Chapter Twenty-One Secret Weapon
twenty-one
Secret Weapon
Nearly a week after Everett’s party, I shuffle into the kitchen to find Jasmine and Gillian camped out at the table, huddled over coffee mugs and plates of toast. Gillian slept over last night so they could finish their American history presentation that’s due today.
They kept me up half the night with their giggling and gossiping.
I’m hoping to grab something quick before they notice me, but Gillian’s face lights up as soon as I cross the threshold.
“There she is,” the redhead chirps. A mischievous grin stretches across her face. “The notorious dumper of Everett James.”
I swallow my sigh. The two of them were hounding me about it last night, and evidently they didn’t get their fill.
Jasmine pops the last piece of her toast into her mouth. “Still can’t believe you did it over text. That’s ruthless, cousin.”
I keep my expression neutral and reach for an apple. “It’s not like we were together for ten years. It was only a few dates.”
“Oh, come on,” she argues. “It still merited a face-to-face.”
“Nah,” Gillian disagrees, siding with me. “People make such a huge deal over breakups. I like Ryan’s approach. Cut him loose, send a text, no drama.”
No drama? I almost laugh. The past few days have been anything but.
Every time I see Everett in class or walk by him in the hall, he looks at me with those unhappy eyes.
I haven’t had a proper conversation with him since the party.
Every time he’s tried, I’ve made excuses.
I also blocked his number. I know he doesn’t understand that.
He’s waiting for an explanation I can’t give, and now the school week’s almost over and I’ve resorted to ducking into side corridors to avoid him and pretending I don’t see him when I walk into government class.
Jasmine frowns at me. “I still don’t get why you ended it.” Nor will she ever. It doesn’t matter how many times I recite my rehearsed explanation. My cousin can’t fathom a world in which someone rejects Everett James.
“I don’t want a boyfriend,” I say for the hundredth time.
“But he’s so hot,” Gillian says.
My aunt and uncle enter the kitchen, and I’m grateful for the interruption.
Dan pours Maggie’s coffee first like the gentleman he is, and she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek as she thanks him.
They’ve been extra lovey-dovey this week.
I guess they made up after their fight. The hushed sounds I heard echoing behind their bedroom door last night didn’t sound angry, that’s for sure.
“Ryan,” Maggie says, “am I picking you up after school today or are you going to the shelter?”
“I’m with you,” I tell her as I bite into my apple. “JP’s training two new volunteers today, so he’ll have plenty of help.”
Dan rests his hip against the counter, watching me over the rim of his coffee cup. “You still enjoying it there?”
I chew and swallow before answering. “Yeah, I love it. I wish we had a dog.”
“Hey, you know how you could get your dog fix?” Jasmine’s eyes gleam with humor. “Go to Everett’s house. Oh wait. You dumped his ass.”
Gillian snorts.
Maggie and Dan don’t comment, but I see my aunt’s features soften with sympathy. I assume Dan told her about my breakdown in the woods. But she hasn’t mentioned it, thankfully.
At school I pay a visit to my locker before English, which also doubles as homeroom.
As I’m spinning the dial, something bangs hard on the locker next to me.
I look over to find Chase there. He wears faded jeans and a black T-shirt, his trademark combat boots on his feet.
I hate that we have similar taste in footwear.
I don’t want to have anything in common with him, not even fashion sense.
“You work fast,” he drawls.
His presence is so unnerving that I miss the lock combination on the first try. “What?”
“You did it. And in less time than I thought you would.”
Finally I yank my locker open. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Everett.” His jaw tightens. “You led him on.”
I can’t help but gawk at him. Is that what this tantrum is about? What does it matter to Chase? This has nothing to do with him.
I shove my ponytail off my shoulder, and it goes swinging down my back. “Maybe you should concentrate on keeping your butt out of juvie instead of worrying that Everett might get his feelings hurt. He’s a big boy. He can handle it.”
Chase’s scowl deepens. He shoves away from the locker and stalks down the hall, away from me.
I’m trembling as I grab my books for the next class. It doesn’t help that Chase and I share homeroom, followed by English. His gaze bores into the back of my head the entire time. I’m relieved when it’s time for second period, until I remember I share that class with Everett.
I’m at my seat when he walks in. He looks right at me and the corner of his mouth lifts into a hesitant smile, but I quickly avert my eyes. For the next hour, I sit there, staring straight ahead, desperately willing the bell to ring and class to be over.
The second it is, I launch myself out of my seat. I’m halfway to my locker when I hear his footsteps behind me.
“Ryan. Ryan, wait.”
I speed up.
He finally catches up to me at the wall of windows near my locker. He tugs on my upper arm, forcing me to spin around.
“I can’t do this right now,” I tell him. “I need to grab my camera before the bell.”
He dismisses the excuse with “Mr. Hicks doesn’t care if you’re late.” When I try to take a step away, frustration fills his ice-blue eyes. “Just tell me one thing.”
I stop and wait, now refusing to make eye contact.
“Why?” Everett says, his tone flat. “What did I do?”
“Nothing. I told you, I don’t want to date anyone right now. I need to focus on school.”
“Bullshit.”
I clamp my mouth shut. Yes, that’s a flimsy excuse, but it’s better than My father murdered your mother. I peer past his broad shoulders down the hall. We’re alone, but the sunlight filtering through the windows behind me feels like a spotlight.
“Look, I know something happened the night of the party. I’m sorry I left you to deal with—”
“That’s not it.” The last thing I want to do is think about the party. “I don’t care about that. We were moving really fast. Too fast for me.”
“I don’t believe you.” His jaw clenches. “This is about my mom.”
My heart freezes in my chest. “What do you mean?”
“I come with too much baggage, right?” he says.
“My family is linked to the Starling Slayer and we always will be. There’ll always be true-crime assholes sneaking around on our property, taking pictures of our house.
Her house. Victim number six.” His sad expression cuts me to my core.
“It’s a lot to handle. I don’t blame you for not wanting to take on that baggage. ”
I know all about baggage, I want to blurt out. I want to hug him. Tell him I’ve changed my mind. But my family is responsible for everything he’s suffered. I have to stand firm.
“I promise you that’s not it. I have my own baggage, trust me.”
“Then share it with me,” he challenges. “I get it—you’re a private person. That’s one of the things I like about you, how you keep your head down. You stay out of the drama.”
Hysterical laughter bubbles in my throat. If he only knew.
“But you don’t have to hide from me. You can talk to me. Talk about your life in Switzerland. Your parents. Your dad sent you to live here instead of keeping you with him, right? Talk to me about that.”
I can’t, because it’s all a lie.
“The moment we met, I felt like you got me. Like you could see I’m more than I appear on the surface. Well, I know you’re more than you appear to be too. So talk to me.”
The frustration I always feel whenever he pushes me returns. I hate being pushed to talk about things. Let me open up naturally, damn it. Like my uncle. He gets that. That day in the woods, Dan chose silence rather than force, and I opened up.
Everett doesn’t seem comfortable with silence.
“Everett. I really do like you,” I say. “But I just need to take a step back. Not move so fast. Okay?”
“Whatever, Ryan.”
He stalks off, and I let him.
The guilt is suffocating, squeezing my windpipe, but when I see him again after lunch, I don’t feel so bad anymore. I turn a corner and there he is, leaning against his locker with Sofia practically draped over him. Her hand is on his chest, fingers playing with the zipper of his football jacket.
For a split second, I think he’s doing it to make me jealous. But then I catch his faraway expression, the way he doesn’t seem to even notice Sofia’s hand on him or her relentless, sugary laugh. He’s somewhere else, miles away from the crowded hallway and the girl clinging to him.
Sofia, however, catches sight of me, and her triumphant smirk says everything: I win.
I work with Maggie for a few hours after school.
It’s the usual chill afternoon at the office I’ve come to expect—doing some light updates to listings, filing a few papers, answering some phone calls.
From the small receptionist area, I can see into Maggie’s office.
She’s red-faced and has a crease that goes all the way across her forehead, a sign that she’s stressed.
She’s been on the phone for the last twenty minutes with an elderly man whose house she listed last week.
He’s now decided he wants to live there.
As in, sell the house but keep living there.
“Stanley,” Maggie is saying in a falsely bright voice.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. If we sell your house, the new owners are going to want to live in it.
Without you. Yes…yes…well, of course, I understand you don’t want to move, but if that’s the case, we will take the house off the market.
” Her face turns even redder. Poor woman is in danger of bursting a blood vessel.
“Yes, I understand you want to sell it, but…”