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“It’s okay. I’ll make sure the dry cleaning comes out of Stacy’s allowance.” Derrick winks at me.
Unlike his sister, he’s got kind playful eyes. Eyes that make me trust that he’s telling me the truth. That he actually cares what his sister did to me and that he will make sure she pays some kind of penance for her crimes.
Not that it matters.
She’s made sure to paint a scarlet letter on my chest for all of Thatcher Bay to see.
The damage is done.
I wallow in my misery in the back seat, while Derrick and Daisy whisper in the front. I don’t even try to listen in. Thankfully mom and Curt are already asleep by the time we get home. Just imagining my mom’s face if she saw me this way, churns my stomach.
Daisy tries to distract me by spending the rest of the night in my room, stuffing me with junk food while we watch trash reality television.
But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t remedy what happened tonight.
Stacy might have made me the laughing stock of all of Bayshore High.
But that’s not why I’m hurting.
It’s the fact that I know it was Noah who planned it all.
Down to the very last detail.
Chapter 11
Skylar
Seventeen years old
One year later
"You're coming and that’s the end of it," Daisy commands after stealing my laptop off my bed in front of me and holding it hostage behind her back.
"Fat chance that’s happening. Give it to me!” I order just as loud, going up to my knees on the mattress and swinging my arms aimlessly about in the hopes I’ll grab hold of my irritating big sister and rescue my laptop.
“Fat chance that’s happening,” she parrots, stepping farther away from my grasp.
“Damn it, Daisy. I told you before that I don’t want to go to a stupid party.”
“Too bad. You’re going.”
Nope.
Not happening.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t stay home tonight?" I exclaim, annoyed.
“Because!” she shouts out, just as irritated.
“That isn’t a reason.”
“Fine! You want a reason? Then how is this one for size? We've been living in Thatcher’s Bay for over a year now and you still haven’t made one friend. One friend, Sky,” she repeats, frustrated.
“Kyle is my friend,” I defend, even though we’ve hardly spoken to one another all summer. In fact after the Homecoming debacle, he’s kept me at arm’s length. Not that I blame him.
“No, Kyle is a fuck boy who wants to get into your pants. There’s a difference,” she deadpans. “Enough is enough, Sky. You’ve spent most of our summer vacation locked inside this house like some kind of hermit. If you refuse to put yourself out there willingly, then you best believe I’ll force you to.”
“Argh! I hate it when you start babbling and it actually starts making sense. You are not my favorite person right now, I can tell you that much,” I mumble, falling back to sit on my haunches in defeat.
