Feeling ballsy and aggressive and a little out of control, I step forward. “Hekissedme.”
She crosses her arms, not-so-subtly flaunting her chest. “Just like he begged you to let him go to your parents’ stupid party, and forced you to cuddle up next to him while you guys watched that asinine movie? You’ve orchestrated this whole thing because you’re jealous—because you don’t have a life of your own.”
I clench my hands into fists, my fingernails digging into my palms. I want to shove her so bad—I’m desperate to dehumanize her the way she did me that day on the quad—but I refuse to stoop to her level. “I have a life,” I say, quiet and controlled. “And I wish you’d stay out of it.”
“I can’t, because my ex—my best friend’s brother—trails you like a puppy.” She leans forward, sticking her nose in my face like a bona fide bully. “I’ll always be around,” she says, “a reminder of what you did. What youruined.”
“Becky,” Max says, a low warning. “Shut up.”
She turns on him. “What? You thought I’d disappear so you could have a happily ever after with your trampy neighbor? You thought it’d be that easy?”
“I thought you were better thanthis,” he says, looking pointedly at the audience we’ve attracted. Dozens of people have stopped to observe us, two cats wrestling over a tom. I’m not this girl; I’veneverwanted to be this girl. I step back, using Max’s height to shield myself from their stares. Callously, he says, “Get the hell out of here, Becky.”
As the warning bell trills, I spin around, intent on making an overdue escape, but Max catches my hand. I pause, but I don’t turn to face him. I don’t want him to see how my cheeks burn, how my lip trembles, how utterly humiliated I am. I wait, staring unseeingly at the floor, clutching his hand, bound to him in all the ways that count as our classmates reanimate, hustling to get to class before the final bell.
When the hallway has mostly cleared out, Max twirls me around and pulls me close.
“She’s mad at me,” he says. “Don’t let her get to you.”
“Do you see, though? Why I don’t want to make a big deal about us at school?”
“Jill, it’s not like things can get any worse.”
I’d like to tell him about Becky knocking into me because, yes, thingscanget worse, but I don’t want to trigger his anger—not over this, something I should be able to handle on my own. “If I ever see her touch you again,” I tell him, “I’ll have to hurt her.”
His eyes take on a devilish gleam, and he walks me back, until I’m leaning against the cold metal of my locker. He turns his hat around so its bill is out of the way, and I grip the hem of his jacket, tugging him closer, until his mouth is inches from mine. “I like when you get all fiery,” he says.
“Oh, I bet you do.”
The tardy bell rings. The hallway’s empty but for us. I should be in French.
Max places a hand on the locker next to my head and moves closer. He tucks a leg between mine, pressing his body against the length of me. I feel him inhale, slow and shallow. He skims his nose along that place where my collarbone meets my throat, and heat rushes up my neck. God. When did the hallway get so warm? He brushes the side of my face with his prickly cheek, touching his lips to my ear, lingering a moment before easing back. His cinnamon exhale fans my skin. “I’m dying to kiss you.”
My breath hitches. “Then maybe you should.”
He closes the space between us, but at the last second, bluffs and pecks the tip of my nose. “No more kisses for you—not until you’re cool with doing it out in the open, in front of anyone who cares to watch.”
I gasp. “Max Holden, you are the worst kind of mean!”
He takes off down the hall, turning once to look back at me. He’s smiling, but his voice has a serious edge, and it reverberates in the deserted corridor. “That’s the deal, Jillian Eldridge.”
33
IDON’T CARE FOR MAX’S NO-MORE-KISSESdecree, or the way his mood declines as the week drags on.
After school on Tuesday, we drive to the river and park in our spot. He’s distant, even while using the flash cards I made to quiz me on my bio vocabulary. Late Wednesday night, he knocks softly on my window, but when I let him in, he’s surly and restless. He stays thirty minutes before leaving the way he came. Thursday, he goes to a midnight movie premiere with the guys; he doesn’t text before he leaves or after he gets home. I’m not so needy that I require his rapt attention at all hours, but this behavior’s so different from how he’s been since we got together.… I feel like I’m being punished.
Friday, I still haven’t spoken to my dad about Max and me. He’s hardly been home, is part of the reason, but mostly I’m reluctant to slap more angst on the messiness that is my family. I haven’t seen him put one iota of effort into fixing things with Meredith, like he promised, and on the few occasions he and I have shared space, he’s barely been able to look me in the eye.
Max doesn’t get it, though. The well of points I earned talking to Bill and Marcy has run dry, and I end up having to take Meredith’s car to school because he left early to fit in a workout with Kyle before first period.
His fortitude is one part impressive, two parts aggravating.
I suffer through my classes, stewing instead of absorbing the material.
I’m feeling sorry for myself as I navigate the halls after the final bell, wishing Max would materialize. And then he does—the first time I’ve seen him all day. His eyes meet mine, and with a nod of his head, he summons me to a recess beneath the stairwell. I make my way toward him and slip into the nook.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks without preamble, the underlying cord of tension in his voice hard to miss.
