He knew enough that I should just be able to spew the rest out. I mean, Tyler knew about my panic attack, he knew I was trying to talk to my mother because the guidance counselor suggested it, and he knew that everything changed in eighth grade. He was my best friend, and he wanted to help me. An admission from me would most likely not be a surprise in any way. He was just waiting for me to say the words out loud.
The words I just couldn’t.
“It’s just that Foster cheated on me, so I changed. I have to go.”
I bolted out of my seat and ran away before he could even get the word “wait” out of his mouth.
* * *
The next day was date night. My last. I was equally relieved and nervous. I imagined it would be some sort of finale and one final humiliation if Foster had his way. He was probably dead-set on a power play to reverse our positions again.
And there was one more thing I had to do. Besides signing up for a psychologist, I mean.
“Well, this is a surprise.”
I handed Micah a coffee.
He leaned down and whispered, “Thank you.”
The physical sensation played over my nerves.
Skitter, skitter, skitter,
said my synapses. “I owed you one.”
He raised his eyebrows. “If that’s all it takes to find you waiting at my locker in the morning, I am bringing you a mocha every day.”
My gaze found the floor quickly. I sensed him flinch, and he put a little more distance between us.
“Tonight is the last date.” I took a deep breath. “And I decided I’m not going to date anyone else for a while.”
“I see.” His voice was curt. Clipped.
“Do you?” I forced my gaze to meet his. “I’m not sure that you do.”
“Look, if you’re about to give me one of those ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ phrases, do us both a favor and keep it to yourself.”
I moved out of the way so he could open his locker. I started to say, “But—” when he stopped me with a frosty look.
Everything I wanted to say was trite. Nobody wants to hear about staying friends or how nice he is. So I opted to tell him all the things he likely had every right to say to me. I rambled. “I’m an idiot. I know I’m throwing something really great away. You can do so much better than me, and I’m lucky you even gave me the time of day. You’re probably the hottest guy I’ve ever seen up close, and you’d be one hundred times better to me than any other guy in this school.”
He slammed his locker. “You’re right.”
His face was just—he could really turn on the A/C. “It’s not like you led me on—you were always the first person to tell me what a flake you are. I guess you were right.”
I hadn’t led him on. But I hadn’t cut him off even when I knew I should have. I had no business inviting other people’s emotions into my life when I had no idea what to do with my own.
“Can we just talk? Maybe later?” I asked.
“I don’t have a lot to say to you right now.”
What he wasn’t saying sure was stabbing my heart with a pickle fork, though.
“I don’t want you to hate me.”
He shrugged. Like I was wasting my time. He started walking away but stopped and faced me again. “I don’t want to hate you, but I don’t want to like you anymore, either.”
I nodded. I knew exactly how that felt, actually.
“It really isn’t you, Micah.” Hot tears formed in the corners of my eyes. I wished so hard to be another girl at that moment.
He swallowed hard, and the action contrasted with the hard look he’d been trying give me. “Cut me a break, will ya? This is the part where I have to walk away feeling all superior.”
I needed to allow him his dignity, so I nodded my assent and let him get stone cold on me again. “I’m really sorry, Micah.”
He turned away without another word. I felt so heavy. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make my feet move. As I turned, I noticed Foster watching me from down the hall. He actually looked compassionate—which was more than I could deal with right then, so I turned the other way. Making sure to leave plenty of distance from Micah.
* * *
So, the last place I expected to find myself was climbing a fire escape of Building E on the high school campus at eight o’clock in the evening.
But there I was. My last date. Relief mixed with the anxiety, but neither cancelled the other out completely. The pink heart only gave me the time and place, as usual. I wasn’t afraid of heights, but I found the wind a bit disconcerting. And the fear of the unexpected—well, I had that one wrapped in a red bow.
I reached the top rung and slung my messenger back onto the roof. I peered over the ledge cautiously. There was a table set for two, covered in a white tablecloth and set with two silver domed plates, candles, and crystal stemware.
Before I could really process the implications of such a romantic setting, Foster put out his hand and helped me all the way over. “The building is unlocked. You could have just used the stairs.”
I brushed myself off. I don’t know why. It just seemed like one of those things you do when you complete a difficult physical task. “That would have been one of those things you might have mentioned in the—” I was struck dumb. “Oh my God, are you wearing a tux? Foster, why are you wearing a tuxedo?”
He looked amazing. Like, I’d have volunteered to be a Bond girl to his 007, and that is just all kinds of sick and wrong.
He held his arms out and twirled for my perusal. “I look damn good in a tux.”
“So do movie ushers. Why are you dressed up?”
He gestured toward the table. “May I seat you, madam?”
Oh, this was just creepy.
He shuffled me toward the table, pulled out my chair, and called me ‘madam’ again. After pushing my seat in, he poured a glass of sparkling cider.
I really didn’t like the idea of Foster waiting on my date and me like he was some kind of maître d’.
“What is all this?”
“The last one should be special, don’t you think? More memorable than all the rest?”
“I don’t think I’ll forget the dates anytime soon. Plus, I already have a commemorative mug.”
Foster rounded the table and took the other seat.
“What are…? No way.”
He poured himself a flute of sparkling juice too. “It was either me or Elden. We couldn’t feature all the clubs in school and leave out journalism.”
“Is
Alden
still my chaperone?”
He shook his head. “Just you and me tonight.” Belatedly, he asked, “Is that okay?” The look on his face reminded me of the guileless seven-year-old he talked about last week.
I shrugged. “My soul is probably in mortal danger, but whatever.”
“I know.” He removed the dome from my plate. “But I brought you food, so how mad are you really going to get?”
“Did you just say ‘I know’?”
“And then I offered you sustenance. I’m a really nice guy, right?”
Well, the lasagna looked good. It probably tasted good too, but I just pushed it around my plate for a few minutes while we enjoyed an awkward silence.
“I’m sorry that I gave you a hard time about dating Micah. You were right. It isn’t any of my business. He seems like a nice guy.” Foster spoke so quietly, I wasn’t sure if I imagined his voice or not.
“He is a nice guy. I’m not dating Micah. But you already know that because you saw us in the hall today.”
He shrugged. “I suspected.”
Our eyes met each other and it felt like I was standing in a patch of sunlight at night. His words were often harsh, but…
Layney Logan, there are two things in this world you don’t need to question. One is gravity. The other is Layney Logan.
I didn’t know what to do with his words that day. But I think I knew now.
Of course, it had to be Foster. My comic attempts to unburden myself this week should have led me to this moment much sooner, but it was no secret that I was stubborn.
The way he always checked my phone to make sure it was working, hiding in the shadows in case I needed backup, pushing Dean away from me when I felt threatened, the way he kissed me like I was the last thing he wanted but everything he needed.
“I haven’t been able to get you out of my system in ten years.”
My heart raced with the realization of what I was about to do. I planned to emotionally fillet myself, and the rightness of it was as frightening as the act itself.
I closed my eyes to begin, or else…I wouldn’t have. Words. They were just words. They couldn’t hurt me anymore.
“Foster, I was raped.” Okay, I supposed I could have used a smoother segue.
He didn’t reply. I suppose I didn’t really want him to, not yet.
“I’ve never said those words out loud to anyone. I don’t think I’ve even let myself think those words.” I opened my eyes. I guess I’d emotionally filleted him too by the looks of his face. “It was always more like ‘something bad happened,’ even in my head. But it was more than something bad. I was raped.”
Foster looked like someone just put him on a stage in the middle of the play whose script he’d never seen. He loosened his tie. “I had no idea. I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.” I could read his thoughts like he had a teleprompter on his forehead. He looked at the romantic table between us and felt guilty, as if he’d done exactly the wrong thing. “Oh God. The dates… You must fucking hate me. I swear I didn’t know.”
“No, I don’t hate you. It’s okay. It happened a long time ago, really. The dates were fine.”
His gaze intensified. Another thought across his teleprompter. “How long?”
I shook my head. “A long time—”
“Shit.” He pushed back from the table, guilt etching ugly lines into his handsome features. “Layney, when?” But he knew.
I hadn’t meant to shatter him, but it was clear I was breaking his heart all over again. “Eighth grade.”
I might as well have punched him in the gut.
He stalked to the ledge. I didn’t know if I should let him go or follow him. He leaned against the concrete like it was the only thing holding him upright. Then he punched it.
“Foster!”
He held his injured hand close to his chest and collapsed onto the ground, sitting with his back against the ledge. I grabbed the towel wrapped around the bottle of juice and ran to him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he told me.
“Let me see your hand.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m being a total jerk. This isn’t about me. I suck.”
“It’s okay. Let me see your hand.”
I sat on the ground and tended to his scrapes, worried that he’d broken something. The knuckles were already swelling.
“Did they get the guy? The one who hurt you?”
I wrapped the towel around his hand and pulled it into my lap. “He’s dead.”
“What?”
“He was in an accident a few weeks after it happened.”
“So it was somebody you knew? Tell me if you want me to shut up.”
“I knew him. He was my cousin.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone? I mean, you could have told me. You know that, right?”
I started to say something, but he interrupted. “Smooth, Foster. You probably would have if I hadn’t screwed everything up. When you needed me the most, I betrayed you.”
Hearing him say it out loud was like somebody finally pulled the sliver out of my heart. It hurt. It hurt like hell, but it had to be done. Because a person can’t live her whole life not putting any weight on her heart. I’d protected it for so long, I’d forgotten what it felt like to let it do its job.
I brought his injured hand to my cheek, and the tears spilled. And they felt good.
“We were kids, Foster. Neither one of us was equipped to deal with it. I should have told my mother. I know I should have. I tried. And I think I might have finally been ready to when my aunt called. It wouldn’t have done anybody any good by then.”
“But you carried that all alone.” Foster brought his other hand to my cheek too. “You’re so brave.”
“No I’m not. I just hid. That’s not brave.”
“Can you tell me what happened? Do you want to?”
I shuttered my eyes, wanting the shutter out the rest of it too. It seemed too big, too impossible. “We were at Uncle Bob and Aunt Kate’s for the weekly Friday card games. We always stayed over on account of all the gin and tonics. Anyway, my cousin, Robbie, was in high school and too cool to hang out with the ’rents, so it was just me watching movies in the rec room after the adults went to bed. Robbie came home from a party, agitated and strange.”
My lungs still worked the air in and out, my heart kept its beat, but I floated outside of my body and watched from above, going back and forth to the roof and basement family room. Safe and apart from both girls.
“Robbie wanted me to have a drink with him. He still had some of his fifth and didn’t want to waste his buzz. I didn’t want to, but he said…he said…” This was getting harder instead of easier. I steeled my nerves, detaching a little more. “He said I would be safe. That I could trust him. He told me that I should find out how I handled my alcohol someplace where I wasn’t in danger of getting out of control.”
I could smell the booze and remembered the sickly sweetness of the cola coupled with the hot bite of the whiskey. I wanted to retch. Foster held me close, stroking my hair and encouraging me to keep talking.
“I don’t remember much more.”
“One drink?” he asked.
I shook my head. The unbearable part was coming. The unthinkable. “I didn’t even finish it.”
The solidness of Foster tightened around me. “Your cousin roofied you?”
I didn’t answer—I couldn’t. It was too horrible to imagine. What kind of person did that? Who would offer a young girl safety and use her trust to degrade her?
Foster’s breath came out in harsh barks, and I realized he was crying. Or trying not to.
“The next day, he apologized. He said he was just out-of-his-mind drunk. That he couldn’t believe he did that to me. I don’t think he was ever sober again after that. My aunt kept calling my mom. She was so worried about him. He kept disappearing and was high all the time. She was afraid he was killing himself—I think maybe he was.”
“I wish I could kill him.”
I pulled back to look at Foster. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t trust you then. I was so confused. I felt so dirty, Foster. I was afraid you would feel it all over me if you touched me.”