Resting my hands against the window frame, I retorted. “I thought you went to bed.”
She gave me a pointed look that said she assumed the same thing. Her gaze flicked around me toward the house that loomed up on a slight hill. “Quick, get in before someone sees us.”
I thought about it for a split second. Kenna threw a wrench into my plan. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath and jogged around the car, jumping into the passenger seat. I shoved the bag lying there onto the floor. It rattled, metal clicking together, but I didn’t pay it much attention. My focus remained on Kenna. Dressed similarly to me, in all black.
As I dropped my back into my lap, she put her foot on the gas, flipping on the headlights once we cleared the house.
Snapping my seat belt in place, I tried to fathom what in the hell was happening and how my night had derailed so quickly. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“Does it matter?” she bit back, keeping the car at perfect-driver speed.
Although her gaze was on the road, I leveled her a glare. “Yeah. It kind of does. Why are you sneaking out? Are you meeting a guy?” It was the only reason that made sense to me.
She snorted absurdly. “No. And I can see what is going through your head. Brock is with Grayson, so you can rest assured that this has nothing to do with him.”
The thought had crossed my mind, but as Kenna pointed out, I did know where Brock was. “So if this has nothing to do with him or a guy, then what is this?”
She didn’t respond immediately, taking her time deciding if I was trustworthy. “Revenge.”
Surprise flitted briefly over my face. “Must run in the family,” I muttered.
“Why areyoudoing sneaking out?” she asked, flipping on her blinking to take the next left. The constant ticking filled the car, louder with the radio turned off.
“Revenge,” I echoed her reason for sneaking out.
Kenna's lips twitched. “Looks like we might have something in common after all.”
I wasn’t sure if revenge was something we should be proud to share, but there were worse things Kenna and I could bond over. At least it wasn’t heroin or meth. “How much do you want to bet it’s the same person,” I retorted, thinking of only one individual who Kenna hated enough to seek revenge against—the same asshole that I did.
She made the turn with ease, fingers gliding along with the steering wheel. “I’m not so sure about that. Mine isn’t just a single person but the whole fucking school.”
Brows pinched together, I stared at Kenna’s profile. “I’m confused.” Shifting to cross my legs, I kicked something on the floor. I bent down and saw the black duffel bag, remembering I had tossed it on the car floor. The zipper was open, and as we passed under a streetlight, I caught the flash of a metal can. It looked like a spray can.
My gaze swung up, pinning Kenna with a look of disbelief. It couldn’t be. No fucking way. But the evidence sat at my feet.
Her eyes focused on the road ahead, she hadn’t noticed what I’d seen. “There were a lot of people who just stopped talking to me after the whole incident with Carter,” she began to explain. “It was like I was the one who did something wrong.”
“People don’t know how to react to trauma, so they just ignore it. Doesn’t make it okay.”
She snorted, halting the car at a stop sign. This road took us out of the gated community in which we lived. “No, it doesn’t,” she agreed, her pain hitting close to mine. “I hate when people tiptoe around me. It only makes things worse.”
I reached down, wrapping my fingers around a cool cylinder. “Is that why you need this?” I asked, flashing one of the pink spray cans.
Her gaze left the road long enough to glance at me and see what I held in my hand. “It’s not what you think.”
I cocked a brow. “Really? Because the contents of this bag suggest it’s exactly what I’m thinking. I can’t fucking believe it. You’re the tagger.”
She loosed a breath and mumbled, “There are worse things I could have done.”
I shook my head, tossing the can back into the bag. “I don’t get it. Why?” It didn’t make sense. All those messages exposing people. Exposing me! Not to mention, the number of times Kenna had snuck out and back into the house. I never would have suspected her. And why would I? The tagger had written about herself.
Her shoulders slumped after tensing for a moment. “I told you. I was the victim, yet I was the one treated like a pariah while the monster who destroyed my life continued to be celebrated as a football hero.”
I understood the rage, the injustice, and the isolation she must have felt. “But why callmeout?” My chest constricted. Knowing that she was behind exposing my secret hurt. More than I wanted it to.
She swallowed, her features almost regretful. “I was angry at you then. You have to understand what it was like for me to come home and find out that I’d been replaced.”
“But I didn’t replace you,” I argued, although her feelings weren’t something I could dismiss. Emotions couldn’t always be controlled. Who knows? If I had put myself in her shoes, I might have found ways to rebel as well. We each had our own way of dealing with situations. Who was I to judge her?