“Heard you’ve been busy making big changes.”
“Doing what needed doing.”
“Sure you were,” he says, finally releasing my hand. His lips twitch in another almost-smile. “But I’m back now. Things’ll go back to how they should be.”
He steps past me, starting for the parking lot as if he’s in the driver’s seat. He’s the one picking us up, not the other way around.
Me, Logan, and Cash share looks, each of us a mirror for the other. Our expressions are tight, our minds set on the same thought.
Our prez is back, and he’s not about to waste time reclaiming his throne.
For better or worse.
11
SOLANA
“Let’s play again!Best three out of five!” Jack squeals, bouncing on the couch with his game controller clutched in both hands.
I laugh despite getting my butt kicked at whatever racing game this is. The kid’s got skills, probably from all those hours of practice his mom complains about. “Hold that thought, buddy. I should probably answer this. It might be your mom.”
My phone’s buzzing with an unknown number. Rachel sometimes calls from the school’s main line when she checks in, and it always shows up as unknown or private. I head into the kitchen for some privacy.
“Hello!” I answer, trying to sound bright and responsible, like the perfect babysitter.
“Finally! I had a feeling you’d answer if I called from a private number.”
My stomach drops at the sound of Shay’s voice.
“Why have you been avoiding us, Lana?”
I go straight into lying mode. “I haven’t been?—”
“Really? You never texted me back about getting our nails done. You haven’t shown up for our lunch meet ups on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Yvette says you’re skipping the class you have together.”
She’s right. All of it’s true.
For two weeks now, I’ve been a ghost on campus, ducking into restrooms when I spot them, taking the long way to avoid our usual hangout spots.
It’s been easier than facing them and definitely easier than pretending everything’s normal when nothing about this situation is normal.
The anger’s been building since that Saturday night, simmering under my skin alongside the sadness and confusion.
They were supposed to be my friends. Friends look out for each other. Friends don’t let you leave a club so drunk you can’t remember what happened. They definitely don’t turn your trauma into a derogatory nickname.
“Lana? You still there?”
The silence has stretched too long. Normally I’d go on trying to convince her I’m not mad at them. I’m not avoiding them.
But to hell with pretending. I might have aspirations to be an actress, but I’m done acting and squashing down my feelings just to pacify them.
“What do you expect, Shay? You and Yvette have been laughing at me. I can’t trust you!”
“Oh my god, not this shit again. Lana, will you get the fuck over it?” she asks, and I can practically imagine her rolling her eyes. “So we made a joke about you getting a little too turned up. Who gives a fuck? Move on!”
Move on? Like it’s that simple? What’s she not getting about the fact that I woke up naked and confused in Kel’s bed? Forget the flashbacks, which have only increased, only grown more detailed.
It’s to the point almost every time I close my eyes, it’s all I see.
