I just lie in bed, reliving everything. Reliving the way Luke looked at me that night—and last night. Reliving the way Ro had looked at me before he’d run after his brother. Reliving Mel’s wails.
Reliving the funeral, the way I was sandwiched in the back between my parents, as if Rowan had been an acquaintance. The way my father rubbed my knee when I started to cry. The way Luke’s gaze had caught mine, briefly, as Ro’s family marched out of the church behind the body. And the way he’d looked away—as if he hadn’t seen anyone he knew.
The numerous texts I sent to him:
I’m so so so sorry.
Please call me. Please just ...
He didn’t.
The next time I saw Eric, he snarled at me. “Slut,” he whispered under his breath. He got louder each time he saw me, until he was walking around saying things about me to everyone we knew. I don’t think he told them what he’d seen, what I’d done. In fact, most people probably figured something had happened between me and Eric. Maybe I’d teased him and led him on, maybe I’d been with him and he’d found out I already had a boyfriend. I didn’t give a damn what anyone said about me. I had worse things to say.
It’s just after noon when my mom sticks her head in my door. “Is everything okay, honey?”
“It’s fine.”
“Okay, well, Luke’s here to see you. Thought maybe that would cheer you up.”
“No,” I say.
“No?”
“Tell him I’m out.”
“I’m not going to lie for you,” Mom says sternly. She has been in full 2.0 mode the last twenty-four hours, popping into my room to check on me, trying to coax me out of bed. “If you’re upset with him, tell him to his face.”
“Fine,” I say now, defiant. “Tell him whatever you want, but I’m not going down to see him.”
“Can I send him up?”
“No.”
She gives a long-suffering sigh, shuts the door, and goes down the stairs.
Sunday.
“Luke’s here to see you.”
“I told you ...”
“I’m not going to lie for you, Jessi.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s wrong, that’s why.”
“I don’t care.”
“I don’t like your attitude,” Mom says. “I’m bringing him in.”
“No!” I jolt into a sitting position. “Please don’t.”
“It’s your choice. You go out and speak to him, or I let him in. I don’t understand why you would treat such a nice boy this way.”
I press my lips together in anger but don’t say anything as I crawl out of bed. Luke is not seeing the filth my room has accrued in the last twenty-four hours. I still have my dignity. Or some of it anyway, since I go down in the ratty pajamas I’m wearing. There’s also the matter of my unkempt hair and the prominent hole in my right sock.
Luke is sitting in the living room, and he stands as I come down the stairs. I fold my arms across my chest.
