Fluffy(57)

“Ozzy,” Will chokes out, giving me a look that either says Hey, my friends love me or Call an ambulance because he just squeezed my spleen until it burst.

I seriously can't tell which.

Ozzy sets Will down and turns his back to me, Will stretching his neck to peer around the mountain of a man in order to re-establish eye contact with me. Normally, I'd leave, but I'm standing my ground, instantly furious.

Because Michael Osgood is the one who threatened me.

Over homework.

Back at the office, when Will asked for the name, I don't know why I clammed up and didn't give it. Now that we're here, and Osgood is just, you know, a guy and not a threat, I feel silly. Laughter bubbles up inside me as I stare at his back, thick shoulders moving as he gestures animatedly at Will.

“I run the insurance agency with Dad now, but you wouldn't know that, would you, Lowman? You split the second we graduated.” Two towns over, the Osgoods run a well-known insurance office, a franchise of a national company. Osgood knew from day one that's who he would be and where he would work. He doesn't live in Anderhill, or I'd run into him more often.

Thank God he doesn't live in town.

“Well, I'm back now,” Will says, giving me looks that say, Come over here. His head tilts, a nudge to join them.

“Heard you're managing your parents' property company. Good for you. How's your coverage?”

“Coverage?”

“Business liability. Renter's insurance. Who do you send tenants to?”

Will makes a scoffing sound. Our eyes meet. He smiles at me, the grin fading fast as he turns back and says, “Ozzy, you're not seriously pumping me for business at our high school reunion, are you?”

“No better time, man. We're salespeople. We're always on. Every person in this room is just a dollar sign to me.”

“Not me, man. Not me. That's not how I run my business.”

“Then good luck ever being successful. We have to be sharks.”

“You think that's true, Mallory?” Will asks me as I step closer.

Ozzy happens to move, blocking me from Will. It's clearly unintentional, but it makes me freeze.

I'm a wall, a curtain, a piece of furniture. I'm nothing to Osgood as he talks to Will, the disregard for my existence so evident that I shoot past anger to astonishment.

“Who?” he asks, face blank.

“Mallory Monahan. You remember,” Will says, turning politely to me.

“No.”

“Valedictorian? In our American Government class senior year?”

Head shake. “Nope.” One eyebrow goes up. “Why are you here with her?” he asks in an undertone, barely turning away to cover his words. It's clear he feels entitled to say them in front of me. “Look at Alisha. She's hot as hell, and I know she's interested in you, Lowman, because she–”

I walk away.

One step at a time, I just do. Years ago, when Osgood threatened me, I was a trapped rabbit, hunkered down in my warren, waiting for the threat to pass. Like Alisha, Osgood thinks he can say whatever he wants about me because I am unimportant. He has a mental structure that lays out the order of the universe for him, and in that strictly layered planogram, I am nowhere near the top.

He only acknowledges the people at the top.

His top.

“Mallory!” Will calls out as I pick up my pace, feeling the wind outside coming in from an open door. Blood pounds in my ears, the breeze pushing my carefully coiffed hair off my brow. The high heels suddenly feel sturdy, authoritative, the stretch of my stride giving me more boldness than I would have thought possible. I am walking away from high school, from a past riddled with the misconception that I have to let people treat me like Osgood, Alisha, Ramini.

Like Will.

“WIIILLLLL!” squeals a gaggle of women I've just passed, their glittering sequined dresses bouncing light off the dance floor disco balls, my skin cooling as I work my way out from the heat of social clustering.

I'm free.

“MALLORY!” he shouts once more, and then I cut to the left, running on the balls of my feet, my stride boosted by the one force I didn't think could propel me forward, but one with more kinetic energy than I ever imagined.

A broken heart.





16





Where are you? Fiona texts me as I sit on the toilet in the women's room at the country club.

In the bathroom, I text back.

Did I hear Will shouting for you? she asks.

I guess. Pretty sure he was eaten by a sharknado of cheerleaders, I reply.

Meow, she texts. Mallory's getting catty.

No, I think to myself as I sniffle. I'm just tired of hoping to be treated differently.

And then I hear a man's voice call out: “Mallory?” in the hallway.

The clack clack clack of jogging footsteps halts, followed by a pause, then the door opens. Heavy breathing echoes in the tiled room, the bathroom nothing more than a temporary sanctuary, stall after stall in a row, the doors too short to provide a real hiding place.

And no way will I lower my dignity further by standing on a toilet seat to hide my location. Who does that?

“Mal?”

I hold my breath.

“I can see your shoes. I know you're in there.” Through the wide space between the door and the frame I see Will lean his hip against the line of sinks, the counter a gorgeous piece of granite with a faux-broken edge, designed to look raw and natural.