Page 132 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

I stare in horror as the guys from the other cars start shouting at Sebastian, but it isn’t until they shift their focuses on me that I turn and run, trying to outpace their insults—parasite, freak, slut. Frantically, my fingers type in the code for the garage, and when it opens, I dart inside, close it, and run into the house. When I peek out the front window, I see the chaos before leaning against the wall and sliding to the floor.

Through my cries, I hear Sebastian yelling at them. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I know he’s only making the situation worse. There’s nothing he can do to fix this, and by tomorrow, the whole school will be talking about it.

The door rattles when he tries opening it, and I startle.

“Harlow, open up.”

“Leave me alone,” I cry.

“It’s only me. They all left.”

“I don’t care. Just go.”

“Harlow, please.”

I don’t respond, and he doesn’t say anything else. Picking myself up off the floor, I go straight up the stairs and into my room. Dropping onto my bed, I bury my head into my pillow and wail as loud as I can as tears spring from my eyes. My whole body constricts as I scream until I’m breathless and gasping for air. In a sudden shift, I go from hysterical to quiet, the only sounds in my room are my ragged gasps as I go still.

My heart hammers behind my walls, but my mind hushes. Sitting up, the tear tracks down my face remain but no new ones come. Braced on the edge of my bed, I hang my head as a current of numbness washes over.

The door cracks open, and when Sebastian steps inside, he’s holding my keys.

“You left them in your car,” is all he says as he cautiously walks across my room, drops them on to my desk, and sits next to me.

Instantly, I fall into him and let him wrap me in a consoling hug.

“I’m sorry.” He’s breathing heavily, and even though I’m furious, I still need him. “Harlow—”

“I’m mad at you.”

“I know.”

Lifting my head, I look at him, and there’s no doubt he feels horrible, but behind that, I see he’s hurt too.

Slumping my shoulders, I release a defeated sigh. “This is really bad.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“That’s easy for you to say. They all look up to you.”

“I’m over it,” he tells me, and when I shoot him an unconvinced look, he assures, “I’m serious. I’m sick of this.”

“Of what?”

“Pretending that we’re strangers.”

I pull away from him, needing a sliver of distance. “I don’t like them talking about me.”

“They already talk about you, so what difference does it make?” When I turn back, he goes on to say, “Do you know how hard it is to listen to them tear you down and not say anything? It kills me, but I do it because you asked me to.”

I never considered his feelings in this. Never did I think it would bother him as much as it is. It brings me so much guilt that I put him in this situation.

“At this point, they all know something is going on between us, so why hide it? It’s only going to make them talk more.”

“But what about you?”

“Like I said, I’m over it. I care more about you than what they think of me.”

“What about Kassi?” I ask, thinking back to what she said in class about them hanging out.

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