He threw it and made it in the middle cup. The crowd around us, which had grown considerably since Blake’s and my announcement, whooped.
Dana, who looked constantly on the verge of exploding herself, was sitting straight up in a chair against the wall and staring at Johnny.
Whatever.
Johnny missed. I made mine. Blake made hers. We got the balls back. However long later, however, Blake and I were both in our bras. I could kind of see how easy it would be to rope in these people and herd them like cattle. I get too drunk, I act fun and a little slutty—and suddenly their hearts are mine. No one was talking about Becca.
I was about to take my shot when the boathouse door opened. I’d almost known it’d be him.
The music kept pounding, but the chatter died for a few seconds when he came in. I shot the ball and made it. Johnny sighed and took off his shirt. I didn’t want to, but I glanced at his body as he did so. It was a good body. So I guess I wanted to.
I averted my eyes, and unfortunately locked eyes with Dana. She stood and walked over to me, pushed Blake out of the way, and then slapped me hard across the face.
My chest burned. The room was silent but for the music.
Max and Johnny were on her like bouncers, each taking an arm. But still no one spoke.
“I think you know what that’s for.” Her words were icy and sharp.
“I—I …” My cowardice was back.
“You need me to clarify?” She squirmed in the clutches of her restrainers. “How about you stop fucking him?”
Everyone was looking at me. Waiting for me to confirm or deny with words or with a reaction. I let my face be blank. I would be strong. I had to be. I wasn’t going to slap her back. But I had to do something.
“Stop fucking him?” I took a step toward her, feeling the dragon in my chest open its jaws. “Maybe when I’m dead.”
I didn’t look anyone in the eyes but her. Hers widened and then narrowed.
I grabbed my shirt and walked out. Blake followed me, and we walked to our rooms in silence.
It was snowing. The small snowflakes were accumulating on the ground, creating a soft, delicate blanket. It was the first time I’d seen snow. It seemed appropriate that I should see it now.
For I had never felt colder.
chapter 19 me
IT WAS CHRISTMAS EVE, AND I’D ALREADY GOTTEN my first present: I could take off my sweatshirt and squint in the sunlight. I was standing at the arrivals loop at Jacksonville International Airport. Any moment now, my dad would be rounding into sight in my mom’s robin’s-egg-blue convertible, and I could feel like I was at home again. I could try to forget everything that had happened at Manderley, and pretend—like I had to—that everything was great.
My bag was weighing on my shoulder, the guy next to me was blowing cigarette smoke so directly in my face that it felt intentional, and it still was a little too cold to be in only jeans and a tank top, but I didn’t care. I didn’t notice any of that. All I could do was snap my gum anxiously, until I finally saw the car.
There was Dad, and there was Jasper.
A grin stretched across my face as I pulled open the door. “Hi!” I waved to my dad. “Oh, Jasper!” He jumped on me, his tail wagging so hard it shook the rest of his body.
I threw my bag and Jasper into the backseat and took a deep breath as I put on my seat belt. I was still smiling like a fool.
“Hey, honey,” my dad said, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Hi! Oh, my God, I’m so happy to be home.”
“How do you like it? You glad you went up there?”
I nodded and considered how I was going to make it seem like I was in any way glad I’d left Florida for New Hampshire. But before I had to decide how to do that, Dad started to drive and then had to slam on the brakes as someone nearly lurched into us.
“Come on!” My dad laid on the horn. “Sorry, honey. Right. Well, I’m glad you like it up there. You wish you’d done all four years there?”
“Nah.”
“And you’re here for what, a week?”
“I have to go back January second.”
“That’s all they give ya? Doesn’t feel like long enough.”
“I know.”
I was soon distracted from the conversation as we drove over the familiar bridge and I could feel the crispy, almost wet breeze on my face. I leaned back and closed my eyes. The sun was hot on my eyelids, but the wind whipping around the convertible was cold. I’d never been more comfortable.
My dad turned up the Eagles on the radio, and Jasper panted in the seat behind me, possibly the only one who understood how incredibly refreshing this car ride was.
An hour later I was sitting at the counter eating my mom’s steaming hot popovers, smeared with butter and raspberry jelly, and sacrificing little bits to Jasper at my feet.
“So tell me all about it,” my mother said as she leaned on the counter across from me, some flour in her hair. She’d been baking all afternoon, which was clear from the dining room filled with every type of Christmas cookie and four loaves of bread.
I shuddered. I couldn’t tell my mom anything.
“What do you want to know?”
“Well, I already know they aren’t feeding you enough.” She looked at my arms and gave them a squeeze. “Look at that, no healthy fat on your little bones. You’re too skinny, mon petite chou!”
“The food is just kind of … prisonlike. It’s not a big deal, I still eat.”
“Uh-huh.” She moved a piece of hair from her eye, putting more flour in it. “I’ll send you care packages. I hadn’t thought of it—I’d assumed the food would be five-star!”
Ha. “Not quite.”
“Okay, so what about your friends? Do you like any boys? You would tell me if you had a boyfriend, no?”
I felt myself blush, and I wished I hadn’t. It wasn’t the normal, coy kind of blushing. My face was hot because I was filled with guilt and resentment. Max and I hadn’t spoken at all since I said … what I said to Dana … and everyone else within earshot.
“Ooh!” she shrilled. “Tell me!”
“I kind of … there’s a guy I’m sort of talking to …”
“What’s his name?”
“Max Holloway.”
“What’s he look like—do
