Instead of refuting her words, though, I merely dip my head in acknowledgement. Just because I’m a bastard doesn’t mean I need to disrespect well-meaning people like Principal Long.
I feel both of their eyes on my back as I leave the gym. I ignore the extra weight their attention adds. Even as I return to my bike and don my helmet again, I can’t help but wonder if Cory’s advice isn’t more of a warning than true aid.
Whatever decision I end up making won’t just affect me in the end. I’m not the only one that will have to live with it. That, more than anything else, is the heaviest burden I carry.
12
JULIET
“They’re watching you, you know.” Mads’ quiet words make my lips twitch when I should be anything but amused. It’s been a few days since we met with Viks on the north side of town and things are back to their normal routine. Well, as normal as the town pariah and the gutter’s golden boys can get.
“They always watch me,” I say, stroking the flat of the paintbrush down the side of the poster board we’ve been working on since twenty minutes into the guys’ football practice. I used to find it annoying. Now, it’s kind of nice.
I never wanted to be that girl that sat and waited around for her boyfriends like some lovesick fool—not that I’m dating the Scorpion Kings. That’d be ridiculous. They’re just… my friends with benefits? Fuck, I don’t know what the hell they are to me.
My hand slows and I lift the brush away, glancing up to follow Mads’ attention to the field below us. The guys’ coach stands to the side, a whistle hanging precariously from his mouth as he watches the team run back and forth across the green, each time trying to make it faster and faster as they sweat beneath their heavy equipment and the winter sun.
A wind whips across my face and I shiver, burrowing deeper into the stolen hoodie I pilfered from one of their closets—I can’t even remember who the original owner was anymore. As soon as it’s lost their smell, though, I’ll be trading it out for another. Returning my attention to the poster boards, I scowl at the lettering I’d been filling in.
“Why are you doing this again?” I ask. “I swear to God it feels like you’re on every damn committee there is. Newspaper. Student council. You’re always doing something. When the hell do you have time to sleep?”
Though I only mean the question as one of frustration and concern, Mads’ shoulders stiffen up and she quickly returns her attention to the half-painted poster board in front of her.
“Extracurricular activities look good to colleges, and I need a full ride if I get accepted somewhere.” She doesn’t look up as she says the words, but I see the truth in the slump of her back. It’s there in the way she pointedly drags the paintbrush in her hand up and down on the same line over and over again even though it’s already clear enough.
I can’t imagine Mads not getting accepted at any college of her choosing. She’s practically Miss Perfect. Well, maybe working in a host club and having an underage sex tape scandal won’t look too great, but I’m sure her grades and all the bullshit she’s put up with for this school will help in the long run.
“You can get loans too,” I offer, returning my gaze to my own work.
“I would still need my parents’ tax information,” she replies just as fast. “They won’t give it to me. I’ve already asked. They don’t see the point in college for me.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to inquire if it’s because they expect her to get married to one of the crazies from their stupid church or if it’s simply because she’s a woman. I don’t. Instead, I try a different tactic.
“So don’t ask.” I shrug. “Take it.”
Her head lifts and the burn of her attention sears into the side of my face.
“What?” My lips twitch. “Don’t tell me you’re shocked that I’d encourage someone to steal. That’s what my family is known for now, isn’t it?”
“You’re not your family.”
I stop painting, but I don’t look up. I hadn’t known just how much I wanted to hear those words from someone’s mouth until she spoke them. Now, they linger in my mind, wrapping my anxieties and fears in a cushion of their meaning.
You are not your family.
Swallowing, I carefully reach for the paint and dip my brush once more, sliding the sides of the brush along the edges of the small cup as I wipe off the excess so it doesn’t drip. “Neither are you, Mads. You’re so much more than them.”
Mads doesn’t respond, but she also doesn’t move away or find an excuse to leave the way someone who’s upset or uncomfortable might. Instead, the two of us continue our work on the posters—advertisements for the upcoming winter formal—until the sharp whistle from the guys’ coach behind us calls an end to their practice.
“Thanks for helping,” Mads says with a sigh, as I lift up my last poster and set it on one of the bleachers. There is already a stack of dried painted posters nearby. More than enough that she’ll hopefully be done with the task.
“I had nothing better to do,” I say honestly, wiping my paint-splattered hands on my jeans before I scratch my nose. “But next time, you should get those lazy asses on the student council to help you. This is their job too.”
Mads laughs and waves me off as she cleans up the mess and puts the lids back on the paint cups before storing them in the plastic bag she brought with her. It isn’t until she’s walking away—her posters in one hand, the semi-wet ones on the outside and held precariously so she doesn’t smudge them, and the bag of supplies in her other hand—that I realize something. She didn’t have to do those damn posters here. She could’ve done them in the classroom relegated for the student council’s after-school use. But she’d come here. Because she’d known I’d be bored and alone as I waited for the guys.
Avery would never have been so thoughtful.
“Hey yo, Prep Girl!” Gio’s sudden shout drags my head around and I sigh, moving towards the railing that separates the bleachers from the football field. Sitting on the cold metal for so long has made my ass go numb and bending over to paint has put a crick in my neck. I stretch onto my toes, trying to shake off the discomfort as he approaches.
