Page 50 of Pieces Of You

“Dean’s an idiot for saying what he did,” he says. “He had no right to reveal your secrets and to put your mom in a box like that… as if that was her life, The End. That’s bullshit.” He taps my leg. “And you—assuming I thought she was a bad person, or a badmother—which I don’t, just FYI—but even if I did, so fucking what? That’s on me, and you have absolutely no obligation to justify other people’s perceptions of you.”

I take in his words, one by one, until each of them sinks in—deep in the parts of me I keep hidden from the world. Gina once told me that nothing is forever. That the way I’d been treated, and the way people saw me—it wouldn’t last. I was eight years old, sitting in a stranger’s bathtub, a stranger who’d soon become my only friend. The water was murky, stained with my stigma and up to my neck, and I’d looked up at her, liquid agony clinging to my lashes, and I couldn’t understand why she was saying what she was.

My mom had always told me thatthiswas the life that waschosenfor us, and there was no way out of it.

Gina had given me an out, and in a way, I believeshewas the only thing in the world “chosen” for me.

And now Holden’s here, doing the same, and it’s not that I believe he was put on this earth for me and me alone, like Gina was, and maybe Holden and I aren’t destined to be Best Friends Forever, but we could be something… fornow.

And maybe that’s all I need.

A Holdenfor now.

I take his hand in mine and link our fingers. It’s a bold move, one I wasn’t expecting to make, but here we are.

“Besides, what the fuck are you going to do?” he says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Tell everyone who judges you that they’re wrong?” He scoffs. “No. You walk with your head held high, and you—”

“Fuck everyone,” I cut in.

He barks out a laugh, squeezing my hand as he turns to me. “Well, maybe not that part. I mean, eventually I’d like for you to fuckjustme, but…”

My laughter starts low, contained, until I can’t keep it in anymore. My head throws back with the force, my stomach aching, tears welling in my eyes, and Holdenstares, watching me go through all the million

fleeting,

reckless

emotions.

And maybe I had it wrong.

Maybe Holden Eastwood isn’t the flame to my moth.

Maybe he’s the moon.

The light.

Guiding me out of my darkness.

25

Jamie

Sittingopposite me at Holden’s kitchen table, my locker neighbors look between each other and me, again and again. I spent the night in the spare bedroom, alone, and Holden slept on the floor of his room so he could monitor Dean. I have no idea what happened between them last night, but something seems different.Off.

They’re both on their third bowls of cereal for the morning, and I’ve barely touched my toast. “Sourpatch Kids” by Brice Vine plays softly through the Bluetooth speakers on the kitchen counter, and Dean mumbles, “Bro, it’s like this song was written about you.”

Holden nods, agreeing. And to say things are awkward, at least for me, would be an understatement.

The song ends, and another begins, and it’s… it’s “Hopelessly Devoted” from theGreasesoundtrack. Two seconds in and Dean busts out a laugh, spitting milk back into his bowl, remnants of it trickling down his chin. Holden’s laugh starts low, a chuckle of sorts, before he joins his idiot friend in what I can only describe ashowling.

I stare at them, my eyebrows drawn, and as soon as the chorus kicks in, Holden turns the volumeall the wayup, and now they’re both on their feet, shouting the lyrics between fits of laughter, and what the fuck is actually happening right now? I don’t know what dimension of real life I’m currently living, but I want out. “You guys are so weird,” I murmur, biting into my toast.

Dean must hear it, because he has the nerve to say, “Dance with me anyway.”

I should throw his cereal all over his face. Or just throw the entire bowl directly at his head. It’s a shame I don’t do either. Instead, I get up, and move toward Holden’s bathroom while they continue to yell,“Hopelessly devoooooted to you…”

* * *

---