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Noah’s chest heaves as he sucks in breaths. His cheeks flush with color, and I know he’s trying to control his anger. Part of me wants to goad him further – I’d love to see Noah Marlowe lose his tenuous grip on control and finally contend with the monster inside. The sensible side of my brain reminds me that Noah could punch his fist right through my ribcage without batting an eye. I remain silent.
“Sure. I liked Mackenzie.” Noah’s struggling to keep his voice even. “I liked her because I can see myself in her. I’m no better than she is. We’re both horrible, twisted people. I’ve always treated you like shit, bro. And then I expect you to be there for me when I’m hurting. Just like I expected that one day you’d give up Mackenzie for me, or I’d simply take her from you. I let you take care of me after Felix died, and I don’t think I ever once asked you how you were coping with your dad going to prison.”
“You—you—” I can’t form words.
Noah’s so close now, his nose touches mine. His face twists in this ugly scowl. “When you thought Mackenzie was back, you drew lines between her old personality and her new one that don’t fucking exist. Just because Claudia justified Mackenzie’s actions by being an actual semi-decent human doesn’t make what Mackenzie did to you okay. It’s not Mackenzie you fell in love with this time – it’s Claudia.”
“You didn’t know her like I did. Her parents tortured her—”
“Right. And she came to school and tortured everyone else.” Noah swipes his hand through his hair. He forgets I can read him, too. I know he’s nervous. He wants to change my mind. “She was fucking evil. And you know it. What she and Cleo did to George? That wasn’t Cleo’s idea. Mackenzie let Cleo take the credit because she knew George would tell and Cleo would get in more trouble for being the ringleader. But Mackenzie was always the one pulling the strings. Her leaving you behind with no note, no goodbye – that was the absolute cruelest thing she could do, and that’s why you hate Claudia so much. Because she may be the daughter of a mob king, she may be trying to keep Mackenzie’s house, but deep down Claudia is the person you wished Mackenzie could be.”
Rage burns inside me. “You don’t get to tell me who I love or why. You don’t know the first thing about love.”
“If you say so.” Noah thrusts a piece of paper into my hands. “Claudia said to give you that. She said it belongs to you. Ask yourself, did you spend all those nights haunting Malloy Manor because you wanted Mackenzie to come back, or because you wanted a reason to justify her final cruelty?”
I punch him in the nose.
The sting of it slams into my fists. Noah staggers back, clutching his face. Blood spurts down his t-shirt. Anger flashes in his eyes, and for a moment I’m paralyzed with fear. If Noah comes for me, he’ll flatten me.
Instead, he lowers his hand, staring me down from those coal-black depths. “Just think about it, Eli.”
He stalks away, holding his nose, leaving me alone with the paper and my cold, dark wishes.
I stare down at the paper. I unfold it. It’s a page from a notebook – a ragged edge on one side where it had been torn out. Wobbly, childish handwriting crowds on the lines, sometimes spilling over the ends and curling around. Many of the i’s and j’s had hearts drawn on them instead of dots.
An ache spreads across my chest.
I’d know that handwriting anywhere.
It’s a diary entry. It isn’t dated, but I remember the day well. It was a few months after our parents declared we weren’t allowed to see each other. Dad was at a casket roadshow over the weekend and Mom didn’t care what I got up to, so I took Mackenzie out for dinner. We sat at a corner table of this fancy Italian place all the food critics were raving about, the kind of place I thought Mackenzie would enjoy because it’s hip and exclusive.
I’m scribbling this in the bathroom. I’m so angry. Eli brought me to a restaurant for dinner. He’s excited and keeps asking me how I like the food. I’m going to stab him with my fork.
Everyone around us is at least twenty years older and ugly as sin. The couple behind us hold hands over the table, and a pair of guys at the bar feed each other sick-looking cocktails. I hate them all. They make me sick. Don’t they know all this is a lie? No one lives happily-ever-after. The only royals who get to keep their crowns are those who enclose their hearts in ice.
I don’t know why we’re here, pretending to be adults. Eli folds my napkin on my lap. If he wants me to be one of these air-brushed bimbos making polite conversation, then I’ll slit his throat while he sleeps.
Just kidding. But this is weird, and he’s been doing lots of other weird things lately. It doesn’t matter though – at least Eli-weird is calm and safe. At least Eli lets me yell and break things and do whatever I want. I’ll sit through anything if it will keep him by my side.
No matter what I do, Eli will always protect me.
Tears stab at the corners of my eyes. From my pocket, I pull out the strip of photographs of me and Mackenzie at Disneyland. I try to recall the elation of that day, the giddy excitement I felt holding her hand and feeling her body lean against mine as we rode the teacups. This time, what comes back to me are the memories that slipped through the cracks – Mackenzie screaming at a terrified cotton-candy seller until he gave her a free cone. Mackenzie elbowing small children and pulling a girl’s hair so we could push past them in the Space Mountain line. Mackenzie guilt-tripping me into doing her homework for her that evening, since I made her skip school.
I think of other things, too. I think of kids scattering whenever Mackenzie walked into a room. I remember finding George hiding in a supply closet, holding a razor blade to the skin of her ankle because Mackenzie told her she’d be better off dead.
I crush the paper in my fingers, screwing it into a tight ball. I throw it at the bleachers, watching it bounce on the wood and fall through a crack.
Claudia lied about who she was. But I’ve been lying to myself, too.
I needed… I needed to set things straight.
Claudia
“I’m so nervous.” George paces the length of our room, her dress swishing around her ankles.
It’s the night of the homecoming dance, and we’re holed up in a room that’s a mirror-image of Gabriel’s pad, except decorated in garish burgundy and gold. Gabriel’s neighbor is some big shot tech mogul who’s hardly ever in the country. He rents his apartment out for events, and Gabriel scored us the place for our dance preparations while he and Noah and Isaac get ready next door.
“You don’t look nervous. You’re a total bombshell.” It’s true. George found a vintage ’50s dress at her thrift store with a plunging sweetheart neckline that’s perfect for her tiny frame. With her shoulders bare and her short pixie cut dyed a brilliant midnight blue, her tattoos are on full display. George has great ink – you’d think she’d be all skulls and bats and roses, but she says she wants to look at her skin and smile, so on one arm are kittens shaped like donuts chasing tiny balls of yarn that twirl around her wrist, and on the other arm is a bunch of different monsters from horror films all having a party and eating giant pieces of cake.
