes are used that I care about, it’s the fact that Millie is making this Formal thing a whole thing.
And it’s not a thing at all in my mind. It’s a stupid must-do, a box to check, a chapter I’m more than ready to slam shut.
Millie’s already a few aisles over, her fingers skimming over a rack of sequined monstrosities. “This one!” she calls, holding up a sliver of dark blue silk. “It’s got I’m about to waste this on a bad dance partner written all over it.”
She’s been relentless about me saying yes to Ivan, convinced I did it just to provoke Jax. Which is rich, coming from her, considering she spent the last weeks telling me Jax was a walking red flag.
I force a smile, but it feels like cracking my face in two. “Let me see.” I take the dress from her. It’s beautiful, in a sad, vintage way. All delicate straps and a skirt that would float when I spin.
“I don’t understand why I can’t just wear the one you wore,” I argue.
Millie’s smile softens. She checks the zipper gently and turns to me, her hands on my shoulders. “I told you,” she says, her voice kind. “Because you deserve something nicer than that piece of crap. This is your formal. You’re going to be a real ballerina soon. We need to find you the right dress.”
I look around at the racks of discarded dreams. “Let me try this on.”
“It’ll fit,” she says, her eyes bright with a determination that’s always been her best feature. “You just have to have faith.”
“Faith?”
“It’s how it works in the thrift business. Faith and little cash,” she says with a wink.
She pulls out another dress, this one a simple black sheath. “Try this on too,” she insists, pushing me toward a row of curtained cubicles in the back. “I’ll find you shoes.”
I duck into the last stall.
I’m wriggling out of my jeans when I hear them.
“Well, look what we have here. Millie-Moo. Bringing your little sister to play dress-up?”
My pulse stutters. I keep getting dressed, my fingers fumbling with my bra. Whoever that is, I already don’t like him. I think about pulling the curtain aside for a peek, but until I’m fully covered, I better not.
“What are you doing here, Billy?” Millie asks, her voice strained with a nervous edge I’ve never heard before.
“Come on now, baby,” the voice says, dripping with condescension. “Don’t sound so surprised to see me. A man gets lonely.”
“Be right back, Sisk,” Millie says, her voice too high, too bright.
That’s it, I have to see. I pull the curtain aside just enough to peer through. Billy has his hand wrapped around Millie’s upper arm, his fingers digging in as he pulls her toward the front of the store. She stumbles along, her head down, not fighting back.
I shove the curtain aside and step out to go after her, but another guy steps into my path, blocking me.
“Millie-Moo didn’t tell me she had a sweet thing for a sister,” he says, his eyes crawling over me. “So pure… I bet you your hymen’s still intact.” He reaches out, his rough fingers already grazing my collarbone, feeling for the strap of my bra.
I open my mouth to scream, but he’s faster. His hand clamps over my mouth, the sour stench of his palm cutting off my air. He shoves me back inside the small, stuffy cubicle, the curtain flapping shut behind us.
“Relax,” he grunts, pressing me against the mirror. “We’re just gonna have a little chat.”
I try to move, to struggle, but his grip is unforgiving. “I wouldn’t make a peep, unless you want your sister to have to work double tonight to cover the cost of me shutting you up.”
I go rigid. He sees my eyes widen in the mirror, and a disgusting grin spreads across his face.
“Oh,” he says, his voice laced with cruel delight. “Tell me you didn’t know… Sorry to burst your bubble, little bird, but your sis is great at selling the pops. A real natural.”
Suddenly, the curtain is ripped open with a violent jerk.
Millie stands there, her eyes blazing with fire. In her hand, she’s clutching a heavy, wire coat hanger, which she swings like a club. It connects with the guy’s head and he yelps, stumbling back, clutching his skull. “What the fuck, you crazy bitch?”
Millie doesn’t hesitate. She shoves him hard, sending him crashing into the flimsy wall of the stall. “Get away from her!” she screams, her voice harsh with rage. “Get the fuck away from my sister!”
Whatever-his-name-is stands there, stunned. “Babe, easy on Trey. Save the feisty for me, you know I like that.”
Trey’s still clutching his head, his eyes narrowed on Millie. “You bitch, I’m gonna—”
“Shut up, Trey,” Billy orders him, his eyes cold and calculating as he surveys the scene. He looks at Trey, then at the coat hanger in Millie’s hand, and finally at me, trembling behind my sister.
He lets out a low chuckle. “Alright, Mills. You’ve made your point. Let it go.”
“Get out,” Millie yells, holding the coat hanger like a weapon. “Both of you. Get the fuck out of this store and don’t ever come near her again.”
I notice the store worker purposely ignoring us all, bet this isn’t new around here.
Billy holds up his hands. ”Okay, okay. We’re going.” He looks at Millie. ”But you know how this works. You’ll pay us back later, won’t you, babe?” He reaches out and slaps her ass. Millie flinches, her whole body going rigid, but she doesn’t back down.
“Get. Out,” she says, her voice shaking.
Billy just grins, grabbing Trey by the arm and pulling him toward the front of the store. “See you soon, Mills.”
The second they’re gone, the fight drains out of Millie. The coat hanger clatters to the floor, and she sags against the wooden frame, her body trembling. I rush to her side, wrapping my arms around her.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She just shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, Sisk. I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say, holding her tight. “It’s okay.” But it’s not. Because as I’m holding my sister, I see it. Tucked into her back pocket, a thick wad of cash. More money than we’ve seen in months. It’s a dirty, grimy secret, and it’s burning a hole in her pocket.
“Millie… who were they?” I ask.
“Nobodies,” she says, wiping her eyes, dismissive. She forces a smile, “Now, let me see. Yes! That’s a dress for a soon-to-be-out-of-here-girl,” she says, her voice too bright, too cheerful.
I think of all the ways to push and press for answers, to demand the truth, but if I know Millie at all—and I do—there’s no way she’s telling me anything if she thinks it’ll make me reconsider leaving.
If I want to know more about this, about the cash and the creeps and the fear in her eyes, it won’t be from her.
She’ll tear herself apart trying to handle it alone before she lets me get tangled in her mess. There’s nothing she wouldn’t sacrifice to make sure I get out of Tar City, including the truth. Including herself.