The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(57)

“Deal.”

“Dylan and I got together freshman year. He wasn’t as bad then.” Here, her gaze softens, like she has some good memories. “He was … sweet. I know it’s hard to imagine now.”

I barely remember anyone but Ryan from that period. Back then I shadowed him so hard that it’s a wonder we didn’t fuse together. Eighth grade had been a battle of epic proportions and my freshman year I was struggling to find a balance. Mostly, I went to school, did my homework, and tried really hard to be perfect, so Aunt Gabby wouldn’t dump me back in state care. I’m still doing that, to be honest. Sometimes it’s hard to feel safe.

“He wasn’t on my radar,” I admit.

“Something happened between our freshman and sophomore years. I have no idea what … he wouldn’t say. But he changed. Suddenly he wanted to know where I was every minute. He tried to tell me who I could talk to, how I was allowed to dress…” Lila shakes her head and sighs.

Given what I know about Dylan’s relationship with his mom, I suspect this has something to do with her. “That’s bizarre.”

“Right? But it gets weirder.”

“I’m listening.”

“We’d been dating for nine months or so … and I wanted to sleep with him. I was stupid. I thought it might reassure him that I loved him.”

At this, my brows shoot up, because I thought they broke up because he told everyone they did it when they really didn’t. “Not what I was expecting.”

“I guess not. So one night, we had his place to ourselves. His mom was out with her flavor of the month. We started messing around, but when I touched him through his jeans, he pulled away and started crying.”

“Holy shit.”

“I hugged him and said it was no big deal. But I could tell something was bothering him, like, a lot. He basically kicked me out. And the next day, he was claiming we hooked up.”

Now I understand why Dylan hates Lila. She witnessed a weak moment, so he had to ruin her at school, so nobody would believe her if she told anyone the truth. In other words, he shot first. I’m willing to bet something happened that summer, end of innocence, or some shit like that. Too bad. I might have liked the sweet Dylan that Lila dated two years ago, but he’s gone and I’m left to square off against the * who’s taken his place.

“And he was mean about it,” I guess.

She nods without looking at me. “I never told anyone what really happened—like they’d believe me. In the official record, he gets to be a player who popped my cherry while I’m the slut who gave it up, then went batshit and broke up with him because I didn’t want everyone to know.”

“You loved him.”

“Yeah. Shows what poor judgment I have. Now you owe me something good. Spill.”

So I tell her about Shane and the Coffee Shop, how he seemed like he was singing just to me. Next I mention that he spent the night here, and by this point, she’s bouncing. “Christ, Sage. I never would’ve guessed. You look so innocent. But you’re sneaky!”

“Who’s sneaky?” my aunt asks, coming in the front door.

“Uh,” I say.

But Lila covers smooth as silk. “She’s got the smartest plan to get people to bring in their old newspapers and magazines. Extra credit! Provided we can get the teacher to agree.”

“That is sneaky.” But from Aunt Gabby’s tone, she approves, so I’m clear. “Are you staying for dinner, Lila?”

“If you don’t mind. We’ll feed Sage tomorrow night.”

“Sounds good. Just let me change and then I’ll dish up the soup.”

“I can do it,” I offer, dropping my math notebook.

“Thanks.” Aunt Gabby heads down the hall to her bedroom.

I jump up and hurry to the kitchen and get three bowls. Lila follows, looking bemused. “She doesn’t seem like the type to beat you if you aren’t super efficient, super helpful, all the time.”

There are so many things I could say, but I don’t offer anything honest. I hate myself for it, too. “Isn’t this exactly how you pictured the Post-it Princess acting at home?”

“Yeah. But now I’m starting to wonder if that’s the real you.”

Lucky for me, my aunt comes in before Lila can say more or I’m forced to acknowledge or deny her insight. Dinner passes quietly, and half an hour later, Lila’s mom comes to pick her up. I think she just wants to get a look at Aunt Gabby and me, so we come to the front door to wave as she backs out of the drive.

“I’m glad you’re having people over and making friends other than Ryan. Lila seems nice.”

“She is,” I agree.

“What’s going on with Ryan, by the way? He didn’t seem to be brokenhearted when he was here on Sunday.”

I shrug. “You’re asking the wrong person. I don’t know if he’s moved on, or if he’s covering his feels better.”

“Talk to him,” Aunt Gabby advises.

“I’ll text him now.”

After washing the dinner dishes, I carry my backpack to my room and close the door. My aunt respects my privacy; she doesn’t rummage in my stuff, but a closed door is comforting. It says, This is my space, and you can’t come in unless I let you. I also know how fragile that barrier can be.