It feels wrong on my face. “Perfectly fine.”
Kym just looks at me, nothing behind those golden eyes of hers. Then, without looking away from her book, she says, “If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable.”
I sigh, glancing down at her notebook. It was empty moments ago, but now it’s already half full with equation after equation, and I stare at it in shock.
This girl really is a machine.
But before I can even say anything about it, something else catches my attention. And I notice it.
Her sleeve is pushed up just enough to show… something purple?
I look closer. Deep purples. Angry blues. Fading reds.
“What is that?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Kym stills, then follows my gaze to her own wrist. The moment she sees it, she yanks her sleeve back down and shifts away, her body going rigid.
“Nothing,” she says coldly.
I don’t think. Don’t weigh out my words before I say them. “I’ll get better at lying when you do.”
Kym’s head snaps toward me, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not lying.”
With the way she says it, I almost believe her. Almost. If I hadn’t seen the evidence marked into her skin, if I hadn’t felt the way she tensed the second she realized I noticed.
Did someone do that to her?
The thought wedges itself into my mind. Bruises like that don’t just appear out of nowhere. And she was so defensive about it… it makes me wonder just how many times she’s had to hide them before.
It reminds me of Mason. Of all the times I covered for him, swallowed down the truth for him, destroyed myself for him. Iheld his secret for so long, and it ate away at me, piece by piece, until I barely knew what was left.
People are capable of so much pain. Even the ones you trust. Especially the ones you trust.
“Did someone—”
“No.” Kym cuts me off before I can finish. Here she goes again, closing the door before I can even step in.
I sigh. “Okay, fine. I won’t ask if you don’t want me to.” I don’t say anything else. And Kym doesn’t reply. Instead, I rip out a piece of paper from my notebook, scribble my phone number down, and slide it across the desk toward her.
“Take it.” I hold it out to her.
Kym stops writing. Stops looking at the textbook, her eyes flicking to the paper, then to me. “What is that?”
“My phone number,” I say. “So, if you want to talk to—”
She scoffs, looking away, shaking her head like I’m ridiculous for even suggesting it.
“Kym, don’t be one of those people who need a friend, but don’t know how to ask for one,” I say, because that has been me more than once.
For a second, nothing happens. Then Kym’s fingers twitch, so slightly I barely notice, before she reaches out and takes the note.
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t say thank you. Just folds the paper neatly and tucks it into her pocket.
***
Fifteen minutes.
That’s how long I’ve been standing outside the classroom.
