Emory scowled. “If you try to make her your girlfriend, I will kick your ass.”
I choked on the chocolate. “Gross!” At the ripe old age of ten, girls were only sometimes tolerable when they were the same age, but nine-year-olds? That was a completely insurmountable age gap. Entirely different worlds.
“I mean it,” Emory pressed. “I’ll fuck you up.”
“I don’t want a girlfriend,” I said, but I could see he was bothered. So even though the thought outwardly grossed me out—and inwardly did things I couldn’t even understand yet—I loftily added, “I promise, I won’t fuck with V, okay?”
I hadn’t even thought of that night in the treehouse in years. There should really be some law of limitations regarding promises made by ten-year-olds. What the fuck did I know back then? Nothing.
All I know now is that everything is fucked up and there’s a lot more to lose than my freedom. I can handle losing Preston Prep, the Devils, maybe even Em. But after getting Vandy back? That’s a loss I’m not sure I can survive.
33
Vandy
I wake up the next morning with the same pit of dread in my stomach that was there when I went to sleep. Only now, it’s joined by something else. It’d be stupid to call it anger. Anger is messy and confusing, and what I feel is a very tidy, simple thing. It’s strong as st
eel and just as unforgiving. It’s sure and confident—things I’m not used to feeling.
Emory didn’t get home until late, so we haven’t talked. But I know it’s coming. Up until now, I don’t think I knew how to even approach it. It all seems very clear this morning, as I get dressed, carefully and efficiently.
When I come across three pills tucked into an old bra, I know I’m doing the right thing. Things are muddled and scary right now, but looking at them, I barely feel the pull to bliss out and escape. Whatever Emory thinks of Reyn and me, he’s dead wrong. Being with Reyn makes me better. Stronger.
Fuck what Emory thinks. Screw what my parents think, for that matter. To hell with Mr. McAllister, who’s never around. Headmaster Collins, Jerry, Dewey—all of them can suck a fat one, for all I care.
I know it’s not that easy. I can rail against everyone and come out the other side just fine. Reyn doesn’t have the luxury. He has Jerry riding him. The school. His dad. His future.
The best thing is for me to do as Reyn asked; wait. Let Emory cool off and we’ll talk it over. And if not? I’ll get my revenge with my exposé. It’s all sitting on my laptop, locked behind an encrypted file, tucked in my room. It’s also backed up on a flash-drive I’ve started carrying on my person. Every letter, every instruction, every photo.
If Emory wants to burn my life down, I can do it right back. And I will. No regrets.
The flash-drive sits warm in my pocket as I walk into the kitchen. Emory looks up from the counter, bagel in his hand, cream cheese on his bottom lip. “You ready?” he grunts. “Because we need to talk on the way.”
The final meeting is in thirty-minutes, at ten—or as Sebastian declared, “The ass-crack of dawn,” when I called him to ask if he’d pick me up.
“I don’t have anything to talk to you about,” I coolly respond, popping two slices of bread into the toaster. “In fact, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll probably avoid talking to me at all today.” There’s a long stretch of silence and I don’t bother turning around to see the annoyed expression he’s probably wearing.
“So, it’s going to be like that?”
“Yes,” I answer simply. “It’s going to be exactly like that.”
I hear his glass of orange juice slam down harshly on the counter. “Well, tough shit, V. You can act like a baby about it, but—.”
“Oh, that’s rich.” I laugh darkly, finally turning to look at him. “You want me to stop acting like a baby? Maybe you should try not treating me like one for once.”
“You want to do this here, fine. You and Reyn? Not happening.” Whatever’s in my eyes makes him toss the bagel aside. He dusts his palms off with two pointed whacks against one another. “I’m doing this for your own good.”
I tilt my head, watching him. “Maybe that’s how it started. Maybe there was a time this was all about what was best for me. But now?” My smile feels tight and wrong. “Now, it’s something else, and you know it.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Emory,” I start, staring calmly into his eyes. “You have two girlfriends.” I hold up two fingers. “Two of them. I never said a word when Campbell dragged you around school by your balls. I kept my mouth shut when she kept you chained to your phone. I didn’t say a thing when I watched her tell you how to dress, how to talk, how to exist. You know why? Because for some crazy reason, being with her made you happy. If I want a boyfriend—”
He cuts in with a clipped, “Not him.”
“Then who?” I wonder, lifting my chin. “Not Reyn. Definitely not Sebastian, or Tyson, or Carlton, or Ben. Go on, then. Tell me who meets your standards. Give me a list of names, Emory.”
Instead, he just grits out. “You’re not seeing him again, and that’s final.”