Page 88 of Broken By the Bad Boy

“Every time Liv got into trouble, the principal would call you. Instead of trying to figure out why your daughter acts the way she does, you bring in a man who molests your own daughter under your own roof.” She gasps, but I’m not done. All the things I never worked up the courage to tell Mom and Josef, I say to her. “What kind of mother are you? I know. You are a horrible mother, the kind of woman who harbors her daughter’s rapist. The mother no child ever wishes to have.”

I don’t see it coming until her palm lands on my cheek.

A tear leaks to my cheek, and more follow. Tears fueled by hate, exhaustion, and anger. She is not the only one I’m angry at. I’m angry at Tessa. I’m angry at Mom. I’m angry at Josef, but she is the worst of them. Mom and Josef have tried to be better, but this awful woman won’t even make any effort.

“Get out.”

Mrs. Beckham doesn’t need to say it twice. I am on my way out of the forsaken place. Someone calls my name. It sounds like Olivia. But I don’t look back to confirm my suspicion. She can sort out her issues on her own for today. I need to figure out my future if I don’t get this scholarship.

The ride to school is a blur. It’s a half day today because of the play. I compose myself when the school building comes into view. It’s all about the façade in Broadway Heights, who wears the brightest smiles under the nastiest scars. I step into the building. I push through each class without any idea what the teachers discuss. After the last class, I join the others at the theater.

Miss Jota is a nervous wreck. She walks over to me and grabs me by my shoulders.

“Romeo, I need the real Juliet. Your Juliet.” Gracie’s replacement overhears us and winces. Miss Jota turns to her with a shrug. “Sorry. You are not it. You lack the spirit of Juliet, Kimberly.”

She is right. Kim is an awful Juliet, and I don’t want to kiss her. I don’t want to kiss anyone.

Kim runs out of the hall crying. Miss Jota shakes her head and walks away, muttering something about overgrown sensitive kids. Knowing she is not always this way makes it easy to forgive her comment. I join the guys decorating the stage to glue shapes on the wall to suit the drama theme.

“Chop chop, we don’t have all day,” Miss Jota screams at us. “Get working, boys.”

The boys and I share a look. We are almost done. She would have seen that if she had taken so much as a glance at us. I leave to rehearse my lines for the last time. The dressing room is full. People move in and out in a hurried frenzy. I take one step inside, and my breath rushes out of my lungs.

The original Juliet occupies Juliet’s seat.

She’s not alone. She’s talking to Noah. Anger flashes through me as I take my seat in front of the mirror while waiting for the makeup artist that will transform me into a medieval teen. Noah stops talking when he notices me. He tries to catch my eyes, but I distract myself with a brush.

“Tessa?” Miss Jota yells from the entrance. She has been doing a lot of that since today. Her eyes hold the questions I couldn’t ask. Gracie turns to her with a smile. Noah’s hand remains on the back of her chair. I grit my teeth. He needs to stay away from her. “What are you doing here?”

Miss Jota might be happy to see her, but the news of her suspense already went round. She is not supposed to be here. The principal will extend her suspension if he finds out, and I don’t want that. Someone taps me. The boy smiles. He must be from one of my classes. He holds up my outfit, and I accept it with a smile.

“The principal allowed me to be here,” Gracie tells Miss Jota. I shrug out of my shirt and pull on my breeches. My ears strain to catch her words, but her voice lowers. I might act uninterested, but I need to hear her voice again. She says something I don’t hear, but it sounds like, “I’ll leave too.”

Whatever it was, it makes Miss Jota grin like she won the lottery. I am done dressing when the makeup artist arrives. He tries to strike up a conversation, but I ignore him. Soon, he finishes with me and skips to the next person. I watch him transform Gracie into another person. Her wig is longer than her hair. She runs her fingers through it and looks away when she catches me staring at her. Minutes later, everyone files out of the room, but I don’t move an inch from my seat.

Gracie stops at the door. She leans on the frame without meeting my gaze. She wants to speak. I don’t know what my reply will be. I’ve missed her calls and texts. None of that was a mistake.

“Benny.” I glare at her through the mirror, and she looks at her feet. Her cheeks are too pink. I don’t know if she’s blushing or it’s the powder from the makeup. “Ben.”

I don’t want her to say my name. It makes me miss her. I don’t want to miss her. I don’t want to talk to her unless it is necessary. She pushes away from the door and takes a step into the room.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” As soon as the words are out of my lips, I slap my palm over my forehead. “Forget I said that.”

I didn’t mean to talk to her.

Gracie twiddles her hands. I stop waiting for a response and walk out of the room. She can’t say anything because she has nothing meaningful to say. I never make requests, and the first time I do, she refuses to help. What happened to being my always and forever? I am only protecting Olivia because no one protected me. I’ll never put Gracie in an uncomfortable position. But it’s like she said, it’s not her business. It’s Olivia’s business. As her friend, it has also become mine.

I halt behind the curtain, where the rest of the cast gathered to peek at the audience. We look quite the picture in our costumes. I step away from them as that familiar feeling grows. It’s like before Gracie.

Lonely in a crowd.

We hear Miss Jota’s voice from behind the curtains. She says something, and a round of applause greets her statement. I shudder with nervousness and take an instinctive step back when Gracie joins the cast. She stands with the rest of the cast, and my heart squeezes. Gracie looks too sad.

Miss Jota walks out to give us a pep talk, and our heads bob in understanding.

It is time.

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