I shake my head. No. I want to finish this out. The end justifies the means.
Dad does his stoic cop nod. “Then that is the right decision.”
Then he comes in and pulls Ryan and me into his chest. Danielle and Mom pile on for a hug, too. And, finally, I let myself breathe.
I need some air after all that. So while everyone disappears to watch the Chiefs’ Sunday night game, I slip out the front door. The night is warm but crisp, a breeze bringing up goose bumps, even though I don’t feel cold. I deliberately point myself away from the turn for Grey’s house, instead walking in the direction of Northland.
“Liv, wait!” Half a block away, I turn around and see Danielle shuffle-sprinting my way in her adidas slides. I pause for her, though she’s still so fast, even in those shoes, that she hardly needs it. She’s next to me in a flash, the smell of jasmine perfume and fabric softener filling my nose.
“I’d hate to be sixteen again,” she says without preamble.
A lump automatically forms in my throat, the hot threat of tears in my eyes—again. I swallow it all down to answer her, voice thick. “Why? You were a goddess at sixteen.” I know her accomplishments as well as my own. “Softball captain, MVP of a state champion squad, junior prom queen.”
A wry smile crosses her lips. “I was also a closeted lesbian at an all-girls school. Trust me, that was seven layers of hell.”
Oh, yes, there was that. Pain and suffering that we didn’t know existed until Danielle’s senior year of college. That shit I heard from Stacey? Danielle has weathered that crap her whole life. And when she came out, being a softball player didn’t help—stereotype city. Thankfully she’d found Heather by then to help her through when our family couldn’t.
“Life gets better when you care a whole lot less about what other people think.” She leans in, though we’re alone on the sidewalk, the Chiefs game mumbling out of open windows and onto the street. “And judging by what went down Friday, you’re probably pretty concerned with what kids are thinking right now, huh?”
I nod, a sob rising hot and fast in my throat. We halt on the sidewalk and Danielle hauls me in, her biceps and forearm curling against my back, pressing me into the hug I need more than anything—air, water, softball. Danielle holds me tight, fingers weaving together to keep me in, sister-durable chain link.
“Remember, high school doesn’t last forever.”
Too bad it lasts long enough.
When our hug ebbs, I pull away but keep both hands gripping her forearms. “Is it true? Did you really offer to pay my tuition?”
“I did. Got the paperwork ready and everything—10 percent employee discount! But without guardianship, Mom and Dad had to sign.” She smiles sadly. “They were just doing what they thought was best, but damn if it wasn’t the worst.”
“You’ve got that right.”
Danielle flips the grip on our embrace, taking my hands into hers. “Liv, why’d you punch Stacey?”
My breath catches. I don’t want to tell her. It’s not her fault that Stacey said those things or that I reacted the way I did. I never want her to think it could be. But I can’t lie to her. Not again.
“She was trying to get under my skin the whole game. Talking about Jake…” I swallow, tears pressing hard against my lash line. “But what really did it was that she said something shitty about you.”
Her brows draw together. “Me?” Danielle squeezes my fingers.
I force myself to meet her eyes. I know she’s heard it all before, but I don’t want her to hear anything else. I force the words out anyway. “She—she said something really homophobic and I couldn’t let it go.”
My sister draws in a deep breath. The reality of what happened and what I’m not saying flits across her face in the dying light in some sort of mixture of horror, frustration, and maybe a little pride, until her jaw is set and her eyes shine. The strength of her grip never lessens. My sister is a rock, brave and strong, and I love her more than anything.
“Liv, while I’m proud of you for standing up for me, and I realize you were trying to protect my feelings by not telling me about this, that wasn’t the way to handle it.” I nod, a tear finally rolling down my face. Because I know. Oh, I know. Danielle’s thumb swipes at the tear. “Baby girl, you can’t smack sense into a person like that. You need to use your words to tell them they’re wrong, hope those words sink in, and if they don’t, let karma do the rest.”
I try and fail to smile at her, another tear snaking down, running into my mouth. “Am I an asshole if I hope karma’s a total bitch to her?”
Danielle pulls me in close again. “No.”
33
WALKING INTO SCHOOL MONDAY FEELS ALL WRONG. Heavy. Exposed.
It is not an act I do alone.
Oh, I’m physically by myself. Ryan and Jesse took off like they always do—the girls they once chased now waiting for them next to the flagpole, books tucked coyly against their chests.
And so, I face down every set of eyes.
They watch me like I can’t watch back. Like a tiger in a cage—unable to strike, no matter who’s pressed against the glass with a steak in hand.
It’s exactly what I pictured last night. I’m the villain. I’m the new girl who got in a public shouting match with a popular senior in front of half the school.
I’m the best gossip in town.
Head up, armor on, I push through. Through the junior-senior parking lot and over the orange paw prints. Through the stutter in my heart as I skip past the spot where Grey always waited—half smile at the ready, khakis pressed and perfect.
He’s not there now, and both disappointment and relief catch at the base of my throat.
The hallway is full of more eyes. Faces I don’t recognize but ones that know every inch of me. Staring without filter. Pity seeping into whispers.
I want to punch their pity in the face.
I enter Spanish and here, too, my presence is dissected by every student in the room—any remaining conversation becoming a distant remnant, lost to a new, shiny, O-Rod-shaped object.
I keep it neutral, keep it cool—no game-day scowling here. I blink and another set of eyes has joined the crowd: the pair belonging to Coach Kitt.
I expect her loyalty to her son to lay bare in her tawny features. Instead, there’s the hint of a smile.
“Miss Rodinsky,” she says. “Please stop by my office after the last bell.”
There’s no malice to the request. Nothing to indicate that I’m in trouble—her lips remain upturned, eyes clear. If anything, it’s the warmest total expression she’s ever aimed in my general vicinity. Still, my heart sinks and my blood pressure rises, my lungs suddenly sapped of air.
She must know what happened. That I accused her son of using me. And then softball will be over—no junior year for the scouts to see. Nothing. Nada.
Still, because my sister taught me well, I nod like I do any time I’m asked to do the impossible.
In a way, this day has been exactly like I expected my first day at Northland to be.
Quiet, awkward, cold.
Jake came late with a doctor’s note and downturned posture, saying nothing to me—or anyone—during Spanish. Rather, he spent the entire class running a hand through his fresh buzz, head still ringing from that hit, his eye looking even worse than Saturday.