People Like Us(43)

He slips his phone out of his pocket, scrolls, and hands it to me. There’s an email from [email protected] asking him to meet me here, at the Cat Café, now. It’s a little flirtatious, and I blush before shoving the phone back into his hands.

“You know that’s not my email,” I say. “And you’re the only one who calls me Katie.”

His face pales. “Why would I do this?”

“To mess with my head. You hate me now. I get it.”

He looks at me sharply. “I don’t hate you.”

“Everyone else does. And they have much less reason.”

I feel like crying suddenly. Bates Academy was supposed to be the place where everything turned right side up again. And I’ve smashed it to pieces.

He scoots around the table and folds me into his arms. “No one hates you.”

“My friends do. My teammates. People I barely know.”

“Did you maybe do something to piss them off?” He presses his lips together and makes an innocent face.

I push him away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand better than anyone.”

I look him in the eye. “Have the police questioned you?”

Instead of answering, he kisses me. For a moment, I’m shocked into inaction. His lips fit mine perfectly, because they always have. His smell is comforting, cool mint and Old Spice. He doesn’t taste like cigarettes and I wonder if he was hoping for this, but the thought melts away as he pulls me closer, one arm fitting around my waist and the other cradling my head.

I feel heat rising in me and the urge to pull him closer makes me break away and glance around the café. It’s empty of customers, though I can hear the sound of running water and dishes clinking in the back.

“Right here, right now?” he says with a wicked grin.

I shake my head and bite my lip. I want to keep kissing him but not here. Not now. He ruins everything. That is, when I don’t do it first. “That’s not funny. You brought her here.”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “I did.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily. “I should tell you something else.”

“First answer me.”

He studies my face. “No. Police haven’t questioned me.”

An icy feeling creeps over me like frost. “You’re lying. I can tell.”

“Then why did you ask?” He gazes at me with an oddly undisturbed expression. “Why are you always testing me?”

I stand abruptly. “Because the way you lie indiscriminately makes you sound like a sociopath, Spencer. Did Brie even set you up with Jessica?”

For a moment a spark of hope ignites in my chest.

But he scrolls through his phone and shows me a series of texts from Brie describing Jessica, asking if he’s interested, telling him to go for it.

“Now do you believe me?”

Maddy walks in just as I’m storming out, and she freezes in the doorway. “Kay?”

I push past her into the street, ignoring her as she calls my name, sounding more and more upset. I can’t take one more second of drama. Last night exceeded my limit.



* * *



? ? ?

I KICK MY door open and dump my backpack on the floor. I need to clear my head. I down an entire bottle of water and brush my hair out, counting the strokes, then attempt to do my English reading for Tuesday—more Othello, some ravings about a handkerchief. I can’t focus.

I set my phone to silent and study straight through dinner. My phone lights up repeatedly and I clock in thirty-seven missed calls and texts from Maddy, Spencer, Brie, and Nola—a new record. Spencer wins with a string of fifteen spanning from six to six thirty, mostly asking where I am; Maddy close behind with seven calls and three texts telling me to call her STAT. By seven forty-five, my stomach feels like it’s digesting itself. There’s a knock at my door, and when I open it, Nola sashays in as if last night had never happened. She kicks aside a mound of clothes, places a box of French pastries on my bed, and opens her laptop.

“The timer waits for no one.”

I linger by the door, unsure what to say. Last night was horrible. I don’t know how she can even face me after I failed to stand up for her. On top of that, my room is a total mess. I’ve skipped laundry day for two weeks and have been recycling everything but underwear. Even socks.

She looks me up and down. “Get it together, Donovan. It’s game time.” She kicks off her shoes and removes her coat and hat and begins untangling knots in her damp hair. She wears a pair of leggings and an off-the-shoulder T-shirt with a graphic of a creepy alien in a blazer brandishing a machete over a frightened ingenue’s head. ASTROZOMBIES! IN DELUXE COLOR! is printed at the top.

“Cute shirt,” I say, trying to sound sincere. Maybe not successfully.

She eyes my dress, a Gucci zip-up with ruffle details and navy and red trim. “Nice dress. Did you sew it together from a pile of old school uniforms?”

I blush. Tricia had rejected the gift from her parents because it resembled our uniform too much. I don’t think they look anything alike, and it’s a drop-dead dress. But then, I don’t get many opportunities to own dresses like this, and I don’t turn them down.

“Sorry,” Nola says, sighing. “I’m just in a bad mood. It looks good on you. You look like my sister. And she’s perfect.” She smiles with overtly false enthusiasm.