Call It What You Want(77)

His father is awful. It’s never been a secret—at least not to me. He drives Connor into the ground, and nothing Connor does is ever good enough. I imagine Connor getting my panicked, hysterical call and going to his father, asking for help.

It’s easy to imagine, because I know how I would react.

My father would have thrown me into the car and started calling, trying to find out what was going on.

My father would have gotten Connor out of the house and into our car. He would have played interference with the cops and rescue workers. He wouldn’t have left Connor’s side.

Maybe that’s why I never considered this scenario. I always thought about what I would have done. What my father would have done.

I never considered that even though our lives once looked very similar from the outside, they were nothing alike on the inside.

I look over. Connor is still awake, though he’s lying on the hardwood floor, his eyes on the ceiling.

I pull one of the extra pillows off my bed and fling it at him. “Fine. Tell me what happened in the game against Carroll.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Maegan

Tuesday morning brings overcast skies and a bitter cold front. The air smells like snow when I step outside, and the wind bites at my cheeks. The only people I seem to be getting along with now are my parents, and I think that’s only because they’re so mentally tied up in what’s going on with Samantha.

She still hasn’t told them who the father is.

She still hasn’t seen a doctor or made a decision about what she wants to do.

She still hasn’t said a word to me.

I can add her to the list of people who are irritated with me, right along with Rob, Rachel, Drew, and Owen.

It’s a miracle I’m going to school at all, honestly.

Mom has a business meeting out of town today, so one of her coworkers picked her up. It’s a rare day I get the car to myself for school. I click the remote to unlock the doors, when I hear Samantha’s voice behind me.

“Hey.” She gives a little cough. “Megs.”

I stop and turn. Her hair is piled in a knot on top of her head, and she’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt and jeans. Zero makeup. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Do I know you?”

I’m aiming for only mildly passive aggressive, not bitchy, but Sam scowls and glances away.

Okay, whatever. I open the car door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Wait.”

I sigh. “What?”

“I was wondering if you would go with me somewhere.”

I slide my phone out and glance at the time. “I need to be at school in fifteen minutes. Where do you need to go?”

She opens her mouth, then hesitates and wraps her arms around herself. “It’s fine. Never mind.”

“No, Sam, it’s fine. What, do you need something from the drugstore?”

She looks up and meets my eyes. “No. I want …” Her voice falters, but she steels her nerve and narrows her eyes. “He won’t return my calls. He’s blocked me everywhere. I want to confront him.”

“David?” I whisper.

“Yeah. David.”

I try to work this out in my head. She goes to school over two hours away. “Does he live around here?”

“No.” She looks at me like I’m being an idiot. “Megs, forget it. It was stupid.”

I jingle the keys in my hand. It’s not stupid. I can tell. I want to offer to let her take the car if she can drop me off at school, and those words almost spill out of my mouth. But then I consider what she just said.

“I’d have to cut school,” I say carefully. “I think they send out an e-mail if you don’t show up.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “You want to cut school?”

“Well. I don’t want to.” I swallow. I’d get in a ton of trouble if Mom and Dad found out. We’d be right back where we were last spring. “But what are you going to do? Confront him in his classroom?”

“Yes.”

I was kidding. “Whoa.”

She flinches. “You think it’s stupid? I mean, he’s blocked me everywhere. His wife hung up on me. It’s the only place I know he’ll be.”

“But your scholarship—”

“I don’t care. I can’t keep hiding. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t do this alone. It’s not fair.”

I’m not sure what to say.

Samantha’s shoulders slump a little. “You think it’s a terrible idea.”

I don’t know if it’s a horrible idea—or a great one.

Somehow this conversation feels similar to the one Owen and I had over the lunch table yesterday. Owen was right. Nothing is black and white. Nothing is simple and straightforward and easy.

I do know it’s not right that Samantha is miserable and alone and this guy somehow gets to decide to cut her out of his life like it’s nothing, when she has no choice but to deal with the fallout.

“If you want to go, I’ll go with you.” I clear my throat. “I don’t know how to get around the e-mail thing.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” says Sam. “I’ll call and pretend to be Mom.”

“You think they’ll believe you?”