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I’m done forgiving Ford. I’m done drawing him. I’m done reading the books he likes and daydreaming about that look on his face at the pool party.

I’m done persuading myself that there’s more to him than meets the eye, that maybe he deserves my forgiveness. He’d call all this off if he did.

9

On Monday morning, Kappy waits at my locker with a grin on her face. “Got you something,” she says. She hands me a copy of The Canterbury Tales.

I read it in the ninth grade and I was happy when it was over, but I can’t tell her that.

“Wow,” I say. “That’s so nice of you.”

She laughs. “Open it up.”

Outlander, the title page reads.

I look up from the book, and she’s laughing. “You said your parents probably wouldn’t let you read it, so I tore off the cover and replaced it with something they wouldn’t mind, but something that would also be so boring no sane person would investigate further.”

I blink, uncertain. She’s asking me, point-blank, to lie to my parents. But she also did a very nice thing. The church would say I should return it to her and explain that I’d prefer a pure mind, but…I really want to read the book.

I take it outside during lunch. Under the shade of a big oak tree, I read as Claire leaves her husband in 1945 and finds herself in 1743, smitten with a dashing young Scot she doesn’t belong with, one I picture with Ford’s face though the description sounds nothing like him. I can barely stand to go inside when the bell rings, but I do, shoving the book in my locker and heading to my last classes of the day.

At the end of sixth period, I all but run back to it. Being seen avidly reading The Canterbury Tales isn’t going to help my nerdy reputation any, but I no longer care. It’s not as if Ford’s minions could make my life much harder than they already have. Someone has scrawled justice for Leila u cunt in lipstick on my locker door. I must be getting used to it because I don’t even bother to wipe it off.

I turn the combination on the lock with quick fingers and freeze.

There’s white liquid covering my books and folders, which are soaked through. Including the book Kappy made me. The smell of menthol wafts through the air as a couple of books slip right out of my locker onto the floor.

Shaving cream.

My eyes sting with tears. Someone filled my locker with shaving cream, which then liquified.

I just wanted to read that book. That was all I wanted.

I turn with the soaked book in my hands to find Ford standing there, one of the fallen books in his hand. As if it’s my fault his sister had to leave.

I’m so sick of his impassive face, always quietly encouraging this and acting as if he’s above it all. I can no longer turn the other cheek.

“Did you do this?” I hate the rasp in my voice. “Did you put them up to this?”

His eyes are cool and empty. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a coward,” I say. “If you want to fill my locker with shaving cream and push me in the hall and throw change at me as I walk home, at least be man enough to do it yourself.”

His eyes flash in a way that would scare me if I was capable of fear right now.

In two large steps, he’s pushing my back to the locker.

“Maybe it’s time you and your family stopped blaming me for everything that goes wrong in your lives,” he growls.

“Being blamed for something that had nothing to do with you?” I demand with a shocked laugh. “Does that upset you? I know the feeling.”

“I would have to think about you at all for it to upset me.” He shoves the book he’s holding into my locker before he walks off. I grip the locker door as I watch him go.

I was too angry to be scared as it happened, but I should have been—he’s twice my size. And my hands begin to shake—the adrenaline wearing off—but I’m still not scared of him.

I know he’s behind it and he knows he’s behind it, but it’s sort of weird that he picked up my book.

I’m able to salvage Outlander. I read it in the library that afternoon and even as I walk home. I’m so shocked when I get to the wedding night scene that I stumble and nearly faceplant into the sidewalk.