The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(76)

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

The question’s like a blade between my ribs. “It’s not exactly cafeteria chat.”

“We’ve had plenty of time alone, Sage.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Ruin it how?”

“With this.” I bend my head, staring at my scars. “This happened when she was sober. Once she got back on junk, she stopped caring where I was … or who was in the house with us.” I’m relating this in a monotone because it’s just so ugly that I can’t think of an emotional tone that seems right.

This is me. This is where I’m from.

“Oh my God,” he whispers.

“I was eleven when I broke. Three years of this shit. We were renting this hellhole … and she couldn’t come up with the money. So she gets this idea—” I break off. Wow, this is harder than I expected. And I knew it would suck. “To use me. To pay. So she invites the landlord over.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“They drank a lot that night. And passed out before he could … you know. Then I set fire to the place. And I went outside.”

The memory surges to the front of my brain, how calm I felt, sitting on the curb across the street. It was summertime, and I was in my pajamas, too small since my mother hadn’t bought me any clothes in a couple of years. They had SpongeBob on them—funny I remember that. I watched the house burn for twenty minutes before a crackhead neighbor called the fire department.

The police found me, an hour later. At first they dubbed me a survivor, until I admitted to setting the fire. Stupid kid; I should’ve lied. After that, the nightmare didn’t end for years. They catalogued abuse: scars and malnutrition and had a doctor examine me down below. No sign of sexual assault. Then they put me where you stick broken people, ones who can’t be trusted around normal ones. I tell Shane all of that; there’s no point in hiding it now.

“I was in the group home for two years, where I went to a special school. They found Aunt Gabby when I was twelve, but I wasn’t released until I was thirteen. Then I had more counseling and medication … she took me home with her and I started junior high here.”


Why isn’t he talking? I risk a look at Shane’s face and he’s blank, like he can’t process it all. Welcome to my world. I try to pull back then, but he doesn’t let go. His hands move over mine in gentle motions, as if I’m a song he can’t remember how to play.

“Look, you were a kid,” he finally says. “Is burning down your house the best defensive strategy? No, but what options did you have? That * was going to…” Yeah, he can’t even say it. That’s how ugly the truth is.

But I get to live with knowing that’s how much my mom valued me. First, she left me, then she hurt me, then she was going to use me as currency. To her, I was nothing, and she got me to the point where I didn’t care what happened to me, as long as she was gone, too. The rage washes over me all over again. And now everyone at school knows. Somehow.

Dylan Smith.

Everything I’ve built over the last three years is gone. Now I’m back to being a freak show. I can expect more whispers, more people rushing to avoid me, refusing to make eye contact. All the projects I’ve planned, including the town garden, will probably fail. Who wants to help a crazy girl?

“Sage, look at me.” I do, mostly because his fingers are on my chin.

I feel numb. I should cry. I can’t. My whole body’s iced over.

“It’s gonna be okay. People talk shit, then they get bored. Something stupid will happen and they’ll forget.”

The numbness gives way to pain and shame, oceans of it. I might cry after all. Determined to avoid that, I bite my lip. I close my eyes.

“You really think so? I guess you’ve never lived in a town this small before.” To shock him, make him realize how insurmountable this is, I add, “They told me she died of smoke inhalation. It’s supposed to be fast.”

“What about the *?”

“He stumbled out the back. Some burns, but he lived.”

“But he didn’t try to help your mom?”

“He was drunk. I doubt it even occurred to him.” I pull away from him, then. “You should go. Don’t you have to work?” He’s already late.

“I’ll call in,” Shane offers.

“No, don’t. You still need the money. My shitty past doesn’t change your shitty present.”

“But it’s not,” he tells me. “And you’re the reason why. Promise me you’ll be at school tomorrow. The longer you hide, the worse it’ll be. Remember, you’re the one who says life doesn’t get better if you look away.”

“That is so unfair, using my own words against me.”

“Promise, Sage.”

“I’ll talk to my aunt,” I mumble. “If she agrees with you, then I’ll go.”

“Okay.” He pushes off the bed, then leans down to kiss me good-bye.

I can’t believe he still wants to. He knows everything about me now, that I’ve done the worst possible thing a human can do, and he’s still my boyfriend? Is he nuts? But maybe I’ve tapped into the gallant part of him that couldn’t leave his mother alone, no matter what it cost. “I don’t understand why you’re not already walking.”