The jacket is new and smells strongly of leather. There’s a hint of Reyn in there too—something soapy, clean. His fingers graze my neck as he helps me drape it over my shoulders and I fight a shiver.
Emory shakes his head, cranks the engine, and barks out, “AIS, V. I need to go by Coach’s office before school.”
“Chill out,” I mutter to my brother, struggling worse than ever to get in the front seat with the skin-tight jeans and oversized jacket. I’m about to topple backwards when strong hands cinch around my waist and push me inside. The sensation of Reyn’s hands on me isn’t surprising. By now, it’s familiar. One look at my brother makes me think he knows it. “Thanks,” I say to Reyn and he quickly shuts the door.
Emory stares out the window at his retreating form for a moment longer.
“I thought you were in a hurry,” I say, buckling my seat belt.
“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“How, exactly,” I ask, tired of this game, “does he look at me, Em? Like I’m a girl? Like I’m a real person? Like I’m not broken?”
“No.” His jaw tightens and he shifts the truck into gear. “Like you’re a shiny object and he can’t wait to steal you.”
“Vandy, I wanted to talk to you.”
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth, and look at my mother. The worry lines run deep across her forehead. It’s just the two of us eating dinner tonight. Dad’s at the hospital and Emory is at a late practice. Coach Morris is hardcore about winning tomorrow night.
I hedge, “About…?”
“A few concerns,” she starts, abandoning her fork. “Dr. Cordell says you cancelled your last two appointments. I noticed your grades are slipping in Bio and French. You’re hiding in your room a lot, and well,” her eyes sweep over my outfit, “you just seem different.”
“Anything else?” I ask, spine going rigid under her scrutiny. “Is my period off schedule? Is my bra size too small? Maybe my baths are too hot?”
She looks taken aback, but quickly schools her expression. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Things have been different this year. You’re more independent. Your brother says you’ve been fitting in better with the kids at school, which I know involves certain types of pressures you haven’t experienced before.”
What? I want to ask. Like drugs? Now you’re worried I’m going to be a stoner?
That ship has fucking sailed.
“And,” she continues over my silence, “there’s Reyn.”
My eyes snap up. “What about him?”
“Just that he’s back. He’s around quite a lot. I know you and your brother have both been spending more time with him. Is that awkward for you? Does it make you uncomfortable?”
I force—no, plead—with my body to not react to her questions about Reyn. But just his name makes me flush hot. It makes me remember what his mouth feels like and his fingers. What I did to him at the Alumni house. What he did in the Stairway. My cheeks burn so hot that I can feel them, and there’s no way my mom doesn’t notice.
I look at her, willing her to see me for once, to see the truth about her daughter. To see that I’m more than the weak, injured girl she’s protected and sheltered for so long. To see that I’m strong, brave, and occasionally a little bad-ass, if only I have the space to try. I want her to know that I’m good at driving, and I like it. I like the freedom, the taste of independence, the feel of Reyn and Emory at my side, there to catch me if I need it, but just as fine with watching me figure it out on my own. I want to tell her I can climb a fence. I can pick a very rudimentary lock. This whole journalism thing? I’m into it, and I could be really, really good at it, too.
And yes, I’m in the middle of falling head over heels for the boy next door.
Our eyes meet for a long moment and I’m about to tell her everything—well almost everything—when she frowns.
“Are you feverish?” she asks, leaning over the table, the back of her hand poised to check for a temperature. I twist away, but she’s already up, searching for the thermometer. “You know that’s the first sign of infection. Any aches? Pains?”
I sigh. “I’m not feverish, Mom.”
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“Sometimes it’s hard to tell, especially if you’re run down from other things. I know you’re dedicated to the newspaper, which thrills me, but I also know adding in any kind of extra-curricular activity can be a burden on a compromised system. You’re just not used to—”
“Mom, stop.” She shoves the thermometer toward me. I push it away. “Stop!”
She blinks. “Vandy, stop fighting me. You’re flushed and agitated, something’s wrong!”
I lurch from the table, chair clattering over behind me. “Nothing’s wrong, Mom! For once in my life, everything is right! I’ve got friends. I’m involved at school. My grades are slipping because I’m not sitting around with nothing to do!” My voice echoes off the vaulted ceilings. “And Reyn doesn’t make me uncomfortable. He makes me…” Her eyebrows knit anxiously, but I keep going, “He makes me feel right, Mom. He makes me feel good about myself. He’s the only person who makes me feel strong!”