Page 107 of Mad Girl

“I’m sure Greer did something to deserve that.”

“He won’t leave me alone.” I shivered, thinking of the way he’d grabbed my arm. “He creeps me out.”

“Want me to make him leave?”

“No, that’s okay. He’s already pretty mad. That would only make it worse.”

Willoughby moved closer, dipping his head to meet my gaze. “You know I like you, right?”

“I like you, too.”

“Oh, I remember. I’m nice,” he deadpanned.

“You are nice, and I like that. You don’t ignore me or treat me like a freak like the rest of our school—but you did hurt my feelings over the summer when you rejected me.”

Willoughby reached out to stroke one braid. “I didn’t mean to reject you—just the way you approached me. I felt like we had a connection, but in the moment, it felt like…you were only there to get something from me and leave. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“I heard you left with Michael Harris that night.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “So?”

“So what’s the deal with you two?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, but I knew exactly what he meant.

“Everyone at school thinks something’s going on there—or they used to, anyway, back when Michael was at school with us and you two hung out in the library all the time. They figure a guy wouldn’t stick so close to the girl who stabbed him unless he was in love with her.”

“We’re friends.”

“What about all those ugly notes you slipped into his girlfriend’s locker?”

“Wasn’t me,” I said.

Willoughby laughed. “Elliot, multiple people said they saw you.”

I laughed, too. “You shouldn’t believe every rumor you hear at school, Willoughby.”

“Well, if I believed the rumors I’m hearing right now, I’d believe Casey’s in love with you.”

I laughed again, but on the inside, my heart had leapt into my throat. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Everyone talks about it. How close he sits next to you at tennis practice? How he watches you? How he looks at you in general?”

“That’s his job—to keep an eye on me. To keep me in line.”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen him picking you up from school and dropping you off. I think maybe he’d also like to keep you for himself.”

My chest crackled with excitement, but I forced myself to tamp it down. “Why do you throw so many parties?”

Willoughby stared past me. “I hate how quiet it is here when my parents are gone.”

“Are they gone a lot?”

He nodded. “Practically every weekend—most weekdays, too. They don’t care what I do. As long as I keep my grades up, they don’t give a shit. So I fill the house with people and loud music. I spend their money on booze. Having the house full of people makes me feel less alone, even if I only stay in my room.”

Don’t be mad at me for thinking this, Casey, but I wanted to tuck this cute boy in my pocket and hold him there forever. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have felt the same way if the circumstances had been different.