Page 12 of The Masks We Wear

She lifts her blanket, patting the empty space next to her. I nod and flop down, surprised by how good the plush fabric feels. “Thank you.”

Her bright teeth peek through her pillowy lips as she smiles and pushes back her glasses. “I’m here when you wanna talk.”

She grabs the oversized tub of popcorn from her side table and sits it in her lap. Pushing play on the Hallmark movie, I interrupted, she nudges me with her elbow.

I lean my head against her shoulder, accepting a handful of popcorn, and something in the air shifts, suddenly making me nauseous. This aura—I’ve felt it once before. It was when Liliana stopped being just the girl in the backyard and became the girl I needed. When she became my fresh air after a suffocating day at the hospital with my mom.

I told myself I would never let this happen again—needing someone to get through the dark. But then Remy glances down, her jet black waves brushing against my ear, and rests her head on mine.

A rush of calm floods through my core, my body relaxing at the connection. I don’t think Remy will be someone I need to get me through the dark. No.

I think she’ll sit in it with me until I find my own way out.

SIX

Spencer hasn’t been to school the whole week. Five damn days.

I knew he would be pissed, maybe a little embarrassed—I mean, that was the intended goal, but this is ridiculous. We still have a project to get done and today is the deadline for our submission.

Not to mention my nerves have been wound up tight as hell, waiting to see how he would respond. I didn’t really think about the after-effects of the plan. I just knew I needed him to keep quiet, and this was my best chance at getting some leverage.

My pulse spikes, a sudden thought drowning out all the others.

What if he moved away?

Went back to his mom’s and said fuck this project...fuckme.

The air in the room seems thinner—like it did every last day of summer all those years. He came and consumed my life in ways I couldn’t describe, but when he left, he took that with him, leaving everything a little less colorful. Less beautiful. It’s as though I was tolerating the bleak life I had, biding my time until he came back.

Leaning back in my chair, I huff and stare daggers into my phone. My fingers itch to text him and find out. Put me out of this disturbing misery. But I can’t. I’ve put myself in such a stupid conundrum, my head throbs against the internal struggle.

I rub the ache in my temples, still staring at the phone. Every time the screen dims, I tap it, bringing it back to life, and hope a notification will pop up.

Why would he reach out to you after what you did?

The nerve in my molar sends a spike of pain down my jaw as I grind my teeth. I don’t want him to reach out about us, but I do need the grade for this class. And if he did move away, the teacher would have told me.

Failing would be just as bad as Spencer disclosing all my secrets. I need to get an A in this damn class, and I have no clue how I can do that without him.

“He’s already turned in the submission to Mr. Jones.”

My attention snaps to the voice, it’s soft, but there’s a bite in her tone.

It’s the girl with the hexagon glasses. Her inky hair brushes against her jaw as she straightens her spine, and I almost think she means to be intimidating. Her oval-shaped face mocks me with its symmetry. Even her lips have the perfect cupid’s bow.

Irritation licks at my nerves. Partially because she’s a natural beauty that doesn’t seem to appreciate it, hiding her tiny body in hideous oversized T-shirts. And also, I can begrudgingly admit because she’s spoken with Spencer about our project.

I prop my elbow on the lab table, feigning boredom, and blink slow. “Is that so?”

The small girl scoffs, folding thin arms across her chest. “It is. Not that you evenneedto know. As if you really planned to help.”

It’s a struggle to keep my face indifferent against the flare of anger coiling deep in my belly. This girl is a friend. A good one, I’m guessing, since she knows about my text to Spencer from that night. It begs to wonder what else she knows.

I flip my hair over my shoulder and drum my fingers on the dingy table. I wait a few seconds before letting my eyes flit back to her. “Was there something else?”

Her eyes narrow, but she shuffles on her feet before she answers. “I think what you did was pretty horrible.”

My eyes flutter closed before I sigh, turning back to my phone. A good friend indeed. To call me out, even privately, tells me I may need to look into theirrelationshipa little more. “Okay, hun.”

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