Page 42 of The Masks We Wear

“Where?” I say again, though this time, I’m not asking.

A smirk lifts the right side of her mouth, and she juts her chin toward the side door. “Left side of the garage, in the tall bin.”

Nodding, I head out. “See you tomorrow, Remy.”

I find the shovel and tug my hoodie on, leaving her garage open a foot so I can roll it back under when I’m done. The frigid air wraps around me, tightening every muscle in my body. The wind has died down, leaving a new layer of snow on the ground. The crunch of it beneath my feet echoes into the night as I trudge to the side of the driveway behind her car.

Taking my time, I start, pushing all my weight into the handle. I force all my attention on the satisfying lines I make as I pile the snow on the side. Clouds of smoke come out in puffs as the thin air becomes harder to breathe.

For the next twenty minutes, my mind is nothing. It’s barren of any thoughts beside the cold, and the stars shining ridiculously bright despite the amount of light pollution our city makes.

Finally, in my car, the vibrations of the engine purring as it warms settle my chatting teeth. With the thawing of my skin, comes the memory of the first and only time I ever saw snow with Lily.

“I can’t believe you’re here! How did you get your mom to agree?” Liliana’s warm brown eyes are the only thing keeping me from freezing. Her smile is stretched from ear to ear, making the one-day trip all the more worth it.

“Oh, she didn’t mind since it’s just today.”

Liliana’s smile flips, and my stomach plummets with it. “Just today? I thought you’d be here all week.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But hey, at least we get to build a snowman. Scratch it off our bucket list.”

She pouts for a minute, pushing her lips out, and I wonder what it would be like to kiss her. Share our first kiss in the snow. Maybe after the hot chocolate, grinch movie, and some snowman building. Maybe.

I didn’t kiss her. The chicken shit I was. And come to find out, she would kiss Johnny Macland at the city Christmas Yule a week later.

I was so mad, I almost caught the bus to go punch his ass in the face. He knew I liked her. William had to talk me off the ledge. Probably explains why I’m calling him now.

“Aye, man, what’s up?” William’s voice fills the car.

Hearing it does something. Almost as if it’s a reminder and a realization all at the same time. He was there through it all. The beginning, middle, and end of Lily and I. He knows the way she burrowed into my fucking skin, tattooing herself into my chest. Will was also the one that had to put me back together when she ripped herself out, leaving a big-ass hole.

I slam my fist into the dashboard, and the tears that have been teetering on the edge finally do, searing down my face. Anger boils in my gut. I’m pissed I still fucking care.

I still fucking care.

A shuffling on the speaker reminds me that William is still there. He clears his throat and sighs. “I’m on my way.”

EIGHTEEN

His little friend has done a good job taking down all my posters, but my cheer team is better. They replace them faster than Remy can find them, all for the cost of twenty minutes off practice. The truth is, they would have gotten the time anyway because I need to make sure I look okay for my afternoon meeting with Spencer.

He hasn’t said anything, and I can’t lie, that bothers me. He still isn’t phased by anything I dish out, and it’s starting to make my insides burn.How is he so detached?

The only thing he really cares about is maybe Remy, and after a talk with Blaze, I realize starting any drama with her will only cause me problems. So now, I’m left scraping the bottom of the barrel for ideas to piss him off.

A thought crosses my head from a week ago in the locker room. Amora threatened Stacy with a screenshot. Posting it as a puzzle around the school for people to piece together. Maybe that would do something to him. Pull him out of his shell once and for all. I would do anything to see him get angry.

I make it to the tiny room before he does, and lean back in my chair, inspecting my cuticles. Since we are the only ones ever occupying the space, the mixed smell of us still lingers in the air from last week. Its hues of lavender and lemon with deep cedar. It’s intoxicating and incredibly frustrating.

The door handle jiggles, signaling his presence, forcing my spine to straighten. I brush a hand down my arm, smoothing the goose bumps before he walks in.

Spencer’s head appears first, and a strange combination of satisfaction and hunger jumbles my nerves into a knot. Dark circles highlight the skin under his equally dim eyes. His brown locks are in disarray, falling onto his forehead and brushing the edge of his new square frames. The black hoodie he’s wearing hugs only his biceps and hangs loosely over his core. He must have forgotten a belt, leaving light wash jeans clinging just below his waist.

He’s tired—exhausted.

So the flyers are working.

I smile inwardly, loving the way my chest swells with a tinge of arrogance. He’s not so invincible after all, and even if the inconvenience is slight, I’ll take it as a victory.

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