I pale.
“Kidding,” Harper tells me, tying her own dark hair off to the side. “Jesus, where’d your sense of humor go?”
“Hey.” Willow—quiet, shy Willow—shoves ahead of me. “Get back.” She steps in between us and their hands tear off me. I breathe through my nose, nausea building, and I only realize now that my arms and legs tremble.
I have to leave.
So many people would tell these girls to fuck off after what they did to me, but the trauma of their actions still sits with me, every day of my life. Starting a new war by shouting fuck you sounds like the worst idea in the world, so while fleeing may seem like the cowardly option—it’s the one that calms every part of me.
It’s the one I need.
“It’s okay, honey,” Harper says, “Daisy’s a good friend of ours.”
Friends don’t humiliate other friends.
Harper reaches out to place her dirtied napkin on me again, but I step back too, stumbling against a chair. It clatters to the floor, but I spin around, heading for the exit. Blocking out their voices.
I’m not giving them the benefit of doubt. They could read my body language. I just don’t think they care about how I feel. They never have.
I make it past one table. Three more to go and then the door.
Out. I just want out.
Our car is parked close to the entrance, and just as I pass the fourth table, Mikey sprints up to my side. His wide eyes suddenly tighten at the sight of the stains, all over my shirt.
“I’m getting you out of here.” He places his hand on my shoulder, guiding me out.
“Daisy,” Willow calls, catching up to me. I turn slightly and clasp her hand before we leave, bringing her closer while we head to the car. As soon as we climb into the back, lock the doors, tears prick my eyes.
I never wanted to see them again.
Prep school had been hard enough, and I never thought they’d be at FroYummy during the same exact time I arrived. Ready to clean my shirt with “helping” hands.
I tug at the white fabric, pink stains rubbed across the neckline and waist. I would believe, in a second, that they sent the girl in first. They told her to spill frozen yogurt on me. Just so they could act like my rescuers. They’ve plotted far worse and more complicated things than this, so why not?
People can change, but seeing them again, hearing their voices, was like being windswept into one of the worst times of my life.
I don’t want to go back.
Willow wipes the lenses of her glasses with her sleeve before putting them on. “Are you going to be okay? I can have Garrison cover my shift.”
I shake my head, my eyes swollen and burning, no tears yet. Mikey slows the car down near the Superheroes & Scones storefront. “No, it’s okay,” I say in a scratchy, strained voice. “I’m going to see Connor today, remember? I won’t be alone.”
She hesitates, eyeing my jostling legs that bounce with anxiety.
“Hey.” I give her a weak smile. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Friends worry about friends,” she says softly. “I mean…assuming we’re friends.”
My smile turns into something more genuine. “We are friends,” I say, the words pumping warm blood through my veins. She knew me as a celebrity before she knew me as the regular ole Daisy, so she often questions whether someone like her could be friends with someone like me.
I couldn’t think of anyone better to be my friend. I couldn’t think of anything more. Willow put on a brave face for me. And I hate that she had to be my stand-in bodyguard while Mikey took a pee break. I just want her to be the kind of friend I can laugh with.
Not the kind that has to save me.
I’m grateful for her today though. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”
“You’d do the same for me,” she says.
It scrunches my brows a little. Was what she did too much to ask? Or was it what any kind, loyal friend would do? I’d be there for her if she was struggling in any situation, I’d try.
“Text me when you get there,” Willow says as she opens her door, the car parked by the street curb.
“Promise.”
She pauses, clutching the door handle, and realization lights her brown eyes. “That was Cleo and Harper, wasn’t it?”
My throat swells closed, and all I can do is nod.
Her face breaks. “I’m so sorry, Daisy.” She glances at her hands for a second and then leans back in her seat, tugging at a shiny silver ring on her pinky finger. “So you know the Fourth Degree comic books?”
I nod. They’re Halway Comic’s giant superhero universe much like Marvel’s Avengers and X-Men. I think Lo and Lily launched the line sometime around December, and it’s only grown more popular since then. Lionsgate recently bought all the film rights.
We all celebrated at Superheroes & Scones the day it was announced.
“My favorite superhero wears this ring…” She finally pulls it off and then shows me the simple silver band with a black square carved in the center. “It protects Tilly Stayzor from anyone outside of the Fourth Degree, basically her personal enemies.” She flips the piece of jewelry between her fingers. “This ring is just a reminder that there are people who have your back. And we all need protection at some point.” She places it in my hand. “I want you to have mine.”
Now I’m crying. I brush away my tears with a small laugh, slipping the ring on my pinky, just a little tight but not enough to take off or resize. Then I reach out my hand to hers, preparing for our handshake.
She taps her knuckles to mine, and we slide our hands against one another before grabbing on with our fingers. The finger-clutch-squeeze, I call it. A small gesture in goodbye to replace a hug.
I love our handshake, which is something unique to our friendship. Something only we share, and it reminds me of Willow.
When she leaves, I turn towards the driver’s seat. My eyes still sear, but no more tears fall. I kind of wish they would. It feels better when I let it all out.
My throat tries to close again, and Mikey begins driving towards Connor’s office. “Mikey,” I say, peeking my head between the two front seats. “Can you make a detour?”
My gaze drifts, far away, and I imagine myself at the precipice of a bridge. Plunging into icy cold waters. Weight p
resses on my chest, shackling me, yanking me down. I clutch onto the back of the passenger seat.
“To the beach?” Mikey asks, suspecting I may need an outlet.
I do need one, but I also really need to talk to someone about what happened first. Then maybe I’ll go for a run with Ryke. “No,” I say. “It’s not really close to Connor’s office either.” My decision is made. I relay the address and then lie down, stretching out on the seat.
The person who has been listening to my thoughts and stories is in New York City. I can thank Connor Cobalt for lending me his therapist. Without Frederick, I’m not sure how I’d truly cope. I’d like to think I wouldn’t visit a bridge or a cliff to make me weightless, but I can’t know for certain.
By the end of my talks with Frederick, I always feel more prepared to confront the world and to mentally deal with Cleo and Harper.
Because right now, I see and hear and feel the panic and anxiety from prep school. Torment was my daily vitamin. The root of my problems began here. Somewhere between now and then, I’m less human in the eyes of people I grew up with.
They can touch me without thinking. They can use me without caring.
Sometimes, when I really contemplate what’s happened, I feel like I’ve died already. Like maybe I’m just this shell moseying around, and that’s what they see when they look at me.
It’s a terrible thought.
I turn on my side, tucking my knees to my chest on the black leather cushion.
Wanting to cry.
Maybe then, everything will feel better.
RYKE MEADOWS
It’s almost the end of September.
It’s also the Saturday before my twenty-seventh birthday, and I’m speeding up the Calloway’s driveway on my Ducati. A massive brick mansion looms ahead. Pink peonies in giant gold pots scatter the manicured yard, and expensive cars line the circular driveway, a valet collecting keys.
It’s not exactly what I fucking predicted or expected.
Daisy sits behind me, and as we near her childhood home, she removes her helmet. “Oh no.”