Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits, #1)(82)

Noah had been the mastermind behind all of our plans and I’d drawn upon his courage to succeed. Or had I? I dropped my last book in my pack and an eyebrow rose with the thought. My mind began to churn as I left the room. I convinced Mrs. Collins and my father to change the appointment time—not Noah. I found his brothers’ foster parents’ last name. Maybe, just maybe, I could find my answers on my own.

I turned the corner of the empty hallway and froze. With her back against my locker, Grace inspected her nails.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Talking to you. If you’d stayed with Luke, we could have remained friends.” She wiped at her thumbnail before glancing at me.

“Shouldn’t you be at lunch proving to the world you’re perfect?” I asked. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like bowing down to her.

“He’ll take you back,” she said. “Luke. When he heard you broke it off with Noah, he about flipped. He’s ending it with Deanna. He wants you. Not her.”

No, he didn’t want me. It was a rumor even I had heard, but I knew what no one else did—Luke couldn’t handle my scars. My head fell back before I refocused on the issue blocking me from my locker. “Why do you even care? Last I heard you were making everyone laugh in the gym at my expense.”

Grace became insanely interested in her shoes. “So I’m not a saint, Echo. Shoot me. It’s not like you make anything easy.” She snapped her mouth shut and tilted her head, a sure sign she was trying to gain composure. “I still want to be your friend, and we can salvage everything—our friendship, what people think of you, everything. Now that you’ve dumped the loser, we’ll just say Noah was a brain fart. That he used you. Manipulated you. And then you saw him for the moron he is. Everyone will believe that.”

Anger snapped inside of me. How could she not understand? “I’m in love with Noah.”

She pushed off the lockers, her face twisted in rage. “And look where that got you. Boyfriendless. Friendless. Damn, Echo, you went through the social lynching of the year the moment you kissed that boy in public all in the name of love. All of that for nothing!

“Nothing about you has changed. You still hide your scars, you still hide from lunch and you still hide from the world. You were better off before you met Noah Hutchins. What I wouldn’t give to have January back. At least then you came to lunch. At least then you tried.”

Her words became knives slashing against my skin, pricking and prodding more than I thought they should. “I’m not the one that put conditions on our friendship. I’m not the one terrified of what people will think of me if I’m friends with someone you think of as beneath you.”

Grace laughed and it wasn’t the happy kind. It was the type that said she was ticked beyond belief. “Yes, you did, Echo. You put conditions on our friendship the moment you slid those gloves on your arms and you asked me to lie to everyone on your behalf. I had to tell the world that I didn’t know what happened to one of my best friends. And as for pointing a finger at me and accusing me of being terrified of what people think, turn that finger back around, sister. If you’re so high and mighty, why the hell are you still hiding those scars?”

I swallowed and all of the anger I’d felt seconds before drained from my body and into the air. She was right. Grace was utterly right.

I STARED INTO MY OPEN LOCKER and drummed my fingers against the door. I could do this. I could definitely do this … tomorrow, or next month, or never…. No, no. I could do this. I could live life to please myself or everyone else. Me. I wanted to please me.

As far back as I could remember I’d lived to please everyone else: my mother, my father, teachers, therapists. Terrified if I stepped out of line I would lose their respect. And in the case of my parents—their love. But no more. I wanted answers about my past and I was only going to discover them if I found some courage.

Yesterday, Grace completely called me out and today, I was calling her bluff.

For the first time in two years, I’d worn short sleeves to school, though I kept a sweater over my shirt. But I didn’t want to wear a sweater. I was hot and uncomfortable and the sweater itched. Reaching behind my shoulders, I yanked it over my head and took a refreshing breath the moment the cooler air hit my arms. The sensation reminded me of those summer commercials where obviously hot people jumped into the cool, inviting water. This was what freedom felt like.

I left my books and sweater in my locker and headed down the empty hallway toward the cafeteria. Funny, I felt naked, like I was only sporting my bra and underwear, not my favorite blue short-sleeved shirt and a pair of faded jeans.

To keep myself from turning back, I hitched my thumbs in my pockets and counted the floor tiles. The tile stopped at the edge of the cafeteria’s concrete floor. Laughter and loud conversation flowed from the room. I prayed for two things. One: I wouldn’t pass out. Two: Lila would still love me.

My throat swelled and my chest constricted when I lifted my foot and crossed the barrier from the hallway to the lunchroom. The immediate gasps of “Oh, my God” to my left stopped my progression forward. Note to self—this was probably my worst idea yet.

I surveyed the room and watched as people leaned over from lunch table to lunch table, informing the masses that the freak had entered the room. Go ahead, stare. Maybe next time I’ll be smart enough to sell tickets.