“Again, there’s that word let.”
“She’s our parent, Mar. She gets to let and not let.”
Rage rushes through my veins, hot and quick. I’m delirious, furious with this guy in front of me using words like let and slutty. Dizzy, I turn away from him, yanking open the passenger door.
A hand on my arm. “Mara.”
I jerk back. “What’s the big deal, Owen? Afraid someone’s going to rape me?”
Immediately, I regret saying it. Not because he isn’t wrong, but because the word slipped out of my mouth and it feels like a sharp knife lashed over my skin.
Alex sucks in a loud breath and Owen recoils as if I slapped him. We stare at each other and I can’t decide if he’s hurt or angry. I can’t decide which one I want him to be.
“Seriously, Mara?” he finally says, but it’s so quiet, I almost don’t hear him. “What the hell?”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. Instead I turn away and fold myself into the front seat of Alex’s car, eyes on the windshield. Outside, the boys talk and Owen’s voice crescendoes, but whatever Alex says seems to mollify him. I don’t look directly at him, but I see Owen walk away, hear fuck it on his lips as he heads toward our car. After a few seconds, Alex rounds TLB and gets in.
“He’s pretty pissed,” he says, pushing the ignition button.
“Good,” I say, but it comes out in a whisper, the threat of tears strangling my voice.
Chapter Sixteen
BY THE TIME WE PULL INTO THE SCHOOL PARKING LOT, all my energy from last night has morphed into anger. My body zips and zings with it, as though an IV slowly dripped a drug into my veins the entire ride here. Owen’s horrified expression as he looked at me in the driveway sears itself onto my brain, an indelible mark. There was no trace of the brother I’ve shared a roof with for the past decade. There was only a boy looking at a girl and not really seeing her.
Shame presses against all of my edges, stupid little bitch a hissing whisper in my ears. The words battle against my fury, and as Alex turns off the car in the school parking lot and sighs into the air between us, I’m not sure which one will win today.
“You okay?” Alex asks. He lifts his arm toward me like he wants to take my hand, but I guess he changes his mind because he rests his fingers on the gearshift instead. We still haven’t touched since that night at the cemetery.
“Yeah,” I lie.
“Owen can be an ass, you know?”
“I do.” My inflection curls at the end like a question, because until a week ago, I would’ve laughed at that statement. Joked around at what an asshole Owen was, knowing that my adoration leaked through every single syllable. I mean, yes, he can be an ass, but it’s always been the laughable kind, the kind that was fun at parties and cracked ridiculous jokes, the kind that quieted down when he was with me on the roof.
“He’s just . . . worried,” Alex goes on. “He doesn’t want you to get in trouble.”
“You think I’m a slut too? Because of my clothes?” I turn toward him in the seat, not bothering to pull down that little black skirt as it slides upward, so close to my hip I feel my entire thigh break out into goose bumps.
Alex’s mouth falls open. “What? No, I—”
“You think dressing the way I want and looking for a little control is a bad thing? Guys love that kind of girl, don’t they? They want her and secretly hate her and not so secretly treat her like she’s not even human and—”
“Hey, stop,” he says, his eyes focused on mine. “I don’t think any of those things. I think you’re smart and talented and you can do what you want and I could never hate you. We’re friends.”
I inhale a shaky breath and nod. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Owen really was an ass. Lately, he’s . . .” Alex’s words trail off and he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t know either.”
Alex grabs his bag from the back seat. Then he sweeps his gaze over me again, an appreciative quirk to his lips. “You’re still going to get called to the office.”
I roll my eyes but manage a smile.
As we climb out of the car, my blood cools a few degrees, boiling water slowed to a simmer. Eyes fall on us, whispers starting up as kids strolling in from the parking lot see us linked. I hear Owen’s name a few times, hear the word skirt coupled with holy shit more than once, but I let everything roll off me.
Until I see Charlie.
