Page 52 of Wicked Brutal

“Good girls,” she murmurs, and I can tell she means it. There are no eyes dropping to my stomach. No barrage of questions. Just Cassandra, asking like it matters and then letting it go.

Walter closes his briefcase. “We’re heading out.”

“Where?” Ryan asks.

“Fundraiser.” Walter glances at me, and his voice gentles the way it does when he’s pretending it isn’t. “You holding up all right, Ally? With everything?”

“I think so,” I say. “Better than last week.”

“Good.” He nods, once, like that settles something. “That’s what we like to hear.”

Cassandra grabs Walter’s arm. “Come on. Love you kids, bye!” The front door closes behind them a minute later.

Ryan locks it. Then turns.

I lean against the kitchen island. He looks at me. I look at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I haven’t been allowed to all day.”

My stomach flips. “Poor baby.”

“Keep mocking me.”

“What are you going to do?”

He walks toward me. There he is. The boy who doesn’t exist at Edgewood. The one who knows exactly how I take my tea and what foods don’t make me sick this week. The one who texts me from twenty feet away because publicly looking at me for too long isn’t safe.

Ryan's hands settle on my hips then he kisses me. Slow. Easy. I slide my hands up his chest. His mouth brushes mine again. Then again. No rush. No pretending. Just us.

Something inside me tightens. Not because I don’t want him touching me. Because lately, I don’t know what I’m going to feel when he does. My body is changing faster than my head can catch up. Not enough for anyone at school to notice. Enough for me. Enough that some mornings my bra feels wrong. Enough that my jeans don’t sit quite the way they used to. Enough that I catch myself turning sideways in the mirror and staring.

Ryan notices me go still. He pulls back slightly. “What?”

I sigh. “I feel weird.”

“Sick?”

“No.”

“Tired?”

“No.” He waits. I hate that he’s good at waiting. “My body.”

His expression softens. “What about it?”

“I don’t know.” I look down. “It just doesn’t feel like mine sometimes.”

Ryan doesn’t immediately tell me I’m beautiful. Thank God. He doesn’t laugh or tell me I’m imagining it either. His thumbs move slowly over my hips. “Do you want me to stop touching you?”

My eyes snap to his. “No.” I swallow. “I just feel...” I search for it. “Different.”

“You are.”

I stare at him. His mouth twitches. “That came out wrong.”