When I arrive at school, Clare stands at her locker, staring forlornly along the corridor to Wilder, his face still violently black and blue. She snaps her attention to me the moment I clear my throat, but her eyes keep drifting.
“You’re not going to the clubhouse?” she asks when I gather my books for class. “I thought you could take me along as your plus one.”
“No.” When she frowns, I admit, “Zane and I aren’t together any longer.”
Before she can answer, Dahlia appears alongside. “Zane told me you’d broken things off with him. I can’t believe he cheated on you already.”
Clare eyes widen, stunned into silence.
“He didn’t cheat.”
She shrugs. “Come sit with me at lunch if you want and you can tell me all about what he did do. Evie will be there, but I promise, we won’t make it weird.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
“Yes, you will,” Clare declares. “I’ll come with you.”
Dahlia raises an eyebrow and purses her lips, then slowly nods. “Why not? The more the merrier.”
She heads away and I frown at Clare. “Why would you be interested in sitting with her at lunch? Are you going to probe her for tips?”
My friend convulses with laughter. “I’m sick of just the tip.” A joke that must have been a lot funnier in her head than it sounds out loud. “But I wouldn’t mind someone to commiserate with. This has been a hard week.”
“And you think sitting with another ex will help?” I shake my head, feeling one hundred and ten percent better already. “The balls on you, girl.”
“Ugh. I like balls even less than I like tips.” She turns, squinting along the corridor to where Dahlia chats with a young blond boy who looks like he wants to pinch himself to see if it’s real. “Maybe I should swing for the other side?”
“What? You’re thinking of turning lesbian and you don’t come to me first?” I roll my eyes, slamming my locker shut and hooking my arm through hers. “I’m insulted and embarrassed. I mean, sure, I’d turn you down, but—”
Clare doesn’t let me finish the sentence, giggling as she drags me towards homeroom.
The morning passes slowly, but it’s not excruciating. I start a counselling request while the teacher drones on—calculating it’s been a fortnight since I saw Natalie—but abandon it halfway through, uneasy.
It probably won’t matter. Since my talk with Mum last night, I feel lighter, better equipped to deal with anything that comes my way. Even if she only knows a fraction of what’s happened, her support keeps me buoyant.
After morning break, I have art class, gritting my teeth to bear it. Zane sits at a rear table and, as the lesson progresses, the weight of his gaze on my back grows heavier.
My emotions swing violently from side to side. I think how nice it felt to share confidences. Then remember he’d already heard everything I confessed, and his offerings were probably half-truths and guile.
A rubber band sits around my wrist and each time I want to look his way, I snap it. By the end of the lesson, the skin is red and raw.
At least tomorrow is Saturday and I have a Zane-free weekend to look forward to. Plus, on Sunday, I have class time with Mr Simmons. Unless he postpones again, I can recover from the hour wasted today.
I meet Clare at our usual corner, and she pulls me flat against the wall beside her. I cock an eyebrow, whispering, “Is there a reason for this charade or—”
“Shh.”
Wilder walks by and she moves, following him into the main quad, then quickly swinging back to me. “Just grabbing an offering for our lunch date,” she says in explanation, waggling his pilfered phone.
“This is a genuinely bad idea,” I tell her, an opinion that’s undercut when I immediately lean over to peer at the screen. “Doesn’t he have a password?”
“Yep.”
Clare sounds far too satisfied with herself.
“And you know it?”
“Yep.” Her smile is so wide, her head’s in danger of splitting in two.
