The words are loud, impossible to silence, even as cars fly past me as I drift down the sidewalk in a daze. I’m not even sure where I am, how close to home, what street is coming up or why I didn’t just call Owen to come get me.
That last idea sends a shiver twisting up my spine. I’m not even sure why, whether it’s the fact that he left me at the festival without telling me or the thought of him at all—?just existing and sharing my blood and the stars above us and a birthday—?so close to me but somehow lost. I can’t tell what anything means, can’t sift through my cloudy thoughts.
Next to me, a car slows and I stiffen. Immediately, I realize the sky is dark, and my eyes peel through my surroundings for some place to run or hide.
How? I think. How did I get like this?
“Mara!”
Hearing my name only increases my speed, tightens the ball of panic in my chest.
“Mara! Are you okay?”
The female voice makes me pause, makes me take a deep breath. I turn toward the dark-green SUV rolling slowly next to me. The passenger window is down and I see Greta leaning over the center console, her blond hair almost glowing in the dark.
“Do you need a ride?”
I stare at her for a moment before answering. She pretty much kicked my ass out of my own club, but her voice is soft right now and she’s putting off whatever her Saturday night plans are to make sure I’m okay.
“All right. Thanks.”
I slide into her car just as a massive black truck slows down behind her and lays on the horn.
“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “Hold your wad, asshole.”
Something about this makes me laugh. Greta smiles at me and rolls her eyes at the huge truck that seems to me more than a little horn-happy.
“Compensating for something, are we?” she says.
I laugh again, buckling my seat belt as she pulls away from the curb, but then suddenly I just feel so damn tired. As though that laugh was all I had left in me. I rest my head against the window as she drives through town—?apparently, I somehow ended up on Fourth Avenue near The Menagerie—?and will myself to fall asleep or disappear or whatever comes first.
“You okay?” she asks.
“No. Not really.”
She says nothing to that. It’s probably not the answer she expected. Hell, it’s not even the answer I expected to give her. Greta and I aren’t exactly the kind of friends who offer up more than the obligatory I’m fine or Doing well to the How’s it going question.
“Look,” she finally says. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask blankly. “About what?”
“About Empower. I’m sorry how that went down. I feel bad. I just didn’t know how to handle the whole situation. God, it was just awkward.” She pulls onto my street and keeps talking. “But you were totally badass, yelling at Jaden and everything.”
I snort a laugh. “I did more than yell at him.”
“I know, and that had to be hard.”
“Are you condoning my violent acts, Greta?”
She smiles. “That’s bad, right? I shouldn’t be, but yeah, I guess I am.”
“Well, Jaden’s a dick.”
“Such a dick.”
In front of my house, she throws the car in park, but I don’t get out. Owen’s car—?our car—?isn’t in the driveway, but the house windows glow warmly, beckoning deceptively with love and acceptance and faith. “You were right.”
She shifts toward me. “I was?”
