Tone Deaf(32)

Killer winks and quickly moves the conversation along. “You got a phone?”

“Not with me. Why?”

He rolls his eyes, but in a playful way, not a mean one. “Why do you think? I want your number.”

“Oh.”

He stares at me for a long second, his face crumpling into a puzzled expression. Then he throws his head back and laughs.

“What?” I demand.

Killer just keeps chuckling. “You just gave me the least enthusiastic response I’ve ever gotten from asking for a girl’s number.”

His hand flies toward me, and I nearly topple off the stool trying to dodge it. But he just lazily tosses his arm over my shoulder and pulls me into an awkward hug. Killer considers me for a moment, then reaches into his pocket with his free hand and pulls out his own phone. Popping up a blank text, he quickly types a message and tilts the screen so I can see it:

You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s refreshing to not have a girl freak out when I ask for her number.

“Oh.” I cringe, realizing I’ve just given another lame answer, and try to slip out from under his arm. Thankfully, he lets me.

Killer cocks his head, his smile fading as his gaze locks on my bruised cheek. He types a little more on the phone and then shows it to me again. You’re not exactly the huggable type?

“Um, not really.”

He shrugs and pulls his arm back toward his side and away from my personal space. That’s OK, he types, keeping the screen tilted so I can see. His fingers glide across the screen impossibly fast as he adds, I think I’m starting to understand why Jace likes you so much.

Likes me? Yeah, right. He pities me, sure, but that’s a far cry from liking me. But I keep all that to myself and say, “What do you mean?”

Jace isn’t into hugs either.

I frown, trying to come up with an appropriate response other than “bullshit.”

Killer catches my skeptical look and types, You mean Jace actually tried to hug you?

“Well, um, yeah. Um, he did.” I wince at how stupid I sound. I’m seventeen; I should know how to talk properly by now. But it’s like my brain doesn’t realize that and is determined to make me sound like an idiot.

Killer’s eyes grow wide and he leans forward a little, staring right at me. He must be looking for some hint that I’m joking, and when he doesn’t find one, he slowly pulls back and frowns. “Wow,” he says, and I’m not sure if he means for me to read his lips or not. “That’s a first.”

I blush, not sure how to reply. A first? Definitely not. There’s no way I’m Jace’s first anything.

He really likes you, Killer types.

I look down at the counter, pretending to study the granite. “I don’t think so.”

Killer nudges at my side until I look back at his phone. No. Jace likes you. I’m sure of it.

“Okay . . . thanks?”

Killer quickly changes the subject again. So you don’t have a cell phone?

“No, I had to leave it.” I don’t elaborate on why: because my dad will never just let me go, because he could use it to track me, because I can never, ever let him find me.

I’ll fix that for you, Killer types. Before I can reply, he jumps off the stool and leaves the kitchen. He gives me a little wave before disappearing into the next room.

I roll my cup back and forth between my palms, unsure if I should follow him. Probably not. Even if he’s being nice to me, he didn’t sign up to have me trailing along after him like some sort of puppy. I take a little sip of the energy drink, even though I’m not really thirsty anymore; my spinning thoughts have completely ruined my appetite.

The drink tastes too sweet, like it’s made purely of sugar. But I ignore the taste and chug down the last few drops. As I set down the glass, I stare into it. It reflects my face, paleness and bruises and all. What am I doing? I mouth, watching my lips in the glass as they move with the words. Then I add, I don’t belong with these people.

But just as I mouth the words, the RV hits a bump in the road, tilting the cup over and ruining the reflection.





15


JACE


I COLLAPSE ON the couch and bite back a groan. After an entire day of driving, my shoulders are aching from their old injuries. Usually when I get like this, I go on a run and let adrenaline numb my pain. But I’m hesitant to leave Ali, who still looks nearly as stressed as she was when we met up this morning.

She sits on the other couch, staring out the window into the darkness. With the shades drawn, there’s only a little sliver of the night sky exposed at the top of the window. Ali has an opened magazine in her lap, but she seems too anxious to focus on reading, and she keeps nervously crinkling the corner of one of the pages.

Night fell about an hour ago, and our caravan stopped at a rest station right outside this dusty little town called Blythe. With our first day of travel behind us, we’re perfectly on schedule. Thank god, because when we aren’t on schedule, Tony throws hissy fits that scare pretty much everyone.

A scratching sound comes from the other end of the RV, and I recognize it as Cuddles trying to get out of my room. Usually, I take her for a long run in the evenings; she needs the exercise, I need the physical challenge, and fans need a giant pit bull to get the message to stay the hell away from me. It’s a good setup for all of us.