Page 52 of The Masks We Wear

The thumping between my temples accelerates, forcing me to try and rub the pain away. “Yeah, I know.”

Amora sucks her teeth, leaning on her elbows. “What’s up?”

I shake my head, averting her gaze. Amora may be a little bit of a lackey, and only speaks sarcasm, but she’s proved to be a good friend. She’s had to talk me off a ledge on too many occasions, yet when it comes to Spencer, I can’t find it in me to tell her. As always, the words die in my throat, and I lean back, letting my fork clatter on the tray.

Amora leans in, lowering her voice where I have to strain to hear her. “Is it about her?”

She means my mother. After she found out everything in the hall, she started checking in on me a lot. I’ve had to stop her from waiting after school to prevent any possible ‘run-ins.’ But really, I’m happy she knows.

“I know you’re eighteen, but we can still call CPS, can’t we?”

Child Protective Services. There was only one time I thought about calling them. It was the first time my mom hit me hard enough to consider it—about three weeks after Dad left and two hours after her first drink. When I told her I was going to tell someone, she told me they would take me away from her and the boy in the backyard.

When she said that, my world stopped spinning. I would have done anything not to be separated from Spencer, and so I did. Endured years of the on again off again abuse only to find out the boy I did it for didn’t even like me. Not to mention if I called CPS, I risk having the police involved. The last thing I need is to draw attention to the school’s custodian getting arrested.

Shaking my head again, I inspect my nude tips.

“Girl, give me something. I can’t just sit here and watch you shrivel up like this. It’s pathetic.” She waves a hand when she sees the anger flash across my face. “Which is something you’re not. Now, put your fucking crown on and talk to me. What do I need to do?”

My eyebrows stay furrowed, but I clamp my mouth shut. Nothing I do works, so what’s the point? This won’t matter in a few months, anyway—regionals in March, Prom in April, Graduation first week of May.

Then I’m out of here.

Spencer will be just a bad memory, along with the rest of this screwed-up city.

I shift in my seat at the ache blooming in my chest. It doesn’t matter that no one will miss me. Thathewon’t miss me.

“Look at those freaking sluts.” Amora’s voice snaps me away from my wayward thoughts. “Flocking to him like vultures to roadkill. If only they knew what a freak he is.”

“A freak?” Against my better judgment, I steal a glance at him. My heart stutters when our eyes meet, forcing a gasp from my mouth. One side of his lips draws up before he looks back at Stacy, whose leaning over his table, tits pressed to her chin.

“You did have him handcuffed to your fucking bed, Lil.”

My core clenches involuntary as the unwelcomed image of a naked Spencer flits through my mind. Hooded eyes, sweaty brow, throbbing erection. A heaviness settles between my thighs, and I let my gaze flash to him one more time.

More cheerleaders have found their way to his table, fake laughter bouncing off the walls like we’re in an amphitheater, and they’re competing for his attention. Trepidation wiggles through my nerve endings, and the bitter taste of metallic hits my mouth when I realize I’ve bitten through my cheek.

Why do I care?

It doesn’t matter why. I just do. And that notion alone is enough to formulate the idea. “I’m going to print the screenshot from the video.”

Amora lifts a thin brow. “I mean, I can see the appeal, but his dick is big as fuck. Won’t that just make the situation...less ideal?”

I appreciate her not pointing out the obvious. “Nothing, a little photoshop, can’t fix.”

She shrugs and stabs her salad. “Send it to me, and I’ll take care of it.”

THIS AFTERNOON’Spractice is probably the longest I’ve had in my life. Every muscle in my back is tense, straining against each move, threatening to tear at any second. Nothing I’ve done today has been able to get my mind off my plan for Spencer.

I’ve made my point—multiple times, and yet, I can’t seem to satiate my desire for petty revenge.

It almost seems like more trouble than it’s worth now. I’ll let this be the last thing. After that, we’ll be wrapping up the project, and I can finish the senior year strong. I need to refocus on the real prize.Kentucky.

Leaving the girls to run a few laps, I head into the locker room and gather my stuff for a shower. Right as my fingertips press the locker shut, my phone vibrates violently against the metal. I bite the inside of my lip, annoyance prickling behind my eyes, but I decide to see who it is.

Unknown.

It’s been quite some time since the last call, and a prodding voice in the back of my head tells me to answer it.

---