His father?
“I’m calling the police.”
This has him whipping around, stomping forward, and grabbing me by the shoulders. He shakes me a little. “Don’t you dare.”
My wide eyes meet his. Electric blue. Terrorized blue. “But—”
He shakes me again. “Don’t do it, Stevie. I swear to God.”
I don’t know what to say. What to do.
With a little croak of despair, I swing my head back and forth, my bottom lip trembling. “Did your father do that to you?”
His Adam’s apple rolls, an audible swallow. Lex glances at the house, looking nervous, the panic still gleaming in his gaze.
Then he lets me go.
Lex doesn’t respond to the question, but I already know. I see the truth, the evidence. It’s a rusty ax to my chest.
“You have to go.” His hands ball at his sides, teeth clenching. “We’re not friends, Nicks.”
“What?” I breathe out.
“We. Aren’t. Friends.” Inching closer, he grits out more cruel words through bared teeth. “You can’t just show up here on your dirty old bike and start asking questions, thinking you belong in my world. You can’t just sniff around my life like you have any fucking right. You can’t just…” The light leaves his eyes with a single blink. “Care.”
I stumble backward, my stomach curdling as his words settle like sour milk.
We stand a foot apart, staring at each other, breathing heavily.
All I can muster is “No problem” as I bend over to retrieve my fallen bike and hop back on.
Lex watches me, his hands slackening at his sides. “Don’t come back here,” he says. “I mean it.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t tell anybody about this.”
I use the toes of my shoes to drag myself out of the driveway, unable to look at him as I slide my feet on the pedals and start to ride away. “I won’t,” I repeat, but I don’t know if he hears me.
Racing three miles home, I charge through the front door of my house, ignoring the chipper greetings from Mom and Dad and the aroma of grilled pineapples wafting from the stove.
I run all the way up to my room, slam the door, and launch myself onto the bed, clutching the limp teddy bear to my chest.
And I cry.
Chapter 9
Stevie
The next time I lay eyes on Lex is on Tuesday around 10 a.m. He’s late for English class, breezing through the doorway twenty minutes past start time. There’s a slow-fading bruise on the left side of his face and a bandage strip secured just below his ear. He doesn’t look any different aside from that. There is still swagger in his steps, apathy in his blue gaze, and designer clothing that toes the line of blasé teen and big money.
A car accident,everyone whispers in the hallways and in huddled groups at cafeteria tables. Lex went above and beyond to make the story seem true: he drove a different car to school today. A silver Tesla. He tells worried teachers his sports car is in the shop getting fixed.
Nobody questions it.
Only I am privy to the truth, and when he passes me in study hall that afternoon, the look he sends me when our eyes briefly meet says that I better hold on to that truth or else.
When classes let out, I make my way to the auditorium, Misty and Jameson trailing me on both sides. We’re going out for ice cream afterward.
