Even now, years later, I had no idea how the rumors got started. Sure, I was the only ninth grader wearing a C-cup, but ever since I’d hit puberty around the age of twelve, I’d done everything I could to downplay my chest. Still, it was the only reason I could think of that someone had decided to targetme—basically an antisocial virgin who barely left the house—and tell the entire school that I was meeting up with random men from the internet, blowing guys under the bleachers for cash, and screwing the entire football team at their post-game keg parties.
It didn’t matter to anyone at my school that there was zero evidence, that all of it was a complete lie. Everyone believed the rumors. Everyone thought I was trash. People would throw crumpled one-dollar bills and heckle me whenever they could get away with it. It was horrible.
The worst was when someone—or maybe multiple someones—filled my locker with condoms. I opened it in the middle of the day, when the hallways were full of people, so practically the whole school saw a mountain of condoms avalanche onto the floor onto my shoes. I’d slammed my locker and fled, but the sound of laughter had followed me, echoing in my ears.
In sum, my freshman year had been a nightmare. Until two things happened.
First, my older brother Stefan had taken me to his senior prom as his “date.” Before that, I’d been nothing but an outcast freshman who the mean girls loved to torture. After prom, though, people actually knew who I was. Namely, the younger sister of Stefan (and Luka) Zoric. But even though Luka and I grew close after Stefan left for college that summer, Luka definitely didn’t protect me at school. He barely showed up for classes to begin with, and when he did? He was more interested in chasing girls than looking out for his vaguely goth loner of a little sister.
So, secondly, and I suppose even more importantly (since Stefan was gone, leaving me to battle my way through another agonizing three years of high school without him making me seem cool by proxy), Ford Malone started hanging out with me. Sticking up for me. Shutting down the trolls and bullies one by one like he was my own personal bodyguard. Hence the hero thing. Hence my undying devotion. Hence this hideous, unkillable crush.
I returned the favor by writing an English term paper for him our sophomore year, and ever since then, we’d become the person who did the other’s dirty work. Even so, the scars from the bullying never really faded. It was part of the reason I didn’t like to be the center of attention.
“That party wasn’t half bad,” Ford mused, looking out the window as the streets of Chicago—so beautiful, the way they were lit up at night—sped by.
“Yeah,” I said, still lost in my head and trying to figure out where to start.
“You made a lot of contacts. Lots of money heading your way for See Yourself.”
I nodded and felt a little twinge of guilt about what I was about to say. Because he was right; Ihadgotten a lot accomplished in terms of networking and fundraising. It was going to make a huge difference to the organization as we moved forward. And I was grateful for that.
But.
“We need to talk, Ford,” I said, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible.
He had leaned his head back against the seat, eyes now closed.
“Mmm,” he murmured.
It was clear he was about to fall asleep. I couldn’t really blame him. I was exhausted too. A little drunk, socially overexerted, and my feet hurt. Truth be told, I would rather finish this ride in silence, get home, and slide into a hot bath with a glass of water and two Advil.
However, this conversation had waited long enough.
“Ford,” I said more firmly, giving him a nudge.
He opened his eyes and looked at me. “What?”
“What did you do that for tonight?” I asked.
“Do what for?”
“The lie,” I clarified. “About us dating.”
That lazy grin stretched across his face as he said, “It was the obvious solution, no?”
I let out a sigh. “Theobvious solutionwould have been to change the subject with your mom. Not to lie to her about us being a couple.”
Ford shifted in his seat, turning to face me. He’d loosened his tie at some point, leaving his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. That flash of bare skin drew my eyes like a magnet.
“Are you pissed at me?” he asked point-blank.
“It’s not that,” I told him. “But now you’re going to have to admit to her that you lied, which is going to be awkward for everyone. Not to mention how pissy she’ll be with me for going along with this little scheme of yours—and on her birthday no less.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Your mom already hates me, so this isn’t going to help things.”
“First of all, my mom doesn’t like anyone,” Ford said.
“She likes Claudia,” I reminded him. “ShelovesClaudia.”
Ford winced, but then visibly brightened.
