Black Bird of the Gallows(55)

This feels so wrong, it shouldn’t be real. But this is my voice saying, “Good-bye, Reece.”

And this is my body, walking out the door.

Quite possibly leaving my heart behind.





24-definitely for the best


Monday is a grim day at school. The parking lot is quiet, save for the relentless rain. Most traces of last Thursday’s violence have been scrubbed away, but a few bullet holes still pockmark the brick of the north wall. Deno sees me getting off the bus and sidles up alongside me.

“Bussing it?” He pulls open the school door and holds it for me.

“Yup.” I duck under his arm and go inside.

He smirks. “Reece drive too fast for you?”

“Something like that.” I shake the rain off my coat. “We broke up.”

“Seriously? Why?”

I force an indifferent shrug. “You know. We wanted different things and all that. It’s fine. Definitely for the best.”

The vibe in the school is sober, tense. I don’t remember the halls ever being this quiet.

Deno’s hands make fists, and his lips thin. “Damn it. I knew he was an asshole.”

“Who’s an asshole?” Lacey asks as she joins us in the hall.

“No one,” I say quickly, shooting Deno a warning look. Which of course, he doesn’t heed.

“Reece,” he tells her.

Lacey’s eyes go wide. “He is? Oh no. What’d he do?”

Deno interrupts before I even begin. “That asshole broke up with Angie because she wouldn’t put out.”

“What?” Lacey and I say at the same time.

Deno blinks at me. “Isn’t that what you meant?”

“No,” I say, with feeling. “Not at all. I said we wanted different things. Not that he tried to…” I poke him in the chest. “You watch what you say. I don’t want rumors floating around school, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Got it.” Deno rubs his chest. “I should still beat his ass.”

Oh, this is torture. “No, you should not.”

My stomach knots up thinking about seeing Reece in PE, physics, history, and lunch. Pretending indifference to my closest friends pushes the limits of my emotional endurance. “Yeah, no ass kicking,” I push out in a light voice. “He’s a hockey player, Deen.”

“So?” He pushes up his glasses as we stop at my locker. “You think I can’t take a hockey player?”

I purse my lips and try to find a respectful way to say no, but Lacey does it better. She pats his arm. “Angie can handle this herself.”

Surprisingly, Deno doesn’t argue with her. Maybe he’s learning, after all.

Lacey looks past me. Her gaze darkens. “Don’t turn around, Angie.”

Of course, I do. Reece is passing on the way to his locker. Our eyes meet. His darken to a glower before flickering away.

I turn sightlessly to the contents of my locker. Blood pounds in my head. This hurts so much worse than I expected. “Like I said, it’s for the best,” I croak out.

Lacey gives me a hug. “I’m really sorry, Angie.”

I lean in to her and give myself this one soft moment. “Thank you. Me, too.”

“Do you want to tell us what really happened?”

I do. I really do, but I shake my head and give Deno a sharp look. “It’s definitely not what you’re thinking.”

“Sorry.” Deno shrugs. “It was a reasonable assumption. You know, considering what happened when we…”

Oh God no, please don’t say we made out. I shift my foot and press the stacked heel of my boot into his foot. He grimaces but gets the message. “I’m uh, sorry things didn’t work out, Ange. I hope you’re okay.”

“I will be.” It was for the best. If I keep saying that, eventually it’ll be true.

There’s really no getting away from Reece. He’s there in history class, two rows behind me. He’s there at lunch, at the next table over. In PE, Mrs. Brandt pairs us up for racquetball. It’s not a deliberate act, merely the way of the alphabet. She certainly didn’t know we were dating. I find myself annoyed with a last name that starts with D, because it precedes F, and there are no Es in this annoying class to separate us.

I take my equipment from the bin and take my place on the court without looking at him. The pair of girls we’re playing next to exchange glances. My face burns. My first serve bounces straight back and whacks me in the thigh. My hand is so sweaty, it’s a miracle I’m still holding the racquet.

“Hey, just relax.” Reece’s breath brushes my neck, just below my stubby ponytail. He’s so close, I could back up one step and lean against his chest. I don’t know what’s worse—knowing he’s close enough to touch, or denying how much I want to.

I can’t speak. He wants me to. I can feel it. And I would, if I could trust my words. I step away, letting cool air replace Reece’s heat at my back. I drop my racquet in the bin and walk to the locker room. I don’t care. I’ll take a failing grade for today.

It doesn’t get any easier the rest of the week. Every time I see Reece, my heart squeezes. My eyes burn. I find myself wishing this disaster or whatever would just come already so he could leave and I could start forgetting him. And then I feel guilty about that, because I don’t want people to die.