Page 37 of Butterfly

LESLIE

It was Wednesday, AKA lit class, AKA I’d have to see Mason again. As I got ready in the bathroom, Lucy scampered in.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered, headed straight to the toilet stalls.

I grinned to myself. A minute later, the toilet flushed and she headed over to the sinks next to me to wash her hands. She groaned when she looked at her face in the mirror.

“I’m so fucked.”

“Late to class?”

“Worse. I’m hungover and I have a meeting I’m already fifteen minutes late to. And the C— he’ll be pissed. And my head hurts too much for one of his lectures.”

The way she’d cut herself spiked my curiosity. “Who’s ‘he?’”

She threw her hair in a top bun and brushed her teeth furiously, speaking around the toothbrush. “My neverending nightmare. My warden. My jailer. It doesn’t matter, he’s going to make my life a living hell for this.”

“You’re being really vague. And kind of sketchy,” I observed, amused.

She snorted. “Like you aren’t sketchy about your stepbrother. Tell you what, I tell you about my personal hell, and you tell me about yours. Deal?”

I waffled. I’d already called her my friend when I was talking to my mom. It would be really nice if I could call her my friend for real. But could I trust her? Wouldn’t she judge me?

“Believe me, anything you’ve done doesn’t come close to what I’ve done—or what I want to do,” she muttered. “Judgment-free zone here.”

I smiled. “I’ll think about it. But you should probably get going.”

“Fuck!” With that Lucy spat out the toothpaste, wiped her face down with a towel, and tossed her shower caddy at me. “Can you hang onto this for me? I’ll come get it later, I have to go or I’m going to be sent to a damn convent. And I’m Jewish. That’s how bad this is gonna be.”

I laughed. “So am I. And sure. Room 312.”

She put her finger to her forehead as she backed out of the bathroom. “312. Got it, see you later, fellow Red Sea pedestrian, and thank you!”

Once she was gone, I sighed, feeling better than I had in a while. Maybe I could trust her.

But first I had to deal with seeing my own nightmare, as Lucy had so aptly put it.

When I got to class, Mason was already there. I made sure to take a seat as far away from him as possible—and the asshole stood up, grabbed his stuff, and crossed the room to take the seat next to mine, a coffee in his hand. I gaped at him, aware the whole room was watching, including the row of girls who clearly wanted him to sit by them, based on the way they glared at me.

At least Emily was out today. Thank goodness for small favors.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

He didn’t answer, handing me the coffee.

I gaped at the coffee, too.

“Is it poisoned?”

He laughed. “No. Not even with almond milk. I had to go to three coffee shops to get you a lavender latte with oat milk.”

“You know what my coffee order is?”

“Butterfly, I know everything about you.”

With that jaw-dropper, he sprawled out in the seat next to mine, his leg butting up against my own.

He knew my coffee order? The butterflies in my stomach started to dance excitedly. He went to three (three!) coffee shops to get me exactly what I wanted? And of course, the latte was delicious. It tasted better than any I’d ever had, and try as I might, I couldn’t pretend it didn’t send warmth through me—and it wasn’t just the liquid, either. It felt like care.

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