Page 20 of Wicked Dreams

She grunts. “Perfectly fine.”

Uh-huh.

She studiously ignores my gaze and unlocks the car. She climbs in, and I follow suit. The car rumbles to life, but she doesn’t put it in drive. We sit in silence for a moment, and I roll my eyes.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Nothing.” She frowns. “I’m all good. He’s just an asshole.”

I’m not buying her act, but I don’t think I can press her any more without risking the friendship. So I settle on saying softly, “And we know just how to deal with them, don’t we?”

Chapter 4

Margo

Robert suggests I switch into one of his classes. Since I’m still in a smooth-everything-over mode, I readily agree. I don’t necessarily think I’d be good at art, but painting is better than doing homework in a study hall.

Monday morning, bright and early, he slides a wrapped box across the kitchen island.

“This is for you.” His voice is as warm as the coffee I’ve been sipping on.

It takes me a long moment to reach for it. Care went into folding the edges of the brown paper around the box. My name is written on the top in Robert’s block-style print.

I unwrap it slowly, savoring the pull and release of tape. I can count on one hand how many presents I’ve gotten from people other than my social worker’s obligatory Christmas present. When the wrapping falls away, I can’t stop the wide smile from spreading.

It’s the set of paints I had bought for him the other day, plus brushes.

“Everything you’ll need,” he explains.

“You were planning on me saying yes.” Why are my eyes burning? I blink rapidly and try not to think about the sentimentality of the gift.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged. Art can be therapeutic and relaxing.”

“Even if I suck at it?” I ask.

“Yeah, even if you suck at it. But honestly, I don’t think you will.”

At school, Robert ushers me into the building instead of leaving me to wait for Riley in the courtyard. On one hand, I’m sorry to miss her, but on the other, I breathe a little easier knowing I won’t run into Savannah quite yet.

Her glare is burned into my brain, and I can only imagine what nonsense she’s been holding against me since I left. It seems a few people have a warped view of that year. Her. Caleb…

Robert talks to my guidance counselor. She switches me out of a study hall that was slowly boring me to death and into his painting class. When I have my new schedule printed and in hand, we’re released from her office.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“I’m happy to have you,” he says. “See you at the end of the day.”

With time still remaining before the homeroom bell, I enter the courtyard and stick to the edges. Caleb and his crew are throwing around a football, taking up a huge space. I spot Savannah and her new friends in the corner. Some of the cheerleaders are smoking, cigarettes dangling from their fingers. My eyes almost bug out at the sight of it.

She’s acool girl. The one who rebels in the name of fashion. Short skirt, long legs, uniform shirt unbuttoned one too low. A hot-pink lace bra peeks out of her shirt. I imagine she has guys drooling over her, but all she can focus on is Caleb.

I have a niggling suspicion that she’s the mysterious texter. The texter who has blissfully remained silent for the past week. I don’t know if she would warn me away to my face. Would that ruin her cool-girl façade?

Underneath those layers, does the girl I was best friends with as a kid even still exist?

They haven’t seen me, which is fine by me. I sit on a bench and pull out homework due at the end of the week. Someone else sits on the other end, but they don’t get too close.

The bell rings with no sign of Riley, and I take a deep breath. I put my phone and pen in my bag, and my textbook slides off my lap. It hits the gravel. I reach, but a polished shoe steps on its spine before I can touch it.

---