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8
Raven
Great.Who did Dixie May tell? is the first thought I have. This text also means she’s given out my phone number.
This revelation makes me about twenty times more grateful that I’m going to lunch with Harlow, not only so I can avoid people, but because I’m standing up Dixie May and her makeup case.
Apparently, the message distracts me enough that even Harlow, who barely knows me, can tell something’s wrong.
“Is everything okay?” she inquires as we push open the doors and step outside into the sunlight.
I nod and try to force myself to smile. “Yeah, everything’s great.”
She arches a brow. “You sure about that? You kind of sound … I don’t know, deflated.”
“Well, I’m not.” I force a cheery tone, but it’s completely obvious that it’s forced.
God, I suck. It’s a good thing I don’t work undercover.
She gives a dramatic sigh, walking backward in front of me. “Okay, first rule of us being friends is we can’t lie to each other. I loathe liars. It’s like a deal breaker for me.”
I press my lips together with uncertainty. While I want to tell her about the message, that’ll also lead to me telling her about my past. And I can’t do that right now. Not when she just implied we could be friends.
“It really is nothing,” I say, my boots scuffing against the sidewalk. “I just …” I blow out an exhale as she stares me down hard. Like really,reallyhard. “Dude, you seriously have the scariest interrogation face ever.”
“Oh, I know,” she assures me confidentially. “I learned from the best. I also learned how to crack someone open from the best.”
“Who’s the best?” I ask, curious and also trying to change the subject.
She drags her finger across her lips. “Nope. Not telling until you do.”
I hesitate, unsure what to do. Back in the day, before my parents died, I used to have friends. I think I might be out of practice now.
“I got this weird message,” I reply vaguely. “But it’s not really a bad deal.”
A crease forms between her brow. “What’d it say?”
I chew on my bottom lip, deliberating how much I should confess. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to ask questions, so I don’t have to lie. Because I can’t tell you much about it. Not yet anyway.”
She squints against the sunlight as she studies me closely. “Okay, I think I can do that.”
A breath eases from my lips as I retrieve my phone from out of my pocket and hand it to her. She takes the phone from me, reads it, then glances up at me with question marks filling her eyes.
“I …” She smashes her lips together, pausing. “You have no idea who it’s from?”
I shrug. “My best bet is my cousin had someone send it to me.”
“Your cousin?” she asks. “Wait—is she blonde and kind of a bitch?”
I nod. “Yep. That’d be the one.”
“She’s the one you were worried about giving the makeup case, too, right?”
I nod again.
“Why do you think it’s her? And why did you guys move here at the same time, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“You’re fine.” In fact, her questions aren’t that awful. Well, unless they lead to certain kinds of follow-up questions. “I think it’s her because she threatens to tell people stuff about me all the time. And usually, she does. And we moved here at the same time because I live with her family.”
