The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(62)

That weekend sets the tone for the next few. Shane and I hang out in between work, school, and homework, but often we drag Ryan and Lila along with us, as they get along better than expected. The recycling drive goes well, though it doesn’t set any records. I’m pleased that my social studies teacher approves the extra credit scheme.

Halloween rolls around, but I don’t hit the party out at the Barn. Instead, I have friends over, the first time it’s been more than Ryan and me; we used to do a scary movie marathon. He seems a little sad, but resigned, I guess, that things have changed for good. And I think it’s a positive change. The house is noisy with the freshmen and sophomores, Ryan and Lila, me, Shane, and even Conrad and Gwen make an appearance. Mostly the night involves eating candy, giving sweets to little people, and watching horror movies. My aunt is smart enough to hole up in her room and just ride it out. The next day, I learn that the cops raided the Barn and all minors who were present and drinking have community service … except the football team. Funny how that works out.

At school, I watch Dylan and he observes me with cold determination, but he hasn’t been able to find anything out about me; his silence can’t mean anything else. Excellent. I’m relieved that my case files are actually confidential. I hesitate to say so, but things might be okay. Life is good. It’s odd to think that, but with Shane’s arms around me, his chin on my shoulder, it’s hard to feel otherwise. People know his name from his gig at the Coffee Shop, and music geeks are constantly coming up to him, trying to get him to join a garage band.

In fact, we have three grungy guys in front of us now. They’re trying to talk him into it. “Come on, dude. Your guitar work is awesome, but I play bass, and Andrew is pretty good on the drums.”

“What does the quiet guy do?”

The first dude grins. “He brings beer.”

Yep, they sound like committed artists. I look at Shane, curious if he’s interested.

Who says, “Thanks, but I don’t have time.”

I’ve learned my lesson, though. No matter how awesome a musician I think he is, I don’t try to talk him into joining them. Shane knows his own needs best. He smiles at me as we walk away from the wannabe–rock stars.

That night, I get a surprise—an unknown number texts me: hey, princess.:) Shane’s the only one who calls me that in a sweet way. But I check just to be sure. Shane? You got a phone?

Yep.

Maybe I’m too suspicious but this could be Dylan, trying to trick me. I don’t know how he’d get my number, but he could’ve bribed one of the freshmen or sophomores who have it. They haven’t been friends long enough for me to be sure they’d side with me.

So I type, what question did you ask me in detention?

Explain to me why this was worth a tardy.

Good. He’s talking about the Post-it I left for him. While Dylan could know about that, I don’t see how he could answer what Shane said to me. Then I get another text: Right answer? They sell cheap prepaid ones at the P&K. Figured it was time.

Me: Yep. You should leave your number for Jace at the Coffee Shop. If you wanna play w/ him.

Shane: Not really. I don’t play well with others.

Me: You play with me fine. It’s only after I hit send that I realize how that sounds. Oh, crap. There’s no way he’ll let that go.

Shane:… are we sexting?

Me: OMG. I’m leaving now.

Shane: Night, princess.

The next day, he smirks at me, waggling his phone, like there’s something really dirty on it. The blush nearly sets my face on fire. On the plus side, his new phone means I get the sweetest messages at random points in the day … and sometimes when he’s on break at work, too. He starts leaving Post-its on our locker, too—nothing embarrassing, little things I did that make him happy. Shane takes some shit for it, but I bet other girls wish their boyfriends were more like him. Mind you, I don’t stop leaving compliments for people having a crappy day, but not gonna lie, it’s easier to see the bright side with Shane shining just for me.

I have never, ever been this happy. I’m terrified. I’m on fire with joy. I’m … alive, for what feels like the first time, ever. I’m not pretending anymore, hoping nobody notices that I’m the freak who doesn’t fit, who has darkness graven down to the bone.

A week before my aunt’s big holiday in Chicago, as promised, I talk to Lila about sleeping over. She cocks her head. “Seriously? Your aunt is going away for the weekend and you want to waste one of those nights at my place?”

“Want is a strong word,” I mumble. “But it’s one of the conditions to my getting even one night on my own.”

“She’s protective of you, huh?”

“Do your parents leave you home alone that long?”

“Ha, never. Maybe not even when I’m thirty. But they don’t trust me. It seems like you and your aunt get along pretty well. And you’re not the type to throw a wild party the minute she leaves.”

Lila doesn’t have all the facts. The reason my aunt doesn’t want to leave me alone so long has nothing to do with rapport or trust. But I don’t go into that.

“Will your parents mind?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all, they love you. My dad thinks it’s awesome that you have a plan, even if it’s a hippie goal. Which night were you thinking?”