Page 181 of Mad Girl

You shook your head. “Claire thought it best not to tell him. He knows Nic isn’t my real father, but he knows nothing about the Harrises. He’ll just think Michael and I are friends.”

We lay in silence for a while, staring at each other.

Your voice sounded a touch gravelly when you said, “You know I’ll miss you terribly, right?”

My throat squeezed. “A whole summer without you following me around and annoying the hell out of me? Sounds like heaven.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No,” I whispered. “I’ll miss you, too.”

“You’ll text me? Keep in touch?”

“I might text so often I start to annoy you.”

“Impossible,” you said. “Text me every day—about anything and everything.”

The day you and Michael left, Hal carried your bags out to the car while we all said our goodbyes. You got a kiss on the cheek and a hug from Libby, the same from Bree, then one of those guy hugs from your dad.

John pulled back, gripping your arms, leveling his gaze with yours. “Hey. Don’t be a stranger this summer, okay? Let us know how you’re doing. We want to hear from you, too.”

“Yeah,” you replied, giving him a small smile. “I’ll be in touch. Definitely.”

Libby, all teary-eyed, clung to Michael, who playfully fussed at her to let him go. Then John forced the matter when he pried her loose and hugged Michael himself, his hand cradling the back of Michael’s head.

I watched you, watching them—a father-son moment you’d never gotten to experience with John yourself—and the deep yearning behind your gaze hurt my heart so much that I practically slammed my body against yours. You chuckled, lowering your face to the crook of my neck and whispering, “Promise me you won’t hurt yourself this summer.”

“I promise,” I whispered back. “Remember what we talked about this morning? This is the perfect opportunity to tell Michael the truth. Promise me you’ll try?”

You didn’t respond right away. “Yeah,” you said, breath warm on my shoulder, your grip tightening. “I’ll try telling him this summer. I promise.”

We pulled back, smiling at each other, my eyes rapidly filling with tears. Saying goodbye to you was harder than I anticipated, too many tender feelings banging around inside me at once, and I wasn’t sure how to articulate any of them, so I turned to Michael and buried all those emotions in the crook of his neck when he bent down to hug me. When we drew back, I stroked my thumb down that scar on his lip. I couldn’t not do it, and besides, with our dads watching, it felt like an act of defiance. Which is why I did it twice. “I’ll miss you so much.”

Michael smoothed my braid between his fingers. “I’ll miss you, too.”

I turned to face our dads, standing side by side, their stances identical, hands jammed in their pockets. What you didn’t see, Casey, was the death glare I shot each of them before I stalked back into the house.

LETTER TWENTY

42 WEEKS LEFT

You weren’t happy with me today.

“You struck a guard, Elliot? Why would you do that?”

“It was an accident,” I said.

You shook your head, disappointed. “So you just…accidentally elbowed a guard in the chest?”

“Yes.”

“Explain it to me.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you, Casey.”

“Meaning you don’t plan to explain the current state of your face, either?” you asked, grimacing at my swollen eye, busted lip, and the giant purple bruise on my cheek. “First, you’re sent to the infirmary after someone beat the living daylights out of you, then two days later, you’re put in solitary confinement for striking a guard. What’s going on with you? Is this to do with the house? Because if you’re going to spiral every time I give you a bit of bad news⁠—”

“I’ve told you—they hate me here. And striking the guard was an accident. You think I wanted to be put in solitary confinement? It’s torture. Even I’m not desperate enough to hurt myself like that.”