Page 113 of Mad Girl

Michael touched his fingers to my cheekbone, head shaking. “No. I don’t.”

“I can cover it with makeup maybe. I don’t want to upset Casey. I don’t want to get him in trouble.” I started to cry. Big, fat tears. That fear—Greer’s hand around my throat, the certainty I was about to die—bursting forth and ravaging my body with sobs. Michael drew me against his chest.

A little while later, you found us on the settee with my head in Michael’s lap and the sleeve of your cardigan pressed to my mouth.

You paused on my landing, gripping the rail. To Michael, you said, “What are you doing here?”

But he didn’t answer.

You cautiously walked toward us, eyes flying to my cheek immediately. “What the fuck’s happened to her face?”

“Something happened at Willoughby’s,” Michael said.

“Where’s Tinsley?” you asked, voice rising with panic.

“She’s in bed,” said Michael.

You peeked inside my room, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of her. “What’s happened?”

Michael calmly explained everything while you stood very still and listened. I counted the black-and-white beads on your bracelet. Traced your hand tattoo with my eyes.

You dropped to a squatting position in front of us and brushed my hair back. When you tugged the collar of my t-shirt down and saw my neck, your jaw clenched. Your gaze darkened to a deep, scary blue. “I shouldn’t have let you go,” you whispered, shaking your head. “This is on me. This is my fault.”

“No,” I whispered. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault but the asshole who did this,” said Michael from above.

You glanced up at him, then back down to me. “Who did this to you? Who roofied Tinsley?”

“She won’t say,” Michael told you.

“We need to tell your dad,” you said. “He needs to know about this.”

“No,” I said, rising from Michael’s lap, my hand clutching his knee. “If we tell my dad you let me go to a party, you’ll get in trouble.”

“Well,” you said, “that’s a consequence I have to accept, isn’t it? I’m responsible for you. I deserve to be in trouble for this.”

“No, Casey. I won’t let you.”

“You can’t hide it, anyway,” you said. “Have you looked in a mirror?”

“I’ll wear turtlenecks for a while. I’ll say I got hit in the face at tennis practice.”

“And you’ll let these boys get away with what they’ve done?” you asked, incredulous. “They roofied your friend, Elliot. That’s quite serious, even apart from what they did to you.”

“Oh, they won’t get away with it,” I said. “I’ll make sure of that.”

You looked at Michael. “There’s a boy called Greer on her tennis team. He won’t leave her alone.”

“I know that guy,” Michael said. “He has a reputation.”

“I want you both to let this go,” I said. “This is the way I want it. This is my choice.”

“What about Tinsley?” you asked. “Doesn’t she get a choice? When she comes to, what if she wants to go to the police?”

“Then I guess we’ll go to the police,” I said tightly. “But for right now, stay out of it. Don’t try to be heroes.”

I shot Michael a warning glance, digging my nails into his leg. He clenched his jaw, assuring me he understood.