13. Lilah
LILAH
The hardwood floors gleamed. A lemon scent filled the air.
The hallway bathroom was finally clean. For the past month, I’d kept the lights off and tried not to think about it.
Between brain rest, my precious study time and getting back to school, I hadn’t kept up with my old cleaning routine.
But when I got in the shower yesterday, I’d noticed that every surface in the bathroom was streaked with enough soil and makeup to repot a plant and so much hair plastered to the walls that I could make a wig. I couldn’t take it anymore.
I dumped all my laundry into the washer, then crashed into the big comfy chair by the window and moved a few plants out of the way, so their vines didn’t tangle in my hair.
The whole room felt bigger with my bed folded up. Almost like the whole place would be nicer if I weren’t here. But in an hour, I’d tug it back out and pass out for real.
We needed to set up a cleaning rotation, but it felt like a bigger fight than just doing it myself.
Eyes closed, I didn’t even care about the music from Kelsey and Eliza’s room thumping the wall. After Kelsey had mixed bleach and vinegar in the bathroom, nearly killing us all for the second time, I’d taken over most of the cleaning.
They were new to all this, I repeated to myself. Cleaning wasn’t required in their old house, and if I didn’t want to die like a WWI trench soldier, it didn’t seem like they’d be doing it here either.
A notification pinged on my phone. Flopping over the side of the chair, I snagged it off my trunk.
I shot up in my seat, weariness taking a break for a second. My first calc test since coming back to school. The concepts still felt fuzzy, but I hoped that was just me being a little rusty.
I clicked on the link and the air whooshed out of my lungs.
37 / 50.
Running the numbers slower than I had before, it hit me even harder. A 75 percent. My average had been 96 all last year, never dipping below a 91.
The AP class was packed with everyone in the top of our class.
My chest tightened. I’d slipped a few rank places in the class the last time I checked.
What the hell would a 75 do to my grade this term?
My Windsor application had been accepted, but if I dropped out of the top 5 percent they’d rescind my eligibility.
My one-eighth-inch hem margin-for-error had dropped to needlepoint levels and I’d cratered on my most recent test. There was only one other test before the end of the term in November.
Those were the last grades the admissions committees would see before they made their decisions and I was going to end up with a B+.
The washer beeped and shut off.
I opened the accordion door to the closet where the washer and dryer lived and opened the lid. Prickles stung at the corners of my eyes and the back of my nose burned.
Instead of all my clothes and uniforms suctioned to the sides of the drum, a clothing stew stared back at me. Bits of grass and tiny sticks floated on top of the water, while my clothes bobbed in the murkiness.
I knocked on Kelsey and Eliza’s bedroom door.
Kelsey yanked it open. “What?” she shouted rather than turning down the music.
“Hey, Lilah.” Eliza waved from where she lay with her head hanging off the edge of her bed.
“Did Dad say anything about the washing machine not working?” I shouted over the volume, pain needling at my chest like a sewing machine with no presser foot.
“Oh yeah, he said it was broken and not to use it.” Kelsey took a selfie and looked back at me.
“Thanks for letting me know.” I couldn’t keep the bite out of my voice.
She picked up a bag of trash from the floor and pushed it against my chest. “Here, can you get rid of this?” The door closed in my face. I stared down at the white plastic bag and dropped it to the floor. Thanks, sis.
Dad walked through the front door.
“Hey, kiddo.” Boots covered in mud, he stepped inside, not stopping at the tray I’d put by the front door, but walked to cabinet to grab a glass and refill it at the sink. “Did Kelsey tell you the washer wasn’t working?”
At my side, I clenched and unclenched my fists. A scream built in my chest. All my work was swallowed up by the squeaking and smearing of dirt across the floor. Static crackled in my ears.
I had to escape this house.
I grabbed another bag and a laundry pod, then fished my drenched clothes out of the soil soup and marched across the freshly trimmed grass toward the pool house before I could second-guess myself.
Ruined cleaning, academic failure and familial tension overrode my fear of being on the main grounds without permission or running into Mason.
The pool house had a galley kitchen with a stacked washer and dryer.
Not even turning the lights on, I chose the quickest cycle on the machine, shoved my stuff inside and slid down the cabinets to sit on the floor. Reflective lights danced across the ceiling and wall from the gentle rippling of the pool. Crickets chirped outside.
Knees bent, I wrapped my arms around them and buried my face in the safe little pocket of my arms.
It’s okay, Lilah.
My chin quivered and exhaustion swamped me. In moments like this, a keening pang of loneliness slammed into me, an overwhelming swell building and building until my vision blurred. Too much. I couldn’t let myself dwell on the longing, but the wave of grief threatened to drag me under.
I missed my mom. I wanted her to tell me it would all be okay, rub my back and hug me close.
My eyes burned, and tears clung to my lashes, threatening to fall.
My choppy breaths turned to gasps. I wanted that comfort again of knowing I wasn’t alone, that she’d always be there for me, that there was someone out there who, more than anything, loved me completely.
But I’d left my phone at home. Her message was out of reach.
The door sung open without a creak, cricket song intensifying. My head shot up and I shrunk back.
His unmistakable figure loomed in the doorway, a shadow ready to consume me.
Mason had seen me at the game yesterday. Our eyes had clashed when he’d slammed Rye against the glass. I’d stopped myself from looking at him, but that tug on the invisible thread connected to him had ticked and thudded like it was driven by his anger-fueled heartbeat throughout the game.
“Lilah,” he said with a warm, protective streak of yearning.
I felt a flicker of comfort. Then my brain woke up.
I shot to my feet, arms at my sides, fists clenched, prepared for whatever barrage he was about to lob, but still feeling so tired, heavy with the weight of my life, that I was ready to collapse to my knees.
“Our washing machine isn’t working. I didn’t have another option this late at night.” I jammed my finger onto the unlock button, trying to stop the wash cycle.
He’d been less aggressive after my accident.
Maybe I could escape without a blowup, even after sitting with the enemy yesterday.
I couldn’t handle one more fight. Right now, I wanted to go back to my quiet days filled with brain rest, but I tiptoed around the precipice of oblivion, almost inviting it to swallow me up.
Maybe that was why I didn’t run. An invitation for him to finish whatever this was once and for all.
Mason stepped closer, and I moved back, my shoulder brushing the washing machine. I yanked the door open and held on to it like a shield to protect me. One of my shirts splatted onto the floor between us.
“You can use whatever you need.” The quiet, tender tone of his voice splintered the thick silence.
He scooped up my shirt and dropped it back into the machine.
I squinted at him, trying to make out his expression while he was backlit by the lights from the pool patio.
“What are—” I slammed my lips shut. That wasn’t the question to ask him.
“I’ll get out of your way.” How did I get out of here without touching him?
My fingers ached around the washer door handle.
He didn’t move, still blocking the path I’d taken in. Then he reached out to close the washer. He tugged a few times before I finally released it. “You don’t have to go.”
But I couldn’t stay here with him, even with the urge to collapse and let him catch me. How stupid could I be?
Seconds ticked by, awkwardness blanketing the cricket chirps, sucking the air out of the room.
“I’ll go.” I walked toward the door, toward Mason, hoping he’d move out of the way.
But he hadn’t made anything easy for me since the last time we’d been alone in the pool house, three months ago.
Only three months. The past three months felt longer than the two years I’d already spent at Hawthorne.
Mason didn’t move.
Shoulder scraping against the wall, I glanced at the other escape hatch between me and him. The door that let me into the main pool house, where I could run away through the large sliding doors.
The air crackled with intensity, charged by my racing heart. Electric energy robbed the space of oxygen. My fingers touched the brushed-metal doorknob.
“Don’t go,” he said like he used to. Like he cared. Like he missed me.
I froze, the hairs on the back of my neck rising, but not in the anxious dread-knotted way they had before. Keeping my eyes on the knob and poised to leave, I tilted my chin in his direction. Leave, Lilah.
Whatever he said wouldn’t erase the side of him I’d seen. But the gnawing question that had gripped my brain and left me unable to sleep for months was, “Why?”
“Because you don’t have to run from me.”
“Since when?”
A pained noise escaped him.
Whatever plan he had, I should at least be prepared. Know what to expect him to throw at me. Coming to my full height, I dropped my hand and turned to face him. “You didn’t answer my question. Why, Mason? Why shouldn’t I go?”
He looked away, face still in shadow, and extended his hand toward me.
I jerked back and he let his hand drop.
“I saw you at the Verona game.”
“I know.” Spiky bits of ice filled my stomach. “Rye asked me to go.”