Idon’t know what to say to him. That’s the whole damn problem. He’s standing there like I owe him a confession, like there’s a right answer and he’s already decided I’m hiding it under my tongue. And most importantly, he doesn’t know I got in. That I have a one-way ticket out of this hellhole, a ticket that cuts the brakes on whatever he’s trying to start.I don’t actually know if he would even care.Maybe this is all just in my head. My own feelings projecting into him.
“What do you want, Jax?” I ask.
“What do I want?” he bites out. “I want you to tell me what that piece of shit said to you. Word by word.”
I stab at my mystery meat, flip my fork around in my fingers, then push the peas into a neat little pile on my plate. “Pitfire,” I groan. “How could I possibly remember?”
A muscle twitches in his cheek. “Did he mention his dog?”
That makes me look up, my fork frozen mid-air. “What?”
“Ivan,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “Did he ever talk about his dog? Ever?”
I frown. “No. I don’t think so. Why?”
“Shit! I knew it,” he curses.
The cafeteria is a madhouse. I picked this table because it’s tucked against the wall, half-hidden by a banner advertising The Formal—Tar City’s pathetic attempt at a senior dance. It’s a funeral pretending to be a celebration.
Across the room, Whistle sits with his friends. One eye swollen and a split lip still raw. His nose is a mess, a crooked ridge of swollen flesh that has already started turning purple at the bridge. It sits at an odd angle, the work of some hurried ER doc who clearly didn't give a shit about aesthetics, just function. He's pretending not to look at us. He's failing.
A swirl of thoughts rush to mind. I think about everyone who will still be here next year. And the year after that. I think about never coming back. I think about Jax grabbing me in the dark, kissing me?—
I snap myself out of it. “You need to drop this. Whatever hunt you’re on—leave Ivan alone.”
Jax clicks his tongue. “Leave him alone?”
“Yes.”
“If he thinks I’m going to let this go?—”
“I said yes,” I cut in. “What part of that don’t you get? I said yes to him. I’m going with him.” I place my hands on the table. “We’re nothing,” I add, because I need to say it. Because he needs to hear me say it.I need to hear myself say it.“Look at Lucy—I’m sure she’d love to go with you. She’s practically drooling into her lunch tray every time you walk by.”
Jax doesn’t even turn. His eyes stay on me, searching my face like he’s waiting for the lie to surface.
I stand, clutching my tray. “I’m going to The Formal with Ivan. And you can’t do anything about it. So just—forget it.”
His face darkens, a storm cloud rolling in. “You think that’s what this is about?” he asks quietly. “You think I give a shit about some stupid dance?”
I look at him, caught off guard.
“You know his dog’s been missing, right?”
“What?”
“For weeks,” he says. “His dad told me this morning.”
“Why the hell were you talking to his dad?” I ask, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach.
“He came asking about the lot party. They found blood by the pit. Too much blood. People mentioned Whistle’s nose getting smashed.”
My eyes flick to Jax’s hands and his bruised knuckles.
“Don’t worry,” he adds flatly. “I told him it was all in good fun.”
I stare at him. “You’re insane.”
“Anyway,” he says, ignoring me completely, “you know what people trade. You know what that place takes in exchange for wishes.”
