“Why do I need other friends?” He stopped at her locker and leaned against the pale metal. “Who else is going to dissect every scene of The Witcher with me? Have you finished season one yet? I’m dying to tell you all the parts you missed by not reading the books.”
“Myles.” She shook her head in exasperation as she turned the rusted dial. It stuck on the last number—like it always did—and Myles hammered it with his fist until it popped open. She slid her coat off and shoved it in. Opening her bag, she stuffed the books for her first classes inside. “We’ve been over this. I’m not a reader.” But she was a watcher. She watched every single fantasy movie and television show multiple times and discussed them with Myles. “I don’t need to read when I have my very own walking-talking Encyclopedia of fantasy to tell me all the parts that didn’t show up in the movies.”
“You’re missing out.” Myles shook his head.
“Speaking of missing out, what did you do while I was in prison?”
“You weren’t in prison.”
She rolled her eyes. With how closely the staff watched her, she may as well have been. That’s what happens when you shove your mom across the room and into the Christmas tree. She still couldn’t explain why or how she did it, but that didn’t matter.
“Okay, fine. While I was in the hospital spending all my time in therapy, did you hang out with anyone else?”
He only shrugged and propped one Converse-clad foot against the locker. Guilt gnawed at her, but that wasn’t a new feeling. She appreciated how loyal Myles was to her. Throughout her life, he was the only person she’d ever been able to count on. But he deserved more than a messed-up girl who saw inhuman freaks everywhere she went.
She met Myles in fifth grade when his family moved into the farm next door to hers. It was a love-at-first-sight kind of thing. Another lie. Love. But not with Myles. It was never romantic between them, but they’d bonded over their love of horses and desire to be anywhere but on their respective farms.
He was an attractive boy, and she knew for a fact the girls in the school liked him. It was one of the reasons they hated her so much. He could have been popular. All he’d have to do was make that short walk across the cafeteria at lunch and slide onto the bench with the rest of his football teammates.
Yep, that was right. Brea Robinson’s best friend was a football player.
They walked to his locker so he could grab his books.
“Are you ever going to answer my question?” She tried to ignore the students hurrying down the hall, trying to get to class like it was any normal day. For them, she supposed, it was.
They didn’t have to try and re-integrate into a place of whispers and accusing glares. She hadn’t missed those.
Myles slammed his locker shut, and the sound reverberated down the emptying hall. The tardy bell rang, and he grinned. “Ooh saved by the bell.”
She hurried after him. “We have the same first period, doofus.”
They entered English Lit and walked to their usual seats near the back.
“Hi, Myles. You can sit by me.” Ellen, a senior cheerleader, sent him a wave.
Brea had never until that moment disliked Ellen. She’d always been the sweet one on the team, unlike the rest of the girls who accused Brea of being some sort of witch—ironically, of course.
Myles grinned and puffed out his chest—ew—before sliding into his usual seat and leaning back. “Sorry, El. My girl needs me.”
“El,” Brea whispered with a shake of her head. “For the record, I don’t need you.”
His smile only widened. “Sure you do. You love me.”
God help her, she did. Her parents weren’t big on the love word—probably because their hearts were made of stone. But Myles let his feelings loose whenever he thought she needed it.
“Are you ever going to tell me what you’ve been up to?” She folded her arms on top of the dark-stained wooden desk.
“Cap had her colt.”
Brea sat up straighter. Captain—named for Captain America—was the pride and joy of the Merrick farm. “Why didn’t you tell me the moment you picked me up this morning?”
He shrugged. “I knew you’d yell at me because I’ve spent the last month in the company of beautiful beasts who aren’t big on the talking.” He reached over and flicked her hair. “Hey, they kind of sound like you.”
“I’m not a beast,” she grumbled. Or beautiful. Beauty was another one of those lies she hated so much. It was just an illusion.
He threw his head back with a full-throated laugh that had more than a few heads turning their way.
Brea leaned across her desk to Myles. “They’re staring at me.”
“That’s because they missed you.”
She snorted. “Yeah, okay.” Most days, she wished the kids at her school didn’t know she existed. But it was hard to ignore the crazy girl. That was an awful term—one people at the institute chastised her for every time she used it. But it didn’t mean it wasn’t how she felt.
Mental illness, they’d told her, was not something she could control, or deserved. They said it was an illness like any other, and nothing to be ashamed of.
But some days, shame was all she felt.
Mrs. Epstein walked to the front of the room, her gray hair pulled back into a severe bun. She started talking to them about whatever boring book—oops, literary classic—they’d been assigned to read.
Brea wasn’t a reader. She subscribed more to the “do as little as possible” philosophy. Unlike Myles who was already bent over his notebook scribbling notes.
His perfect grades meant he’d eventually go on to some fancy college, leaving her behind. It was inevitable.
He wanted to be a large animal vet focusing on horses and cattle.
And he’d be amazing at it.
She watched her friend as a lock of caramel-colored hair fell into his eyes, wishing she could have just an ounce of his confidence.
His life wasn’t perfect by any means, but then, perfection was only an illusion.
Another lie.
Throughout the day, Brea heard many variations of the rumors about her absence. She’d met an older man and run off with him, only to be dragged home.
She’d left to have a baby. That one stung a little. Had she really looked eight months pregnant before she left?
Then there was the story of the drugs she’d gotten hooked on, thanks to the sketchy characters who worked her family’s farm. She thought she seemed pretty good after only a month in rehab.
It was Riley Anders, Captain of the boys’ soccer team, who hit closest to home. As she’d walked by him at lunch, she heard the words “wacko” and “asylum” thrown into the atmosphere as if they didn’t hold the power of a thousand knives.
Myles waved to her from their usual table, but she stood frozen in the center of the busy cafeteria. Classmates swarmed around her, as if not seeing the girl in the middle of a major crisis.
Her feet wouldn’t move, like they were stuck in mud, swirling, sucking mud.
But the white tile floor was clean—or at least as clean as a school floor could be.
Nothing held her in place except a heart-splitting fear. This was her life now. Her breath came in short gasps as she tried to calm her shaking hands.