A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale Book 4) (14 page)

“Answer one question,” he says.

I just stare in response, because I don’t know what to say.

“Are you happy? Is your life good?”

I open my mouth to say, “Yes”, but the word doesn’t come. I’ve already used him. My conscience won’t let me lie to him as well. “Sometimes it is.”

He lifts an eyebrow at that and looks me over. “Okay.”

I pull out of his grasp and make my escape.

By the ten-day mark I really wish he’d just trash another girl’s self confidence in front of me so that I can remember how awful he is. My memory wants to go all soft-focus on that aspect of his personality.

He doesn’t talk to me at all anymore. Our friendship is gone. He doesn’t even call me Veronica, and I fight the urge to feel guilty about that. I should not be longing for the days when he made fun of me. On the twelfth and thirteenth days, I don’t see him or his car.

One evening, about two weeks after that kiss, Kyra knocks on my bedroom door. I’ve been dodging her no end, but there’s nowhere to hide now.

“Yeah?” I call out as if I haven’t a care in the world.

She opens my door, leans against the frame, and says, “Now that Devon’s quit his job at the gym, you wanna talk?”

T
HERE’S NO ESCAPE
, so I just sit cross-legged on my bed while Kyra slips into my room and takes the desk chair. I’m too out of my depth to even know what kind of lie I need to come up with.

“Did you know he quit?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“Well, he did.”

“Okay. Not sure why you think that has anything to do with me.”

She gives me a withering look. “I’m not stupid.”

“Right.”

“What happened between you two? And don’t say nothing, because I did see you both sneak out of a closet.”

I turn my gaze to the wall, wishing I could shut my eyes and go invisible and thinking that I may try it even though I know it doesn’t work.

“Lizard,” prompts Kyra.

“That time you saw us doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“So what’s the deal?”

“I like him.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” She snorts a laugh.

I recoil from her, feeling like she just jabbed me right in the chest. “Okay, so I’m stupid.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“He’s not boyfriend material. He’s not even second-date material. He’s not
first
-date material.”

“You like who you like,” says Kyra. “If attraction were a logical process life would be so much easier, but it isn’t. At all.”

“Well… anyway.”

“So what happened?” Kyra prods.

“I had a really rough day the week before last.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I just… I’d had it. I went to the gym after work and…”

“And what, Lizzie?”

“We kissed. Once. I gave in. I was weak and I was stupid and I just wanted ten minutes of feeling like someone cared about me.” Or however long that kiss lasted. In my memory, it was hours.

“Then what happened?”

“I came to my senses and left. Told him I just had to practice for work.”

Kyra winces. “You didn’t actually say that, did you?”

I shrug. “Yeah.”

“Yowza, girl.”

“What?” I ask. “It’s no worse than the stuff he says to girls all the time.”

“Yeah, but he’s a guy,” she says as if this explains something.

I stare at her blankly.

“Guys, they’re not so good at the ‘how would you feel if someone did that to you?’ exercise,” she says. “Whenever you turn the tables, they get blindsided.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I never understood it.” She shrugs.

“Well, so now he knows. I’m sorry if I made him feel so bad he quit his job.” The truth is, I’m more than sorry. If there were any way to hit rewind on my life, I would do it right this moment.

“So…too early for a high five? Because that’s kind of awesome, what you did.”

“No it’s not.”

The look she gives me isn’t pure pity, but it’s close. “That morning I found you guys in the closet—what was that?”

“Nothing—”

“Happened, I know. Now describe the nothing please.” She makes this demand as if she has a right to know, and I find her tone strangely persuasive.

“We talked.”

“In the closet.”

“We did that sometimes.”

“How often?”

“Not a ton of times.”

“So explain. How did you end up having closet conferences?”

I wriggle my toes and stare at them for a long moment in the vain hope that Kyra will give up and leave me alone.

She leans her chin on the back of my chair and waits.

I give in. “I don’t know. It just kind of…happened.”

“That you went alone into a closet with him? This kind of thing ever happen with anyone else?”

“No. Look, I can’t explain it. It was like we were friends. Sometimes. Whenever I just…I’d had a rough day and I couldn’t take it anymore and I didn’t have time to come up with stuff to say back to him… Then he was actually nice to me.”

“Well, sure.”

“What do you mean, sure?”

“He had his eye on you.”

“What?”

She shrugs.

“No. He insulted me all the time.”

She nods. “Yep. All the time. Every single chance that he got.”

“How is that him liking me?”

“I forget that you didn’t go to high school.”

That hurts. “Oh, so you think I’m stupid?”

“No,
no
. Nothing like that.” She holds up her hands to placate me. “I just meant, you didn’t ever go to class with the obnoxious clown who always pulled the hair of the popular girl way out of his league. You didn’t see that Devon wanted attention from you every chance he got, and he’d go antagonize you because negative attention was better than none.”

“That is really dumb.”

“He’s Devon.”

“Um…okay. But he likes me?” Hope blooms in my chest.

“No.”

“But—”

“No. You’re a celebrity, Lizzie. He doesn’t like you any more than the paparazzi like you. I’ll bet you were the first famous person he ever met, because if he had any experience with that kind of thing he wouldn’t get all tied in knots over someone who’s famous on children’s television. Think about it.”

Logical words. I’ve been famous most of my life, so I shouldn’t have a blind spot there. What she says, though, doesn’t quite ring true to me. “I don’t think that was it.”

“Look—”

“What if I hurt him?”

“You beat him at his own game,” says my roommate. “You hurt his pride, and that’s all.”

I turn by gaze back to my wiggling toes.

“Listen, I know it’s hard. Your feelings are real even if he’s a total fake. I’m just sorry your first kiss was a scam, but I’ve been there. Literally. I know how it goes.”

She’s being kind even if the words are harsh.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” I say.

“Anytime. I care, all right? And I’m not judging you at all.”

“You’re judging him.”

“Yes. Someday you’ll be glad that he’s gone.”

I’m not, though. Right now I regret not taking him up on his request to talk. The thought of never seeing him again makes me sick to my stomach.

The next morning at the gym, I find a folded piece of paper in my locker. Someone shoved it in through the vent. It reads:

Lizzie,

I’m sorry for how things went down. Hope you’re all right. Here’s my address and phone number if you ever want to talk.

Devon

I should tear this up, but of course I don’t. I tuck it in my purse and thank my lucky stars that Kyra isn’t here to see. Well perhaps that’s not due to
lucky
stars. If I were lucky, she’d be here to protect me from my own lovesick heart.

At work, the executive producer calls us all together for a meeting first thing. “The ratings for the pilot are in,” he says, “and remember this was before we made the decision to go a different direction with the show.”

He looks at me then away.

“Just over a million viewers. We’ll have to see what happens as we progress.”

I cringe. A million viewers isn’t bad, per se, but given how the network built
Clues
up as its flagship show, it’s not as high as they would have hoped. Those numbers need to rise.

I go to my trailer and take out my note from Devon.
Throw it away,
I tell myself.

I put his address in my smartphone and map the route.