Page 43 of Mad Girl

“Collect your things, Willoughby,” you said. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“But we aren’t finished,” I argued, digging my fingernails into my palm.

“That’s too bad. You’ll have to do the rest over the phone. Your dad said to send him home if anything happened, so off he goes.”

“See you tomorrow,” Willoughby mumbled, gathering his stuff. “I’ll text you.”

As soon as Willoughby left, I thrust myself up from the table.

My hands trembled as I stacked my books into a haphazard pile. My whole body shook. From the unfairness of it, Casey. The rage. “You’re unbelievable,” I spat.

“You’re unbelievable. You hopped on that boy the second I left the room.”

“You embarrassed me. I’m already a freak at my school, and now all his friends will know that my jailer made him leave because we kissed.”

You stepped back. “Your jailer?”

“That’s exactly what you are! It’s bad enough that I have my dad breathing down my neck. Now I have you, too. He doesn’t let me have anything—not one fucking thing other girls my age have.”

“That can’t be true,” you said.

“Oh, yeah? I’m the only person in my school who isn’t allowed on social media. Tinsley and Bree are supposed to go to Peru at the end of summer break this year—to study abroad—but my dad won’t let me go. Tinsley’s my best friend, and I’ve never once spent the night at her house. Her mom has a different boyfriend every week and leaves Tinsley alone a lot, so my dad doesn’t trust her. I’ve only ever stayed the night with the Harrises or my grandparents. Those are the only four adults my dad trusts to watch me. I’m the only girl in my class—in probably the whole school—who’s never been to a real sleepover, a concert with her friends, or even a coffee shop without an adult present.”

I swatted at my face, my chest heaving as I tried to slow my breathing and temper my rage. Your gaze tracked the tears that flowed down my cheeks, your dark eyebrows drawing together with concern.

I kept talking. “Until you came along, the only boy I’d ever been left alone with was Michael—and that’s just because my dad believes Michael and I are too close and he’ll never touch me. You just chased away the only boy I’ve ever danced with, the only boy I’ve ever kissed. Because my dad told you to. Because I’m not allowed to have that, either. He makes me dress a certain way so boys don’t even look at me, which seems totally pointless since the boys at my school are afraid of me, anyway—and if that isn’t bad enough, they’re afraid of him, too.” I paused to catch my breath. “Meanwhile, you—I’m not sure what you’re off doing when you’re not here, but you sure go through a lot of condoms.”

“What?” you said, taking a step back, eyes flaring with shock. “You’re still going through my things?”

I ignored the question. “You come home late. You can do whatever you want. You could be out there screwing someone different every night, and my dad would pat you on the back and say, ‘You have a good time, Casey?’ As long as you’re back here when you’re supposed to be, standing guard over me. As long as you’re willing to help him play gatekeeper when it comes to my love life. We’re only two years apart, and my dad gave you the power to stop me from even kissing a boy. Do you not see how totally fucked up that is?”

Your face softened as I swiped tears from my chin with the back of my hand.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be watched constantly?” I asked. “To have no freedom at all?”

“Elliot, come on,” you said gently, taking a cautious step toward me. “Let’s get you calmed down. Let me make you a cup of tea. You should probably eat something.”

“No,” I said, taking a step back. “I did something horrible and shocking when I was eight. Michael forgave me, but my dad hasn’t. I’m still paying for it. He takes everything from me, and I guess my sentence doesn’t end until I go to college. This house is my prison, my dad’s the warden, and you’re my jailer. You probably didn’t realize when he moved you in here, but that’s the job you actually signed up for. You’re helping to contain me. The way you just handled that situation with Willoughby proves it.”

I fled upstairs, where I changed clothes, put my earbuds in, and sat on the floor by my bed. When I opened my eyes a little while later, you were leaning inside my doorway, your troubled gaze sweeping over my face.

You joined me on the floor, pulling up your legs like mine. With a huff, I removed my earbuds.

“It makes me sad to know you feel trapped here,” you said, twisting the black-and-white bracelet around your wrist. “I don’t want to make you feel like that—like you’re never free.”

“Whatever. That’s my life. I’m used to it.”

“What if—” You stopped to think. “What if I started giving you a little leeway? For instance, maybe you could go home with Tinsley occasionally? Or the two of you could go for a coffee?”

“Really?” I asked, turning my body to face yours.

“Yes—but only if you are where you say you are, Elliot. No snooping around Michael’s or anything like that. You check in with me. You text back immediately. You come back before your dad gets home, or it’s over. We’ll both get in trouble.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but hesitated before saying that next thing. “And look, I’m not trying to be the gatekeeper of anything, but boys aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Willoughby seems okay, but at the end of the day, he’s still a boy, and most boys can be—they don’t always have—they’re just shit, okay? They’re only thinking about one thing, and they’re shit.”

I wondered about you and that one thing. All those condoms you went through—a number I couldn’t dwell on too long without wanting to kick something. “But I’m thinking about it, too,” I said, chin lifted. “So maybe that’s okay with me. Maybe that’s exactly what I want from a boy.”