Page 18 of Hilarina and the Ogre

“Then you should have told me that. You should have come to me and said, look, I need you to pretend for me.”

“As if you would have agreed to that!”

“We’ll never know now, will we?” But he did know. He would have agreed to it. Would have been less anxious about the whole thing if he’d known she’d needed to use him like he needed to use her, actually.

And she saw it. In his face. Or maybe in his voice. It made her desperate. “I’m coming to you now. Please, I’m serious about paying you for your time. And we wouldn’t even have to do anything together. You’d only have to drop me off a few times a week and take some pictures with me.”

“No.”

It wasn’t what she was expecting, and that did piss him off a little. He knew he didn’t exactly look well-off, but did he seem so pitiful that he’d start salivating at the first hint of money?

“Name your price, then. If it’s about smoking in the car—”

“I’m not trying to negotiate, Varda. It’s just no. I won’t do it. I didn’t want to do it in the first place, and I should have listened to that feeling.” He opened the door of the Shitheap and slipped inside. “And that’s the last I’ll say on it. If you come here again, I’ll just ignore you.”

She grabbed onto the door handle and got it open before he could lock it. “To you, to everyone, I’m this vapid rich girl. And I am. I know I am. But he’s the only person, the one guy, who doesn’t look at me like a talking wallet or walking vagina. You’re nice. A good person. So you don’t understand how rare a thing that is. I need him, Hilary. And if I can’t have him, I’ll make sure you can’t have anything either.”

Almost, for a moment, he was swayed by that. And if he’d chosen compassion—if he’d taken one more breath and shown a little sympathy in that moment—he might have avoided everything that would come after. But even if Varda was finally being honest with him, and perhaps even sharing a trace of vulnerability, she was still Varda. There was no regret in her. Not for how she’d hurt him or for what she’d done.

Hilary remembered again that look on Aspen’s face and all those scattered pearls, and was only glad Varda had been sure to tack a threat onto the end of her entreaty. It meant there would be no guilt in refusing her. “It really sucks, doesn’t it?” And he knew for the first time the pulsing of vindictive satisfaction. “Not getting what you want. Have a nice life, Varda.”

Chapter Six

Live, Laugh, Love the Mailman

Trenton was waiting for Hilary in his spot in the parking lot. It wasn’t his spot in the way of having his name across it, so it surprised him a little that Trenton had noticed enough to remember. Then again, when you regularly chose the spot furthest from the school doors, that was memorable by itself.

“You really do enjoy freezing to death, huh?” Hilary said once he’d parked and pulled himself from the Shitheap’s innards. The door was stuck, so he had to squirm his way out through the window, taking hold of the arm Trenton held out for him as he did for balance.

“Does that happen a lot?” the boy asked about the stuck door.

“When I slam it too hard. I’m usually more careful.”

Trenton pushed a paper bag into his hand and took the backpack from the passenger seat before Hilary could grab it.

“Sure you don’t want to nab Aspen for yourself?” Hilary asked after doing a quick check of the bag’s contents—grilled cheese and a banana. “You’re prime boyfriend material.”

Trenton managed to fix the door—the boy with the magic touch—before shutting it again with just the right amount of force to deal with the shitty seal, but not so much as to get it stuck. “You’re early.”

Not that early, was he? Maybe fifteen minutes earlier than usual. (Okay, and probably the earliest he’d ever been.) “Better thank the gods that I am, or you’d be a block of ice.”

Trenton shouldered the second bag easily. It looked smaller on him. “I brought more books with me today.”

Trenton took him to a good reading spot—the heater by the window on the third floor. It was more than large enough to sit on, which meant Hilary’s butt was roasty-toasty and might even have been too warm if not for the sweatshirt Trenton put down first to keep their bottoms from third-degree burns.

“Meticulous, aren’t you?” Hilary said.

“It’s easy when your life doesn’t have a lot of distractions.”

“I’m a distraction, aren’t I?”

Trenton handed him the new book. Something by a woman named Mary Oliver.

“Is this going to be sappy?” Hilary asked.

“I think you’ll like her.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”