Friends Like These(80)

“That’s funny.” Luke’s friend laughed. “He just called you a faggot.”

I winced, then watched in disbelief as Peter smiled at Luke— a taunting fuck-you smile.

“You think you’re funny?” Luke asked Peter.

Oh my God, Peter, I thought. He is going to kill you.

“A little bit,” Peter said, still smiling.

“Jonathan,” I heard Stephanie say. She sounded nervous. “We should go.”

“You know what else is funny?” Luke asked.

I heard the sound before I felt the motion. Felt the impact of my head smashed against the table before the pain. Felt the pain before I registered someone’s hand on the back of my neck. Luke’s hand. All I could see was black. The table. Maybe.

“Jonathan!” Stephanie screamed. “Let go of him!”

There was a burning at the top of my skull, razors slicing down my spine. Luke was pushing down harder and harder. I felt dizzy. Like I was about to throw up. Or black out. It was hard to breathe.

“Fucking stop it!” Stephanie screamed, even louder this time. “Let go of him, you fucking asshole!”

There was struggling then— Peter must have been trying to help. The hand on my neck was shaking my head, back and forth.

“Stop it!” Stephanie— I could see her feet. Right up against mine.

“Ow! Fucking bitch!” Luke shouted suddenly. “My fucking neck!”

Then, all at once, I was free. Stephanie yanked me up, pulling me through the crowd. “Come on!” she shouted at me, shoving people out of the way.

“Where’s Peter?” I asked, as we got close to the door. But when I tried to turn my head to look, the pain was excruciating.

“He’s fine. He’s fine. Let’s just get to the car,” Stephanie said as she dragged me outside. “Hurry. Give me the keys. I’ll drive.”

Stephanie took the driver’s seat, locking the doors and putting the key in the ignition.

“Wait. We have to . . .” The throbbing in my head was worse with each word. “We can’t leave Peter in there.”

“Yes, we fucking can,” Stephanie said.

“Luke is going to kill him!”

“I’m the one who fucked up his neck with my nails. If anyone is getting killed, it’s me.”

“But Peter— ”

“He’s fine, Jonathan!” Stephanie shouted. She lurched into reverse, then zoomed forward. “Text Maeve. She’s at the house by herself. Tell her to lock the doors in case those guys show up looking for us.”

Stephanie was really scared, I could see that— even through the screaming pain in my neck. I tapped out a quick text to Maeve. Be careful. Contractors could be on way. Lock everything.

Maeve responded instantly. Are you okay?

Yes, be home soon. “I told her we’re on the way.”

“Text back and tell her we might be a little while.”

“Why?”

“Did you tell Peter where Keith and Derrick left Crystal?”

“Honestly, Stephanie, whatever happened back there, Peter might be a coward, but he’s not going to tell— ”

“He’s in on it, Jonathan.”

“In on what?”

“Peter is in on it with the contractors.” Stephanie’s voice sounded strained.

“In on what?” I asked again.

“And I think they might be together together— Luke and Peter. They just looked at each other in this way.” She shuddered. “Your neck was about to get broken, and they were— ”

“No,” I said quietly. And I meant that like No, you’re wrong. But I already had the worst sinking feeling.

“When Luke grabbed you, Jonathan, Peter didn’t look surprised or upset.” She gave my forearm a quick squeeze. “I swear to God he looked . . . flattered. Luke was jealous, and Peter was happy about it.”

I was quiet for a long time, staring out the window at the passing trees. In the void, there was only my chest getting slowly crushed. Stephanie was right, wasn’t she? I could feel it.

“I really know how to pick ’em, huh?” I managed finally. My voice sounded so quiet and small. “I am such a moron.”

“What, because you cared about someone? I don’t think so.” Stephanie’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “However, blaming yourself because Peter is terrible? That would make you a moron.”

“By all means, don’t sugarcoat it.”

“You don’t need me to sugarcoat anything. That’s patronizing.” Stephanie said, then stayed quiet for a beat. “Hey, want to hear something that will make you feel better?”

“Sure,” I said doubtfully.

“I had a one-night stand with Finch.”

“No.” When I turned to look at her, she nodded. “Eww.”

“A month ago,” she said, then shrugged. “Whatever. My point is: we all make bad choices. All you can do is try to choose differently next time.”

“Yeah, apparently I’m not so great at that.” We were quiet again. “Thank you for stepping in when you did. I think he actually could have broken my neck.”

“Anytime,” she said.