Miss Mayhem (Rebel Belle #2)(15)

“We’ll explain in the car,” I told her.

So we did. The entire ride back into town, the three of us took turns explaining how all this had come about, starting with that first night in the school bathroom, ending at the frat party tonight.

By the time we were done, we were at my house, and the car was very quiet except for Bee’s breathing.

“That’s . . . a lot,” she said at last, and all three of us muttered, “Yeah,” in unison.

Her fingers were twisted tight in the hem of her black T-shirt as she lifted her eyes to me and said, “Do you think it would be okay if I slept over at your house tonight? I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with my parents yet. Especially since they didn’t even miss me.”

That would be weird, I realized, and I nodded quickly. “Of course you can, no problem.”

David shook his head. “We need to keep talking about this,” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “About what they told Bee, and about how we can prepare for the Peirasmos, and about what the heck I’m supposed to do without any powers, and—”

I cut him off with a palm laid flat across his mouth. “Tomorrow,” I told him. “Or the next day. For now, let me help Bee. Everything else will wait.”

David mumbled something behind my hand, and I rolled my eyes.

“She’s right,” Ryan said from the back, leaning forward and bracing both his hands on the headrest of my seat. “It’s late, we’ve had a lot to process, and Harper and Bee should have some time to themselves.”

With that, he lifted one hand to slap the back of David’s seat. “Don’t try to come between these two, man, trust me,” he said, his voice light and jovial even though I was guessing he didn’t feel it. I’d known Ryan long enough to know that tightness in his voice when he was worried about something.

But thankfully David nodded. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right, nothing we can do right now. We’ll talk later.”

With that, he leaned over like he was going to kiss me, only to pause, his eyes flicking toward the backseat.

Scoffing, I reached out and grabbed his face with both hands, planting a quick but firm kiss on his lips. I didn’t like PDA, but Ryan and Bee weren’t the public, and it wasn’t like they didn’t know we were dating.

Oh. Wait.

It wasn’t like Ryan didn’t know we were dating.

I looked back at Bee, who was watching me with her mouth slightly open. “Um. That is . . . another thing we should’ve mentioned,” I said, a little meekly, but Bee was already reaching for the door handle.

“One trauma at a time, please.”

David winced at that, but it made me feel better to hear a little of the old Bee in her voice. I gave him another quick kiss, this one on the cheek, and then stepped out of the car to stand next to Bee at the edge of my driveway.

Bee watched Ryan and David drive off into the night, and stepped close to me, our arms brushing. “Your life got weird,” she said after a long pause, and I thought of Alexander, of everything that might be coming.

“And getting weirder.”





Chapter 7


BEE WAS GONE when I woke up in the morning. A note left on my dresser said she’d walked home. Since her house was only a couple of blocks from mine, it wasn’t all that weird, but I still wished she’d hung around a little longer. It was like I needed to convince myself that she was okay. But I reminded myself that she definitely needed some Parental Time, and probably wanted to sleep in her own bed.

Mom was already up and making breakfast when I went downstairs, which was surprising. It was Sunday, which meant we went to the earlier church service, then out for breakfast afterward.

“Eggs?” she asked, gesturing to the pan on the stove.

The sight of them made me a little queasy; I’d never been a big breakfast person. So I shook my head and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. “No, thanks.”

Maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn Mom looked a little disappointed. Tucking her hair—dark like mine, but cut shorter—behind her ear, she turned back to the stove. “Okay. I could also make bacon? Ooh!” She set the spatula down on the trivet I’d made her at summer camp years ago. It was supposed to look like a frog, but something had happened in the kiln to turn it into more of a dark green amoeba. “How about pancakes?”

I glanced at the clock, then back at Mom, still in her robe. “Don’t we have church?”

She gave a little shrug, turning back to the stove. “I thought we might skip this Sunday. Spend some family time.”

With that, Mom turned back to the stove. The eggs had started to smoke a little, and she heaved a sigh as she scraped them around the skillet.

I frowned. Bad enough that things were weird with David right now. I wasn’t sure I could handle family problems on top of that. Maybe Mom wanted us to hang out because she needed to tell me she and Dad were separating, or she was sick, or . . .

I stood up, putting the apple back in the bowl. “Mom, is everything all right?”

She glanced over her shoulder at me. “As far as I know. Why?

The eggs were completely burned now, and Mom made a faint “tsking” sound as she moved the pan off the eye of the stove. My mom was traditional in so many ways—in the Junior League, taught Sunday school, wore makeup even if she was just staying home all day—but she was not the best cook.