“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she shot back with a sly smile.
I grinned. My grandmother knew everyone in the city, and they all loved her.
Because she practices what she preaches. Her heart is open.
Mine was too, I argued as I rinsed the dishes and put them in the washer. I loved Bibi. I loved Violet. I’d lay down my life for either of them. What more did I need?
“I want you to be careful out there, Shiloh,” Bibi said as I dried my hands and packed up my school bag, her tone suddenly grave. “Detective Harris told me one of the officers at his precinct had to be disciplined again. Mitch Dowd. I believe his son is in your grade.”
“Frankie,” I said. “He’s a little prick.”
“His father’s a big prick. He’s got something of a bad temper, I hear. A short fuse and an excess of pride. The worst combination.”
“Sounds like a real winner.”
“Harris used the word ‘psychotic.’”
“Christ. And he’s still on the job?”
“Likely not for much longer. But Shiloh, if Dowd pulls you over…”
“I know what to do, no matter who pulls me over.” I pecked her cheek. “I gotta run. You’ll be okay?”
“Of course.”
“Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. And Shiloh?” she called when I was at the kitchen door that led to the garage. “I might not agree with your boundaries, but I respect them.”
I smiled, warmth filling my chest. “I love you, Bibi,” I said, the words coming easily. Without hesitation.
There is nothing wrong with my heart, I thought in the garage, climbing into the boat of a Buick. It’s open for exactly the right people.
At school, I kept my earbuds in between classes. “Hunger” by Florence + the Machine filled my head while the rest of the school populace bustled around me, talking and laughing, full of New School Year energy that’d wear off in a week.
I caught sight of Miller Stratton trudging across the quad alone, head down, shoulders hunched. He met my eye and gave me a wave. I waved in return. The boy looked like he carried the weight of the world on his back. I wished Violet would help him carry the burden a little. But then, who was I to talk? I carried my own shit and was just fine.
But when Violet joined me in History—our last class of the day—her dark blue eyes were heavy and had Miller Stratton written all over them. She was miserable and beautiful at the same time.
This is why I don’t get involved with boys.
“Hey,” I said. “You okay?”
She put on her Violet McNamara Everything’s Fineď¤ smile. “Sure. You look pretty, Shi. As usual. That’s stunning.” She reached over and touched the turquoise and silver ring on my index finger. “A Barrera original, I presume?”
“Free advertising.”
“You’re a genius.”
“And you’re deflecting in a really complimentary way. What’s going on?”
Violet was saved from answering. Our History teacher, Mr. Baskin, a heavyset guy with a graying beard and large glasses, took the podium at the front of the class. We all grew quiet as he called roll. He got to the W’s and frowned.
“Wentz? Wentz?” No answer. “Oh, that’s right. Suspended.”
He made a check in his roll book, then restarted the movie on the whiteboard that we’d begun last time: a documentary on the Russian Revolution.
When the room was dark and the movie rolling, I leaned to Violet. “Okay, Miss Friends-with-TMZ. Who is this new guy who keeps not showing up?”
“Ronan Wentz,” she whispered back. “Evelyn says he’s suspended for punching Frankie Dowd. Broke his nose.”
“My hero. That shithead had it coming.”
The heaviness in Violet’s eyes deepened. “He was giving Miller a hard time. Again.”
“Frankie’s psychotic. Gets it from his dad.” I gave her the rundown on Mitch Dowd from what Bibi had told me that morning. “If this guy, Ronan, broke Frankie’s nose, his dad is going to be out for blood.”
Mr. Baskin glanced up from his desk and shot us a warning look. Violet and I pretended to watch the film, though I could practically feel the angst wafting off her like perfume.
After a few minutes, she leaned back to me. “Did Miller mention to you about his mom having a new boyfriend?”
“No. He’s been pretty quiet lately. Why?”
“I think he’s not a good guy. Miller won’t tell me much and I don’t think he’s coming over anymore. I think…”
“What?”
Violet started to speak, then changed her mind. She forced another smile. “Nothing. You’re so lucky, Shi. You know who you are and what you want. You’re going to open your own shop the minute we graduate, and you won’t let anything—or anyone—stand in your way.”
My brow furrowed. “You’re going to med school, Vi. To become a surgeon. No one works harder than you.”
“I know, but sometimes I feel like I’m missing something fundamental that’s putting me off balance. But you’re so…whole.” She smiled faintly and waved a hand. “Never mind me. I’m just being silly. PMS, probably.”
Mr. Baskin cleared his throat, shooting us another look from his desk. Violet took notes on the film while her words churned in my head. I had no idea who my father was, and my mother’s love for me was like a dimmer switch, flickering on the lowest setting. If I was whole, it was because I was holding myself together with a patchwork of glue—my art, Bibi, and my ambition to prove to my mother I wasn’t a mistake.
Not that I ever told any of that to Violet or confided my fears to her the way she did me.
Someday, she’s going to get tired of spilling her guts when I never give her anything in return.
I leaned over to Violet and touched her arm. “Hey. I’m here for you. Anytime. You know that, right?”
She smiled softly and clasped my hand. “Of course. Thanks, Shi.”
But her hand slipped off mine and I couldn’t help but feel she was slipping further away from me too. By the time class was over, I’d decided to bite the bullet and take Bibi’s advice.
Ugh, this is going to suck, but Vi’s worth it.
“You still going to Chance’s party tomorrow night?” I asked as we headed back out into the sunshine.
Her face brightened instantly and then Evelyn Gonzalez swooped in. She looked like Ariana Grande—perfect makeup, tight black clothes, and a ponytail that swept her shoulders.
“Of course, she is,” Evelyn said. “And so is a certain quarterback. There will be alcohol and my infamous version of Seven Minutes in the Closet. It’s going to be lit.”
Violet blushed up to her hairline. “That’s a yes,” she said to me. “Why? Are you—?”
“Nah, just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to be there alone,” I said quickly.
Evelyn took Violet’s hand in hers and swung them as if they were in elementary school. “I’ll never let her out of my sight. Except when she and River Whitmore need their alone-time in the closet.”
I smiled thinly. “Great.”