“You have to actually put weight on it for it to—”
“Yeah, yeah I got it,” I mumble, shifting slightly. I put a little more weight on it, taking a step. It feels ridiculous, and I almost stop immediately, but when I look at her, at everything she’s done for me, I feel obligated to try. So I take another. And then another. And funny enough, with each step, the throbbing in my knees and ankles eases, just a bit.
“This is so not sexy,” I mumble. Peyton smirks.
“Are you kidding?” she asks. “This isincrediblysexy. You’re like…” She pauses, and nothing could have prepared me for what she says next. “A catty teacher in the 1800s.” She turns around, pressing her stomach to the wall so that her perfect, muscular ass is facing me. “I’ll be the naughty student if you—”
I laugh despite the pain in my chest. “Shut up,” I say, now walking in circles. She turns back around, hitching a shoulder.
“It’s the truth. Is it helping?”
I hobble back over to the bed, using the cane to lower myself. “No.”
Peyton rolls her eyes, strolling back over to me. She leans in so that her face is inches from mine. “Liar.”
A reluctant smile takes over me. “Yeah,” I admit, scrunching my nose. Peyton collapses next to me with a sigh, rubbing her hands along the thigh of her sweats.
I study the pile of stuff for a moment. Every single thing Peyton picked for me has a back story. A meaning.
She knows me in specifics. Not in general. Not in theory. But in the details that weave the fabric of my being. It’s not a rare way to be known. But I think it’s the most important.
“Hey,” she says. My eyes flick up to hers as she reaches into the basket and pulls out a bottle of nail polish. “Can I paint your nails?”
We spend the rest of the afternoon doing just that, talking, and drifting in and out of sleep. The team pops in and out, slowly trickling down to just Peyton and me after I finally convincemy mom I’ll be okay. Harlowe swings by to steal Bubbles away. It’s a bittersweet goodbye, softened only when Cleo reveals she smuggled Socks into the hospital in her backpack. He takes Bubbles’ place at the foot of my bed for a few hours, until he begins to demand dinner, forcing both him and Cleo to leave.
Eventually, I fall asleep in Peyton’s arms, my thumb brushing over the curve of my freshly painted pinky.
Thirty Nine
Peyton
Is that anatomically possible?” Clay (yes,thatClay) squints at the pair of ice skaters flying over the outdoor GU rink like the forces of gravity are optional. Their rhinestone-speckled outfits catch the late-afternoon sun, blades cutting into the ice as they land cleanly.
Harlowe threads her fingers through theirs, furrowing her brows.
“Jesus,” she mutters, rubbing her reddened eyes. “And I thoughtweabused our bodies.”
I glance down at their hands tangled together and chuckle quietly. No matter how many times Harlowe’s told me the story, I still can’t quite believe she and ClayfuckingMatthews are a thing. Though I have to admit, they’re cute. Harlowe towers a full ten inches over them in her pastel green zip-up and light-washed denim, while Clay, boasting a black muscle tee and complimentary moto jeans, leans into her side.
I turn my head to the left, toward Darcy, her cane wedge between her thighs as she sits.
“So you…died?” I ask, letting myself soak in the sight of her. She looks like autumn. Like peaches soaked in sunlight. When the sun hits her lashes just right, they catch fire, soft red-gold flames flickering around those emerald eyes. I never noticed before how each freckle on her skin is its own shade of orange.
I think it might be my new favorite color.
She nods solemnly.
“Yeah,” she sighs, crossing her arms. “Disintegrated.Poof.” She puffs out her cheeks, mimicking an explosion with her hands.
“Damn. Brutal,” Harlowe deadpans, tearing off a generous chunk of Everything Bagel–seasoned soft pretzel and stuffing it into her mouth. She licks her salt-flaked fingers, and when her eyes catch mine, they’re dry and glassy, like she hasn’t slept in a week. Really, it’s just from the edible she took an hour ago. She blinks repetitively, trying to rehydrate them.
“Hopefully Bailey can revive me next week,” Darcy continues. “Because having to watch them lead us into Mordor completely unprepared istorture.”
“Wait.” I frown. “If you can be revived, what’s the point of dying?”
“That’s kinda deep,” Harlowe drawls.
I roll my lips inward to bite back a laugh.
