He huffs. "Of course not. Whatever Devon told you is nonsense. He was probably on drugs at the time. When did you talk to him?"
"I don't know. Like a week ago. He wasn't on drugs. Or drunk. He sounded perfectly normal. And he said that...that he's not my dad."
Brock laughs. "That's preposterous. Of course he's your dad. He was with your mother for months."
"And you were with her for a night. Or longer. He didn't tell me how long it went on."
Brock's face turns serious. "Rumor, stop this right now. You know Devon is your father. Your mother told you so."
"And she lied." I pause. "I don't look anything like Devon. I never did. I kind of look like my mom, but I also look like—" My eyes go to his. "You."
"Okay, that's enough. Go to school. You're late. Everyone else is inside."
"You lied to me," I say, my eyes locked on his. "I'm not your niece. I'm your daughter. Devon isn't my father. You are."
Chapter Eleven
Before Brock can say anything, I get out of the car and race inside the school. I didn't want to hear him tell me what I said isn't true because I know it is. I could tell by the panic that crossed his face when I mentioned him and my mom.
Devon wasn't lying. Brock is my dad. My mom lied.
Why would she do that? My mom was my hero. She was good. Honest. The greatest mom ever. And my best friend. So how could she lie to me?
Feeling sick to my stomach, I go in the bathroom and take some deep breaths. I run cold water over my hands and place them on the back of my neck. My mom used to say if you felt like you might throw up, you should put something cold on the back of your neck. Was that a lie too? What other lies did she tell me?
The door to one of the bathroom stalls swings open and Peyton saunters out. I thought I was alone. The bell already went off. Everyone should be in class.
"Hey, bestie," she says, coming up beside me. "Something wrong?"
"I wasn't feeling well." I grab a paper towel and dry off my hands.
She turns and leans against the sink and I notice a cross necklace hanging just above her cleavage. She always unbuttons her shirt to the lowest button she can get away with without getting in trouble, then tugs her shirt down so her cleavage shows. If a teacher walks by, she yanks her shirt up and distracts them with a fake smile and lame compliment. Like last week, she told Ms. Pruitt she loved her shoes. They were the same ugly shoes she wears every day.
"Is that from your boyfriend?" I say, pointing to the necklace.
"No, my parents." She runs her fingers over the cross. "They got home last night. When I told them what happened to Kristen they gave me the necklace." She frowns as she looks down at the cross. "Grandmother wore this to Grandfather's funeral. It's been in our family for generations."
"It's pretty." I toss the paper towel in the trash. "We better to get class. We're late."
She hurries over to me, holding my arm. "I don't know how I'm going to get through the day. It's just so tragic, you know?"
"Yeah. I didn't realize you guys were just such good friends. Maybe you should talk to the school counselor."
"It wouldn't help. She's useless. Didn't you stop seeing her?"
"Only because Brock made me. I'm supposed to see some other counselor. One Brock knows. But I would've been okay staying with Ms. Adams. She's not that bad. You should try her, or go see someone else."
Peyton leans against the door, twirling her hair. "They're having an assembly today. Principal Edwards is leading it."
"He's here today?"
She shrugs. "That's what I heard. He's going to talk about Kristen and Jen Kizer's going to see a song. It'll probably be really lame. Something Kristen would've hated."
"Why are they doing this?"
"Because people expect it. You can't just pretend it didn't happen."
"Yeah, I guess. Can we talk later? I need to go."
