“I fucking hate you,” I say, opening my door and climbing in.
“I hate you too, Jailbird,” he says before I slam the door and back out of the garage.
By the time I get home, I’m a little calmer, but still pissed. I pull into my drive and see Blue and Olive sitting outside on the steps of their house. The afternoon is cool but muggy, and Blue’s wearing her usual shabby jean jacket. I think of the bruises I saw under it, the ones she hides, and again I wonder how I can just leave Faulkner and go live the high life with Royal and his fancy family. Those are not my people.
These are my people.
When she sees me, Blue gives a little wave and a smile without expectation. I can go in the house without the burden of guilt for blowing her off, or I can go talk to her, and she’ll be fine either way. It’s things like this, the little ways we understand other girls like us, that make it hard to imagine a life in Royal’s world, where so much is expected… And faked.
I’ve never been anything but a girl like me, and everyone knows it. There’s no pressure to be better, to beonall the time, my life a constant performance like Gloria Walton’s. It feels exhausting, trying to meet expectations and be what everyone wants at all times. I’ve never been anyone but myself.
I lock the car and cross the scraggly grass of the yard to Blue’s front steps.
“Look what I can do,” Olive says in lieu of a greeting. She proceeds to link her hands and legs around the railing on their tiny porch and hang over the side. She lets go with one hand and waves, grinning big. “I’m a sloth.”
“You okay?” Blue asks, cocking her head and watching me. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I was with Royal.”
“The rich guy?”
“One of them,” I say, feeling suddenly defensive. Besides the three guys who were there, she’s the one person who knows the truth about what happened last spring. She’s not going to understand how I could take Royal back.
“I was hoping you were over there,” she says. “It’s been a little crazy at your house.”
Dread knots in my stomach.
“Yeah,” Olive says, flipping over and landing on her feet on the ground beside the porch. She stumbles back, windmilling her arms, and then tosses her long hair back. “The ambulance came and everything.”
“What?” I ask, the heaviness inside me going cold. “Was it my mom?”
“No,” Blue says quickly. “Some guy was tweaked out in your front yard, rolling around on the ground and all that. They took him off on a stretcher.”
“Shit,” I say, sinking onto the steps beside her. “Got a smoke?”
“Just one,” she says. “We can share.”
“Cool,” I say. “I seriously owe you.”
“Consider it my insurance payment,” she says, cracking a little smile before turning to Olive. “Grab my cigarettes?”
Olive groans and then runs up the steps between us and into the house.
“My mom’s had a lot of guys over?” I ask.
“People have been coming in and out for a few days,” Blue says, glancing at me from the corner of her eye.
“I guess she’s paying off her dealer.” I sigh and lean back on my elbows on the concrete steps. Olive comes back with the pack of cigarettes, hands it over, and picks up a big Folgers can. She heads down to the walkway, where she dumps out all her toy cars and starts lining them up.
Blue pulls out a cigarette and drops the empty pack in the coffee can still on the steps. “So you’re back with the Range Rover guy?” she asks, lighting up. “I saw his car around a couple times before you took off.”
I nod, waiting for her to cast judgment. She doesn’t react, though. I should have given her more credit. If anyone in the world would understand, it’s her.
“He took me to New York,” I admit. “And Cape Cod.”
“Wow,” she says, her eyes widening. “It’s that serious?”
“Oh, we’re not together,” I say. “I told him I can’t, you know. Not after what happened. But Blue… He took me to see a college up there. He wants me to go to Syracuse with him next year.”