She shoves the two twenties from the kitchen counter into my hand and ushers me out the front door.
This has to be some form of child abuse. She could’ve easily ordered something to be delivered to the house.
My hands are trembling, much like they did the night of the party, when I climb behind the wheel and crank the car. I’m taking a few deep breaths, convincing myself that I’ll be fine when my phone rings. The sound is so abrupt in the silent vehicle that I screech.
“H-hello?” I say when I finally manage to press the connect button on the dash.
“Piper?” Frankie sounds far away, but it may just be the pounding pulse in my ears that makes it difficult to hear her.
“Hey.”
“Do you have me on speakerphone?”
“I’m in the car,” I answer.
“I’ll let you go.”
“Don’t,” I snap.
Not including the last time I drove, I have an otherwise spotless driving record, and hands-free phone calls have always been a part of my experience when I’m behind the wheel.
“Talk to me while I drive,” I beg.
I don’t speak my fears out loud, but I know Frankie will understand.
“I can do that. I was calling to see how the first day of tutoring went.”
“That’s not why you called.” I chuckle as I put the car in reverse and back down the driveway.
“It is,” she insists.
“You wanted to know what it was like at the Payne’s. Don’t be afraid to ask.”
“You got me. So how was it?”
“It was fine.” I smile when she huffs.
“And how is Dalton?” Going straight for that is exactly what I expected when her name flashed on the dash, but when it happens, it makes a chill settle in my bones.
“The night that we wrecked, Dalton told me that you helped plan the trick with Vaughn.”
“Piper, I would never do that.” Her voice is filled with conviction, and I feel bad for even considering the possibility. “He’s spiteful. He’s gorgeous, but he’s evil incarnate. I’d never do anything to hurt you, but more so, I’d never do anything to help that piece of shit.”
I frown when my best friend cusses. Vulgar language seems to be ever-present with most teens our age, but we were never fond of it. My grandmother once told us that people who use foul language do so because they aren’t intelligent enough to use different words. She told us more than once that classy women don’t speak like that. We wanted to be classy when she told us that over ten years ago, and it sort of just stuck with us.
“He’s still gorgeous,” I mutter.
“What was that?”
“Even with the bruises on his face,” I clarify. “He’s still very good-looking.”
“That’s—complimentary.” Wariness fills her tone, and I bite the inside of my cheek as I pull up to a red light halfway to the diner. “Did something happen that’s making you not so anti-Dalton?”
Please tell me you’re mine.
His words from last night echo in my head, but confessing that to Frankie will never happen.
When I don’t answer, she uses a different tactic. That’s the thing about best friends, even over the phone she can tell there’s something going on.
“Has he gotten any of his memories back?”
Last night, I was certain that he remembered everything and was just waiting until the right time to spring the truth on everyone. For Dalton, he’d wait until the truth would have the biggest impact on my life. This morning, when he watched me from the other side of the table, all I could feel coming from him was hunger and not the kind that accompanies predator and prey.
He had every opportunity to confront me in the hallway after I took Preston his lunch, but he just walked right past me without a word.
“He doesn’t remember anything,” I finally answer. “Not even his little brother or any of his friends. I don’t think he remembers how he treated me.”
I’ve been mulling over that possibility since last night as well, but this is the first time I’ve said as much out loud.
“What does that even mean? Is he treating you differently?”
“He’s—nicer. He hasn’t insulted me once. Not last night, and not earlier today at his house.”
“Don’t fall for that crap, Piper,” Frankie warns. “The guy has amnesia. He didn’t have a personality transplant. He’s been vicious since the day he was born. A bump on the head didn’t change that. He’s the same person he’s always been.”
I don’t argue with her. I don’t try to describe how even his eyes seem different now. They don’t quite sparkle, but they also don’t seem to be filled with malice and ill will any longer either.
“Give me a second, Frankie. I have to switch you over to my headphones.”
As I pull my headphones from the glovebox, I cringe, noticing Kyle’s truck parked down the block. It would only be wishful thinking to hope that he wasn’t at the diner, but since this is the only establishment on the block, I know he’s inside.