He sits down on the edge of the sofa, but Gideon hovers at the edge of the living room. “I’m going,” he says, his gaze veering to the rug; he can’t even look at me.
“You sure?” Asher asks. “My mom always makes enough dinner for you. I thought we were going to sit around and watch movies tonight.”
“I’m supposed to go to that party,” Gideon says, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ll text you later, Cass.” Then he and his comforting scent walk through the foyer and out the front door.
Asher scoots closer. “What’s up with him?”
I fight the aching, stinging sensation in my eyes. “He’s mad at me.”
“For not going to the party? You’re injured.”
“No, it’s not—it’s fine. I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
Concern floods Asher’s face, but he shrugs.
“Asher, do not talk to him about me.”
He peers at me for another moment. “Okay.” Then he bends closer, gingerly lifting the ice from my head and squinting at my wound. “You’ve looked better, Cass.”
I smile, but it’s false and makes my head sting.
Later in the evening, I learn Brandon can’t make movie night. Which figures. He’s had quite the day, after all. Hasn’t he? He’s probably afraid I’ll call him out in front of Asher for messing with me. But the last thing I want is for my brother to know about today.
Even without Brandon, it swiftly becomes the worst movie night ever. When Gideon’s over, we usually watch classic horror. Really, we’re all big scaredy-cats. We scream, laugh until we cry, and then find the most inappropriate times to quote ridiculous lines. Since Gideon’s not here, we’re watching some old, boring movie Asher says is important because it’s on the American Film Institute’s top 100 list. But my attention drifts. I check my phone every two minutes for a text from Gideon that never comes. I think about that muffled voice in the woods. My notebook, the page smeared with drops of strawberry milkshake. The look on Gideon’s face at the sawmill. It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen that look in my life. But it was the first time I’ve seen it from him.
Growing up as the girl who survived the fire has merited that look from family, friends, and strangers alike. Mostly because another little girl, a neighbor, wasn’t so lucky.
Also, because I started the fire.
5
When I arrive at school the next day, Gideon’s not in Hathaway Hall, by the lockers where we always meet. The warning bell sounds. Still no sign of him. I sit down in English, finally spotting him in his usual place at the front, where teachers put the ones they need to keep an eye on. His jaw is scruffy and his hair is rumpled. He barely greets my nervous smile.
After class, I try to catch him, but I’m swarmed by Laura Gellman and a few other girls.
“So, did you and Gideon accidentally bump heads while you were making out?” asks Emily Greer, indicating the bandage on my forehead. She leans in with a mischievous grin, her red corkscrew curls bouncing. Emily Greer is the polar opposite of her skulking, raven-haired brother, Seth. Smiley-faced, bouncy-haired Emily probably should’ve demanded to see a DNA test before sharing a roof with that guy. She’s the kind of sweet that still passes out Valentine cards with little chocolate hearts taped inside to every kid in our grade. But at our tiny school, she gets teased almost as much as I do, just for being related to him. I feel bad for her.
I roll my eyes. Time to go bury my head in a locker.
Laura Gellman glides into the huddle now, smelling like she doused herself in a bucket of floral perfume. “Oh, she had a small encounter with a volleyball yesterday. Right, Cass?” She winks in an exaggerated way, then glances at her phone. “So annoying. Melody isn’t answering my texts. I swear, if she doesn’t respond in, like, five minutes, she’s dead to me.”
The word dead rolls at me like a slow-moving, noxious gas.
I back up, ready to lock myself in a bathroom stall. But Peter McCallum spots me from the lockers and flags me down. “Hey, Cass,” he says, tucking a notebook under his arm. “Have you seen Gideon? I need to reschedule tomorrow’s session.” His green eyes narrow pensively. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” I say, managing a smile. “Sorry, haven’t seen him. But I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”
If he ever speaks to me again.
At morning break, Brandon’s sturdy figure trudges through the hall. He high-fives a teammate before guzzling a bright blue Gatorade. How can he prance around this place after what he did? At the very least, he put me through hell. At the very worst… I swallow back the sick feeling, watching from behind my locker door as he spins his combination.
I’m done staring at Brandon’s back. I need to look him in the eye.
When he finally zips up his backpack, I slam my locker door. “Hey, Brandon!” I call out, hurrying over with two books tucked under my arm.
He looks up with a confused grin. “M’lady,” he says, tipping a hand to me. That ridiculous dimple looks like an asteroid crashed into his face. “Cass, what happened to your head?”
His fingers dart toward my bandage, and I jerk back, out of his reach. “Nothing, just fell off my bike.” I chew the inside of my mouth. “Hey, do you think Gideon’s going to be in trouble for missing practice yesterday? He says he doesn’t care, but it was my fault he missed, and I feel bad, is all.” I’m rambling, but it doesn’t matter as long as he gives something away. Anything.
Brandon reddens. “Sorry, Cass, couldn’t tell you. I wasn’t there either.”
Shocker. “I hope everything’s okay.”
He shrugs. “Just personal stuff.” His brown eyes dart in the direction of his open locker door.
Anger needles into my veins. I tuck my hair behind an ear. “Personal, huh?”
Brandon nods, pressing his lips together tightly. Watching me. He leans in closer and the adrenaline I felt with him at the diner surges in my chest. “I don’t know why you’re so worried about Hollander. Not even Coach can get mad at that dreamy face.” He backs up, laughing, and I suppress the urge to claw at him.
“Besides, Coach has been distracted lately. Marital problems or something. He probably didn’t even notice who was there.” He shrugs on his backpack and shuts the locker door.
What do you have in there? Did he have the nerve to stash the notebook in there? Or worse—is Melody’s necklace stuffed inside? My fists twitch.
Brandon stares expectantly at me. “Well, I hope—”