One Small Thing(18)

She doesn’t seem to hear me. “What you said yesterday. About...about this being a prison.” She lifts her gaze to mine. There’s so much anguish there. “This house isn’t a prison, Beth. It’s a safe haven. It’s the only place where you’re truly safe. Where nothing can hurt you.”

I stare at her. Really? I am hurt in this house. They’re suffocating me with their fears. They took away my door, my privacy.

She’s delusional if she believes I feel safe here.

About as delusional as me thinking I can pretend I didn’t sleep with the boy who killed my sister.





8

The next morning, I find Scarlett and Jeff waiting by my locker. Scarlett immediately throws her arms around me and whines, “It sucks that you don’t have a phone.”

“I know,” I say glumly.

“Your dad said he took it away because you snuck out to a party?” Jeff prompts.

I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t remember that coming up at all during dinner last night. “When did he tell you that?”

“This morning. I stopped by the hardware store to say hello before school.”

The revelation bugs me a little, but I can’t explain why. Jeff was over at our house all the time when he was with Rachel. He practically lived there. But it’s been ages since anyone has seen him, and Rachel is gone, so this insta-closeness with my family is weird to me.

“Where was this party?” Jeff keeps pushing for details. “Was it just you and Scar?”

“I didn’t go,” Scarlett, the traitor, tells him. “Beth went on her own. With a bunch of kids from Lexington Heights.”

I scowl at her and she shrugs as if to say I didn’t know it was a big secret.

“Lexington kids?” Jeff says with visible disapproval. “All those Lex kids are total trash, Lizzie. Everyone knows that.”

“Not all of them,” I say in the defense of Ashleigh and Harley and the rest of the kids who were nothing but nice to me on Saturday. “I had a good time.”

“Yeah? Doing what?” he says suspiciously. “I’ve heard about the kinds of drugs that float around at those Lex parties.”

“I don’t do drugs,” I say stiffly.

“I should hope not.”

The judgment in Jeff’s eyes grates on me. Who is he to judge? He doesn’t even know me anymore. The last time he saw me, I had a mouth full of braces and a face covered with zits. I don’t think I’d even kissed a guy at that point.

“Anyway, it was fun,” I tell Jeff and Scarlett. I slam my locker shut and shift my backpack onto my shoulder. “I have to go. I want to talk to my Calc teacher before the bell rings. I’m already a day behind because I missed class yesterday.”

I leave before they can respond, waving a hurried goodbye over my shoulder. Truth is, I do want to get to AP Calc early. But not to talk to the teacher.

My heart is racing as I lurk outside the classroom door. Kids stream past me up and down the hallway. Some duck into the classroom I’m waiting by, others dart through the other open doorways in the corridor.

Where is he?

Impatience has me tapping my foot and playing with the straps of my backpack. I search the hall for him, scanning every boy that comes near. I dismiss the ones with dark hair, the gangly ginger-haired one, the one with the dreadlocks and his buddy with the shaved head. I wait in the hall, even after the bell rings, even after the classroom door closes.

And finally, my patience pays off.

Charlie Donnelly appears at the end of the hall. He’s wearing black cargo pants and a black T-shirt, and a harried look on his face. He rakes a hand through his dirty-blond hair as he rushes down the tiled floor. He’s clearly pissed at himself for being late.

When he sees me, he stumbles to a dead stop.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

“Chase,” I say awkwardly.

I take a step forward, and he takes a very fast one to the side.

His hand shoots out for the doorknob. “We’re late for class,” he says, and his tone is so cold, so aloof, that I frown deeply. He won’t even look at me.

“I don’t care if we’re late. I need to talk to you.”

“Got nothing to say,” he mutters.

“Please,” I beg.

I grab his hand before he can turn the knob. He flinches as if I’ve burned him with a hot iron. Hurt trembles in my belly. A few days ago, he was begging me to touch him. Now it’s like he can’t stand the sight of me, the feel of me, the—

And why the hell do I care? A wave of anger and self-reproach washes over me. This guy hit my sister with his car and went to jail for it. I shouldn’t give a flying fuck if he isn’t into me.

“Well, I have something to say,” I grind out. “And it doesn’t matter if we’re one minute late or five minutes late—late is late. So you might as well give me a few seconds of your precious time.”

His hands drop to his sides. He’s still making a very obvious effort to not look at me. Those blue eyes focus on a spot a few feet above my head. I feel stupid talking to his chin, but I do it anyway.

“You’re going to school here now,” I start.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” His gaze swings briefly to mine before sliding away.