She purses her lips, considering me. “Like what? Newspaper stuff?”
“No, not—” I bite off my growled response, because this is the thing about Syd. To her, I can easily be boiled down to two things; my injuries and school. She really believes that encompasses me. “For the record, you don’t actually know everything about me. And given how completely careless you are with other people’s secrets, I’m starting to think maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
Her eyes flick up, flashing in equal parts anger and hurt. “That’s a really shitty thing to say to someone who’s stuck by your side for three years.”
“Look,” I start, drawing in a calming breath. “You know I appreciate you being my friend and everything, but when you talk about it like that, it’s like you see it as some form of charity. And then you hold it over me, like I have to tell you everything because you’re my only option.”
She gives me a blank look. “I am your only option, Vandy.” She doesn’t even say it meanly—maliciously—but it still feels like a slap in the face. “I’m your only friend because you spent years doped up on painkillers, limping around like a zombie. That’s your fault, not mine.”
Now, that was said meanly.
“You know what?” I say, throwing my things haphazardly onto my tray. “I think I’m ready to expand my options.”
“Me, too.” She pushes her chair back dramatically and grabs her lunch tray. It’s game day and the glitter accenting her uniform makes it all that more theatrical. She doesn’t look back as she storms off to a table filled with a group of lacrosse players, including Sebastian, who pats the bench next to him for her to slide in. A few people nearby notice the commotion and turn to look at me, but once they see that it’s just Vandy Hall, their eyes glaze over and they go back to the business of eating lunch.
I push my tray away, suddenly void of anything resembling an appetite. My eyes prickle, and it’s dumb. It shouldn’t hurt like this. I know that. Whatever I’ve got going on with Reyn, it’s between us and no one else. Sydney is clueless. This should slide right off me, because I know better.
Delusional.
Instead, that single word just keeps looping around in my head.
“Over here,” a voice calls, and I look up to see Aubrey beside my table. She’s waving Emory over, and I cast my eyes around in confusion. Emory doesn’t exactly ignore me at school, but he doesn’t actually engage me much, either—not unless it’s some hyper-protective move that’s sure to annoy me.
But Emory isn’t the one deciding to approach me. It’s Aubrey. It’s a testimony to his interest in her that when she takes the seat just vacated by Sydney, he drops into the one next to her without a second thought.
A few feet behind them, Reyn lopes across the room, eyes finally landing on me. My whole body rushes with heat and I’m pretty sure this is headed for some of that rejection stuff Sydney just mentioned. He’s not even allowed to sit with me. The muscle in the back of his jaw tenses, but before either of us can figure out how to handle the situation, Emory slides the chair out next to him and tells him to sit down.
Problem solved.
Reyn sets his tray on the table across from me and slings his backpack over the chair. I pull my plate back toward me and focus on the lettuce as he shoves his long legs under the table.
His knee bumps into mine. “Sorry,” he mutters, picking up his fork. When our eyes meet, he stares at me, forehead creasing. There’s a question in his eyes, lips parting as if he wants to verbalize it, but then his gaze pings to Emory, and he doesn’t.
I just shake my head in response.
“How did y’all’s appointment go?” Aubrey asks. “Mine hurt more than I thought it would. Well, not hurt, exactly. It felt strange.”
Emory says, “Reyn won’t tell anyone where he got it. We have a pool going.”
Reyn answers, “It’s not on my ass.”
“Oh, that was Ben’s guess. Mine was tramp stamp.”
Reyn pelts him with a green bean. “You’re not even being creative.”
No one ever asks me where mine is. Thankfully.
Emory opens a bag of chips and Aubrey casually plucks one from inside, which is interesting. Emory and food sharing? Must be serious.
“I got mine on my ankle,” Aubrey says, and I already know Emory got his on his shoulder.
Under the guise of gathering my hair over a shoulder, I glance toward where Syd is sitting. She’s looking right at me, blank-faced and guileless, and I get this white-hot stab of resentment as her gaze shifts to Reyn.
She rolls her eyes at me.
Delusional.
I look back at Reyn, who’s watching me, that question in his eyes again.