Made You Up(92)

Bloody Miles was gone.

So was Charlie.

I stopped the thought as soon as I noticed it creeping up on me and allowed it to get no farther than that: Charlie was gone. No amount of hoping or wishing would bring her back. Not really.

The door opened a crack. My mother. I met her eye, expecting her to barge in, to yell at us, to put me under house arrest for lying to her yesterday, for running out so late, for letting Miles sleep in my room. But she didn’t.

She nodded and turned away.

Miles sighed. His glasses were askew on his nose. I didn’t want to wake him up, but I also didn’t want to be alone. I kissed his cheekbone. He sighed again. I huffed and said, “Miles.”

He grunted, cracking his eyes open.

“Morning,” I said.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Okay, I guess.” I wouldn’t have slept at all if he hadn’t stayed awake until I drifted off. The night was a blur now; I couldn’t remember any dreams, just flashes of red hair and chess pieces, wisps of violin music. “You?”

“Better than usual.”

I reached up to fix his glasses. He smiled a little.

“Do we have to go to school today?” I asked. “Can we at least skip the awards?”

“The awards are the one thing we have to go to,” he said. “I have to be there for the club, and if you don’t go you’ll be violating your community service.”

“But McCoy will be there. I don’t want you near him.”

McCoy will burn his eyes out.

“If we don’t go, McCoy will have a reason to call me to his office. Then he’ll have me alone and it will be even worse.”

God, he was humoring me and I couldn’t stop myself. “Then you have to stay away from him. Don’t let him anywhere near you. Don’t even let him look at you—”

“I know.” His fist pressed into my stomach. “I know.”

If I looked at him any longer, I was going to start crying, so I pushed myself up and crawled over him to dig my school uniform out of the mess on the floor.

When I’d finished changing clothes, I had Miles wait by the front door while I crept into the kitchen.

Dad was alone, staring out the window over the kitchen sink. I tapped on the doorframe to get his attention.

“Your mom’s on the phone with Leann,” he said. I checked the clock. Seven in the morning—that had to be a new record for her.

“I’m going to school,” I said.

He turned away from the sink. “Lexi, I don’t think—”

“I don’t want to be here all day.”

“Your mom doesn’t want you to go.”

“Just today, please?” I wasn’t letting Miles go by himself, and I knew, if I kept pushing, Dad would cave. “If it makes you feel better, Miles will be with me all day.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Actually, it does. But you know she’s going to be pissed if I let you leave.”

I waited.

He waved a hand in defeat. “Go. But promise me you’ll come home if you get scared or panicked or—or if anything happens—tell Miles this, too, so he can bring you back here!”

He had to raise his voice for the last part; I was already marching to the front door.

Believing something existed and then finding out it didn’t was like reaching the top of the stairs and thinking there was one more step. Except when the thing was Charlie, the stairs were five miles high, and your foot never found the floor again.

Being back in school after that kind of drop was surreal, like I was falling past everyone else so quickly they couldn’t even see me.

Everyone ignored us, for the most part. After classes were over, Miles and I retreated to the gym and sat behind the scorer’s table. He barked out orders; all hands were on deck to set up for the awards.

“Celia!” Miles snapped. “Why are you late?”

Celia hurried into the gym, her lank brown hair hanging around her pallid face.

“Sorry!” she whimpered as she settled onto the bleachers, wiping her eyes. “Richar—Mr. McCoy wanted to talk to me.”

My heart sank. Why did he want to talk to her? What were they doing in his office? Why did McCoy have a picture of her and her father in his house?

Miles scrutinized her. “About what?”

Celia squirmed. “Nothing.”