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I take another drink. If there’s something in my mouth it’ll stop the words from coming out.

“Hey, speaking of trash,” Brynn says, her eyes going to the corner where I spot Patrick talking to Jessica Stanhope. She’s shed something like fifty pounds in the past year, and apparently guys who wouldn’t look twice at her before are now honing in. But I’m all out of good for hers. I make my way toward them in time to see him punch her number into his phone, then give her ass a pinch as she walks away.

“Hey,” I say, coming up beside him.

“Hey,” he says, slipping his arm around my waist, smooth as hell. It’s been here a lot lately—with clothes both on and off.

“What was that about?” I ask, nodding toward Jessica.

“Nothing, just talking,” he says, avoiding my eye.

“Just talking?” I repeat, but he only nods. “Like maybe you’ll talk later, too? Because I saw you get her number.”

His arm is gone from my waist, his eyes not kind anymore. “That a problem?”

“I . . . well . . . ,” I sputter. He was supposed to be caught. Supposed to be guilty.

“Look, maybe I wasn’t totally clear with you about what’s up with us,” he says, leaning down so that his voice is in my ear. “I’m not a one-girl kind of guy.”

“Oh,” I say, my stomach bottoming out. He’s saying it so casually, like it’s not a big deal. Like I have no right to be angry. Maybe I don’t. I mean, I never did ask him if we were dating. I just let him do . . . well, basically whatever he wanted. As long as I got an Oxy first.

“I mean, that’s cool, right?” Patrick says. “You didn’t think that we were . . .”

“Yeah, no, yeah, I mean, duh,” I say, all the words I didn’t have for Gretchen coming out now, tripping over each other, not making sense. “I mean, whatever.”

He nods. “Cool.”

Sure, it’s cool. Everything’s cool. Everything is awesome. I walk back over to the girls and find my drink.

Chapter 61

Tress

Sophomore Year

My phone is ringing. At three in the morning. That can’t be good.

“Hello?” I’m breathless after scrambling for it, the security light from the animal pens lighting up my room.

“Tress?”

There’s a sob, a broken noise. It’s Felicity. She’s not okay.

“Where are you?” My heart is in my throat, and I’m up, pulling on shorts even though I’m not wearing underwear, throwing a sweatshirt on with no bra, rifling through the mess on the kitchen table for Cecil’s keys.

I am coming. I will save you. Everything will be okay.

“He’s seeing other girls,” she says, her voice dull now.

“What?” I stop, watch an empty beer bottle roll off the table, breaking on the floor.

“Patrick,” she says. “I slept with him, and I guess I thought, I don’t know . . . I thought maybe he was, like, actually into me, or whatever.”

“Where are you?” I ask again.

“What?” She sniffs. “I’m at home.”

At home. In her house. On a nice street. With her family.