When he’s a no-show on Tuesday, disappointment curdles into irritation.
“What if I imagined it?” I say to Twig as we move through the lunch line. “What if everything I told you in Maggie’s basement was one giant fever dream?”
Twig selects a Jello, rejecting the idea with the shake of his head.
“You weren’t there, though, Twig. I have no witnesses. For all we know, I could be going mad like Jack Torrance fromThe Shining.”
“Or Teddy Daniels fromShutter Island.”
I set a small bag of baby carrots on my tray. “Oh my gosh. I’m Teddy Daniels. And Jude is my Rachel Solando.”
Twig chuckles.
“No, seriously. What if I’m not even here?What if I moved to Illinois with my dad, which broke my brain, and now I’ve conjured this elaborate fantasy where I’m not only living on the Vandenberg Estate, I’m the focal point of the family’s obsession.”
“It’s a good fantasy,” Twig says.
I heave a sigh, feeling irrationally abandoned.
This is an alluring mystery. An intoxicating riddle. I’m itching to dive in headfirst and hunt for answers. Meanwhile, Jude has gone AWOL.
“I just don’t get how he’s so …uninterested.” I swipe my lunch card, then come to such an abrupt stop, Twig runs into me from behind.
It’s him.
Jude.
He’s here, in the cafeteria, sitting in the same place he sat the first day of school. He’s attracting the same amount of attention, too, looking as tortured and standoffish as ever.
Maybe even more so.
I motion for Twig to follow, and before I can second guess what I’m doing, I’m already halfway there. He doesn’t notice my approach. He’s too caught up inCrime and Punishment, staring at the pages like a man reading his own fate.
“Hey,” I say, setting my tray on the table.
He looks up, and there’s something on his face that wasn’t there before. A dark purple bloom on the ridge of his jaw like a storm cloud under his skin.
I drop into a seat. “What happened?”
A hint of color rises along his cheekbones, faint but undeniable. “It’s nothing.”
“That isn’t nothing. It looks like you got into a fight.”
“I didn’t,” he says tersely.
But my imagination has run wild. I’m already picturing him and Rafe coming to physical blows. Overme. I quickly dismiss the thought. It reeks of narcissism. I’ve gone and put myself in the center of Jude’s life, and there’s nothing to suggest I’m even on the periphery.
He dog-ears his page—which would make Maggie holler—and glances up at Twig.
I give my friend a look likesit down already.
Twig lowers himself into the seat on my left.
I fish my phone from the pocket of my slouchy cardigan and pull up the picture I took of Maggie’s book. “Look what I found.”
Jude tosses my screen an annoyed glance, quickly followed by a giant double take. He leans closer, his attention flicking to Twig before returning to me, and I’m caught off guard by his nearness. Maybe not as close as he was on the balcony of his library, but close enough to make out each one of his dark eyelashes.
“Where’s it from?” he asks, separating himself a little.
