I want to kill Lukeman Gray.
Next to my brother is a stranger. The two are unmistakably at the party together, but this . . . friend, he’s different. Thax shouldn’t be here in the first place, as he dropped out of high school a couple of years ago, but that never stopped him. He’s here, maybe, because of this friend—this stranger who locks on to my eyes and keeps them trained on me. A prominent scar dashes across the man’s cheek. That sickness from earlier pits in my stomach. I search for a bathroom, in disregard of Tommy. When I find an unoccupied one, I dive for the toilet. The stranger’s sick, hostile gaze sets me over the edge.
The ripple of students outside undulates. After I’ve closed the door, their voices swell and threaten to burst in. Someone knocks, but I can’t be bothered. I recheck the lock and feel thetrill of my heart quicken, closing my throat, creating a barrier that cuts oxygen from my head. I spit into the toilet, fearing what comes next. The sickness is based at my throat, and I refuse to let it rise, so I swallow and wait and eventually, the urge to vomit relinquishes after time. I stand and turn to the sink.
The mirror on the wall taunts me and beckons me to peer into its depths. I avoid it like the plague. I don’t want to see my face. The water scalds my skin at first until it cools. Deliberately scrubbing my hands, I rub them raw. I breathe in and out. In and out. In and out. And then hear a low, malevolent chuckle.
“It was such a big mistake to isolate yourself,” says the man in the mirror.
Chapter 10
Conin
Dan and the football gang drag me far away from Ezra. I was trying to intercept him to the keg when Dan pulled me outside. He led me to the beer pong table where the other guys from the team were already mid-game.
“I know he’s your friend, Conin, but why the hell would you bring him here?” he says sloppily. His voice slurs with inebriation.
“Ezra?” I ask, though it’s clear who he speaks of.
“He follows you around like a stray puppy just to get inside your pants. He’s a fag, Conin.”
“What did you say?”
“He’s a faggot. Why the fuck do you keep him around?”
The irresistible urge to sock Dan in the face is impossible to overcome. No one insults Ezra in front of me and gets away with it. Melissa will understand if I knock her boyfriend out.
“You know what, Dan?” I say and he turns to me, but he’s no longer there. I’ve lost him to the recesses of his mind. “I quit the team.”
“You . . . w-what?”
“I quit the team,” I hiss, enunciating each syllable. “If you’re captain, I want no part of it.”
Well, that’s not the only reason.
The boys boo. They’ve started listening and I ignore them.
“And we’re breaking up,” says Melissa defiantly. “Asshole.”
I have no idea where she materialized from, but I’ll use the excuse to escape Dan any time. She takes hold of my wrist and starts to tug me away from my former football team and her now ex-boyfriend. God, I love this woman.
“Babe . . . what? Where are you going? Where did this come from—”
“Swallow it, Papenbrook. We’re over.”
We don’t stick around to hear the rest of his drunken tirade, knowing none of it will be good. Melissa leads me inside the house. We’re swallowed by flashing lights, deafening music, and a multiplying crowd. I twist myself to take in her reaction. From what I can gauge, she’s apathetic, but I know her better. Relief loosens the tension in her eyebrows and cheeks. Her lip curves into a subtle smile.
“Jesus. That felt good,” Melissa says for only me to hear.
“You were badass,” I say.
“Damn right, I was.”
The crowd thickens and suddenly there’s no leeway to move. The room throbs and pulses, students jump and sway, push and pull. I feel an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia and a ceaseless worry for Ezra. I haven’t seen him since he disappeared to the keg. I shouldn’t have followed Dan. That was mistake number two. My first mistake was coming here in the first place and dragging Ezra along with me. I wanted to deny it,but I knew—I knewshit would happen. And I’m responsible for it.
Melissa bumps into someone I can’t see. I hear her attempt to apologize, but whoever it is is not having it. They’re belligerent. Their words slur.
“Hey—” I protest, ready to make them back off.
