Page 65 of Runaways

"We have P.E. together."

I sigh. "Look…if you really want to help me, Tate, you can give me your keys so I can get the fuck out of here."

"Fine," he says. "If you want to let some dumbass with a small dick and bad manners ruin your night, I'll give you my keys."

"I'll have a much better night if I go home." I sigh, blinking back tears. There's no fucking way I'm going to let anyone here see me cry, especially not Tate. "I thought he liked me."

"Do you want me to beat the shit out of him?"

"No."

Tate frowns. "Here."

He removes his keys from his pocket and then runs his finger along the deep 'v' of my black satin dress. I swallow hard, tensing as he slips his hand under the material and tucks the keys inside. I look around for Mia, knowing she won't be happy if she sees it. He's been touching me too much lately; I'm aware of it, but I don't necessarily dislike it. His fingertips lightly graze my nipple, causing meto suck in a breath, before he removes his hand. I don't think it could have been an accident. "And you look fucking beautiful, Noah," he says.

"Thanks," I tell him—not for the fake ass compliment, but for the keys.

Tate steps behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. With my heels, we're about the same height, and he rests his chin on my shoulder. "Do you know what your problem is?"

"I have plenty of problems, Tate, all of which I'm well aware of. I don't think I want to hear whatever you have to say."

"You come off wrong. I don't know why exactly, but they misunderstand you—all of them do. They think you're too nice, and you let them think it; you let them get away with it. But I know better than that. I know you're not a nice girl."

I sigh. "Well, what do you propose I do about it?"

"Punch him in the fucking face, or…"

"Or what?"

Tate holds out a bottle of eye drops. "Put these in his drink. He dragged you out here just to embarrass you like this, so he can spend the night shitting himself."

I purse my lips, thinking it over, watching the two of them kiss and touch each other on the dance floor. Once I realize I'm grinding my teeth, I snatch the small bottle from Tate's hands.

"That's my girl," he says.

"Shut up, Tate."

I stomp over to the table, ensuring they're sufficiently distracted before poisoning the fucker's punch. I don't know how much I'm supposed to put it there, but a few drops should suffice.

I toss the bottle back to Tate before leaving through a side door. It takes a while to find his car in the dark, and by the time I finally do,it's raining. I climb into the vehicle, and once I start the engine, the speakers connect to Mia's phone from inside, and "You're On Your Own, Kid" by Taylor Swift plays through the speakers until I leave the parking lot and I'm out of range.

The rest of the short drive is quiet, save for the sound of light rain against the steel roof. It only takes a few minutes to get home, and when I do, I get out of the car and step directly into a puddle. It's no big deal, though. I don't have anywhere else to wear these heels or this dress.

I sigh and head for the staircase. At least my mom is at work, and I won't have to explain why I'm back so early.

Once I hit the landing, I dig around in my purse for my own keys.

"Hey."

Silas stands in the hall, leaning against the building to stay out of the rain, smoke billowing from his lips while holding a small, leather-bound notebook under his right arm.

"Oh…hey."

I don't really want to explain this to him, either.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. "Why aren't you at prom?"

"Why aren't you at prom?" I counter.

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