Pretty Reckless (All Saints High #1)(70)

I blink at him, waiting for it.

“Choose your sister.”

“Sir?”

“Choose her. Don’t choose Daria. You’ll end up giving her less than she deserves. And my daughter deserves everything. Not half of it. Not a quarter. And definitely not messy. Let her go. Unless, of course…” He pauses, cocking his head to examine my expression. I don’t breathe.

“Unless?”

“You love Daria. Then I do not allow you, under any fucking circumstances, to break both your hearts because Sylvia still holds a grudge.”

“Do you know what colleges Daria is looking into?” I swallow.

He throws his head back and laughs before shaking his head. I guess we’re all too transparent for our own good. Jaime yanks the door open and walks in.

“So screwed, Scully. So goddamn screwed.”





You kill me with your eyes

Burn me with your smile

Bury me with your indifference





I join Mom, Bailey, and Via in New York.

Mostly to put some distance between Penn and me. When I send Mel a text informing her it’s a go, she replies with a string of emojis, but this time refrains from begging me to go with her for coffee or invite me on a shopping spree.

She’s been getting chiller lately. But it’s too little, too late for me to appreciate her change in attitude.

I strategize my time at home as though my life depends on it. Because it does. My heart can’t take much more than it already has in recent weeks.

In the mornings, I keep my nose buried in my phone. During dinner, I let Bailey and Via do most of the talking and cling to my conversations with Dad. Sometimes I hear Via in the hallway, begging Penn to open the door.

He never does.

When we get to the hotel in New York, Via and Bailey kick off their matching ballet flats and jump on one of the two queen-size beds. The room is relatively small for what we usually get, and I know it’s not because Melody was trying to save money.

“You’ll sleep with me, Lovebug. You don’t mind, do you?”

I pretend not to hear her. I have a feeling I’m about to add to my little black book this weekend. Principal Prichard will be delighted. Especially when I show up at his office, ready to atone for my sins.

I’m numb and only speak when I’m directly spoken to, which is not often. Mel takes us to an Italian joint for dinner. Bailey and I order pasta and a panini each, and Melody and Via share a salad.

“Remember how I used to eat the protein bars you got me every class, Mrs. Followhill?” Via pretends to wipe a stray tear. “I didn’t even know they had, like, a thousand calories in them.”

“You needed those bars.” Mel leans across the table, catching one of Via’s crocodile tears with her thumb.

I look away as if I’ve been slapped.

“What I needed was someone like you. I’m grateful you’re in my life,” Via murmurs. Now it’s Bailey’s turn to smile at her softly. I look down at my sparkling water. This, from the same bitch who called my mother unbearable when she was in my room. But I can’t call her out. Not when she knows about what I did to her four years ago.

“Girls.” Melody sucks in a breath. “I need to tell you why we’re really here.”

Mel explains that the New York Ballet wants to open a branch in Los Angeles, and they’re considering her for the co-founder role. There are tears hanging on her lower lashes as she delivers the news. My heart hurts because normally—a year ago—even though we weren’t super close, she would have told me about it before she confided in anyone else.

“You’ve got this, Mrs. Followhill.” Via fist-pumps the air.

“Please, call me Mel.”

“Mel.”

“I believe in you, Mom,” Bailey cheers.

Melody turns to me. I pick up my slice of panini and take a small bite, looking around me. When all eyes are still on me, I say the only thing that pops in my head.

“Those energy bars were disgusting.”





At night, I toss and turn. Mel is trying to sleep next to me. Every time she reaches to rub my back and soothe me, I coil into myself. I keep wondering how we got here, and if there’s a way to go back to how we were the night I saw Penn at the snake pit. When Melody and I were civil. When we still communicated.

In the morning, Via wakes up with blisters on her feet the size of bricks.

“It’s all the walking.” She breaks into a heart-wrenching sob. “Daddy and Nana never took me anywhere in Mississippi. I guess I forgot what it feels like to walk any type of real distance.”

Make. It. Stop.

“We’ll go to Duane Reade.” Mel pacifies her, rubbing her back now. No objections here.

“We can buy you sneakers at the Nike store!” Bailey adds.

They fuss around her, assuring her that her mammoth pus balloons will be a thing of the past by nighttime.

“Just wait here,” Mel says, eyeing both of us carefully. “Bailey and I will be right back.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t send you to run my errands. I’m coming!” Via cries out dramatically.

Of course, she is. Spending a second with me would be the end of the world.

They dash out the door, and I notice Mel’s phone is still on the nightstand beside our bed. I initiate a conversation for the first time in months. It seems like a big deal to me because I’ve been so reluctant to talk to her. I’ve been avoiding it like the plague for what seems like months.