The Promise of Amazing (28 page)

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. Was she joking with me?

“I know. You do sound passionate about Saint Lucy’s though. You really thought the craft was—”

“Lame.”

“What would you have done instead?”

What got to me the most was how forgotten the residents seemed to be.

“I don’t know, some of them just seemed happy talking, but maybe we could connect them with their families. Write letters. Help them make phone calls or something.”

“The Spirit Club makes monthly visits to Saint Lucy’s. These are voluntary, so you can imagine the turnout. A lot of the students who visit there just do it for the service hours.
You have some interesting ideas, Wren. Maybe you could—”

“I’d like that. A lot better than decorating the hallway too.”

The bell for second period rang, and a flurry of activity—doors opening, footfalls, chatter—went on outside the door. Mrs. Fiore grabbed a pink pad. She signed the top sheet with a flourish, peeled it off, and handed it to me. It was a note letting my second-period teacher know why I was late. I grabbed my books and stood up, ready to leave.

“Wren, wait,” she said. “Thanks for commenting on my speech. I never realized . . . how that might have sounded. Nice to know someone was listening.”

Was I actually having a friendly conversation with Mrs. Fiore? I wasn’t overthinking or worrying about what I said before I said it. We may not be giving each other mani-pedis anytime soon, but it was a start.

“Thanks for not giving me detention, Mrs. Fiore.”

The hallway was mostly empty. A few stragglers scurried as the warning bell for second period sounded. The good feelings from my momentary victory with Mrs. Fiore faded. This incident had Ava written all over it. But why wouldn’t she just confront me? I wondered what Luke had told her about what she saw—probably twisting it around to where I forced myself on him. I wondered if some holier-than-thou guidance counselor was torturing Luke for his behavior. Probably not.

I sat through my next two classes, barely absorbing the lessons, hoping for the opportunity to question Ava before
Honors Lit began, but she slipped into her seat as the bell rang, not even a glance in my direction. At lunch I stormed into the cafeteria on a mission, barely dropping my books with Mads and Jazz.

“Wren?” Mads called after me.

Ava, flanked by her usual posse of worshippers, was placing a supermarket bento box of sushi on the table as I approached. Darby Greene tapped her shoulder and whispered something. An uncomfortable couple of seconds passed where no one seemed to think it was necessary to acknowledge my presence. Ava finally looked up as she slipped the chopsticks out of their red wrapper. Her eyes zeroed in on the blue streaks in my hair.

“Nice hair. What, did you do a Smurf over the weekend?”

Oh, how I wanted to smash a California roll up her nose. Darby raised her eyebrows and took a slow sip of her Diet Coke, daring me to strike back at Ava. Jazz and Mads were suddenly next to me. Their support fueled my fire.

“No, I did Luke Dobson,” I said, letting his name roll slowly off my tongue. “And you know, you’re right, he
can
do some pretty amazing things with his mouth.”

Jazz gasped. Ava froze, chopsticks poised.

“Nice one,” Mads whispered.

“So can we talk now?” I asked.

Ava tossed the chopsticks on the table. She stood up with such force, the green plastic caf chair fell behind her, startling
a girl at the next table, who hopped up when it hit the floor.

“Let’s go.” She barreled past me.

I followed Ava as she pushed through the swinging doors into the empty locker bay next to the caf. The deep bellow of someone practicing tuba echoed from the music room. Ava faced me, her eyes sharp.

“So, what?” she asked.

“Why did you tell Fiore I hooked up with Luke?”

She crossed her arms and stared at me, not giving an inch.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t do it. You were the one who walked in on us in the kitchen.”

Her nostrils flared, her eyes calculating and cold. “Us? There is no ‘us’ when it comes to you and Luke. If you think for one minute he enjoyed that . . . pathetic.”

“Didn’t feel that way when he kissed me.”

She nibbled her bottom lip fiercely. I stood firm, hands on hips, waiting for a response. We held each other’s glare, neither daring to blink. Finally Ava grunted a smug-sounding
humph.

“Wren, I’m sure you’ve enjoyed your tour of A-listdom, but it’s over. So just drop it and go back to your nonexistent, sad, little social life.”

“A-listdom? What are we, twelve?” I countered. “If your
gravitating
with Luke is what you call A-list, then fine, count me out. The way you two treat each other? What kind of relationship is that? At least I know I have real friends.”

“I’m talking about Andy’s party and the laughable pairing of you and Grayson Barrett. You do realize that’s the only reason Luke was even talking to you, right? You think it was an accident the seat next to him on the bus was empty? Or that I even wanted you there as co-coordinator? You’ve been played, Wren.
Played.
Let me guess, you and Grayson broke up? Imagine that.”

The meaning of what she’d said made my breath catch in my throat. Her mouth curled into a victorious smirk. Saturday played in reverse through my mind. The kiss. The empty seat on the bus. The way Luke had been there when I’d arrived that morning for the St. Lucy trip, joking with me. Had it really reached as far back as Ava inviting me to lunch in Mrs. Fiore’s office?

Still . . . I’d seen her face when she’d walked in on us, and her reaction just before in the cafeteria. Ava had many talents, but she wasn’t
that
good of an actress. No matter what hurtful crap came out of her mouth, I realized how much of a sore point it was for her that Luke had kissed me.

“So Luke’s offer of a revenge hookup was just something he did because he was playing me? I guess his texts over the weekend were about playing me too. And I bet he got my cell number from you, because I didn’t give it to him. Sounds like you’re being played too, Ava.”

“I’m done with you,” she said, shaking her head and walking away. She turned back sharply, jutting out her hip, and
continued, “Where do you even come off saying that to me?”

“Just wondering if you really know him.”

“Because you do? Please. How well do you know Grayson? Guess you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“I know Grayson really well, and this stupid little drama you created did nothing to change that, Ava. We’re closer than ever. So make sure you tell that to Luke. Or maybe I’ll just text him myself.”

I brushed past her, buzzing with anger, and pushed open the doors to the cafeteria. Maddie and Jazz were cleaning up as I approached the table. I sat down, head in my hands. I wondered if Ava knew the truth—the
whole
truth.

“Everything okay?” Mads asked.

Then it hit me. Luke had played Grayson too. He’d known exactly what to say to get under my skin and knew it would lead to our breakup. Why he felt it necessary to go that far, I wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just sadistic.

The one person who could understand what was going on was Grayson. I’d told myself I’d wait until things cooled down to contact him, but I didn’t want to wait anymore. Besides, I hadn’t told him what had happened at St. Lucy’s. What if Luke said something to him first? I had the sudden, overwhelming urge to speak to him.

“Jazz, you need to cover for me in Chem last period.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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TWENTY-TWO

GRAYSON

I WAS A ZOMBIE
.

Not the flesh-hungry, decimating-the-world, take-’em-out-with-an-AK-47 type of zombie.

I was a walking void in a skin suit.

I could not stop thinking about Wren or the way she’d run from me on Saturday. There were no corners of my mind to hide away in. No thrash punk angry enough to pound away my troubles on the drums. Nothing but the raw pain I felt any time I thought about what a colossal screw-up our short-lived relationship had become.

My mother’s house had been . . . comforting. Playing with Ryder and Grier managed to occupy my mind, made me feel like things weren’t dire. I was their
awesome big brother
. Wren helped me see that. Laird apologized for the way Cooper had
put me on the spot at Thanksgiving. We even spoke about what strings he could pull at Columbia for me. It was a reach at this point, but it was something to focus on. It was the first time I was almost bummed to leave their house.

The ride home was torture. Going home to more silence was a depressing option, so I went to Andy’s, just to see if he or anyone else knew what Luke had done . . . or what he was planning to do. I’d found Andy, stoned and strumming his guitar alone in the basement. Luke had already filled him in on what had happened earlier in the day.

“Are you expecting him anytime soon?” I asked, not wanting to run into him just yet for fear I’d ram his head into the bar.

Andy shrugged. “Didn’t say.”

“Why is it so important I’m still a part of this?”

Andy stopped strumming and looked at me with glazed eyes. “Dude, I don’t know. I say we just cut our losses and throw an epic party with the money. But you know Luke. He wants things to be like they were before you got kicked out, and when he wants something . . . he’s a prick till he gets it. No one’s allowed to be happy if he isn’t.”

Even stoned, Andy nailed the situation.

School on Monday offered relief. At least I could lose myself in velocity and acceleration. Problems my mind could plug into and figure out instead of brooding over Wren. When school was over, the screw-up reel in my head played again.
Could I catch Wren at Sacred Heart? Should I even bother? Why couldn’t there be some theorem to help me with that?

I shuffled along with the rest of the Bergen Point inmates as we spilled out onto the gum-stained pavement. The day was bright but colorless, like living in a silent movie. I dug into my pocket and grabbed my keys, debating where to go instead of heading home to stare at my ceiling. In the middle of the crosswalk, I stopped short, sure I was hallucinating the figure leaning against my bumper.

The crowd continued past me. Some guy knocked into me and mumbled, “Douche.” The crossing guard blew her whistle with the ferocity of a football referee and motioned for me to get onto the sidewalk. The hallucination was still there.

She stood out against the colorless day, improbable and beautiful. A wildflower in winter sprung up from a crack in the concrete. I inched my way closer and kept my eyes on hers, as if one wrong move or thought would make her evaporate. She lowered her gaze and bit her lip. So many feelings rushed through me . . . relief, fear, love . . . Wren being there meant something. Good or bad, I wasn’t sure.

“I almost gave up,” she said. “I walked through the parking lot twice, looking for your car, and figured maybe I missed you, so I walked up this block to head to the bus, and I found it, and . . .”

“Here you are.”

“Grayson, I still don’t know how I feel about the other day.
It’s just what you told me? The whole morning . . . the fight? It was a lot to take in.”

“A complete mindfuck,” I said.

She laughed. “I guess you could call it that.”

I leaned next to her on the bumper, dropping my backpack at my feet.

“I never meant for you to find out like that.”

“You never meant for me to find out.”

What could I say?

“Grayson, I get it. There never would have been a good time. . . . But I guess I’m glad I know.”

“Really?”

“Not sure,” she said, chuckling. Adjusting her position she faced me, hip against the bumper, and tucked some hair behind her ear. The blue hair suited her. I had to stop myself from touching it. The first move needed to be hers. She dug into her coat pocket.

“Here—I’ve been carrying this around since the weekend,” she said, the necklace dangling from her fingers. “I can’t keep it. Obviously.”

I grabbed the physical reminder of just how royally I messed up and shoved it into my own pocket to deal with later. “Giving you that necklace was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Nah . . . taking me skating was a pretty bad move, considering how terrible you are on the ice,” she said, tugging the open collar of my jacket. I turned toward her.

“Wren . . . the only thing I could think about all weekend was that look on your face when you left . . . how much I hurt you. I’m so sorry. I know what I did was wrong, all of it, and I wish I could change everything. You deserve better than this. I don’t expect you to just . . . trust me . . . but that’s not me anymore. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“I know that,” she said, moving closer to me.

“Being with you is all I want,” I whispered. “Forgive me, please.” My forehead grazed the top of her head. I took in the summery scent of her hair and allowed myself to feel the barest hint of a hope.

“I do,” she whispered, bringing her face up to mine.

Our lips touched, lightly at first. When I was sure she wasn’t going to pull away, I wrapped my arms around her, felt her arms snake around me.

“Sacred Heart girls—easy access!” someone yelled.

Wren laughed into my mouth and stepped back to take in the mob scene herding up the street.

“I’m not a very good Sacred Heart rep.”

“Yeah, you are,” I said, running my fingers through the blue part of her hair.

Wren folded her arms across her chest and winced.

“Grayson, I never told you my side of Saturday.”

“You have a side?”

“Why don’t we go somewhere warmer to talk?”

Somewhere warmer was a booth in the back of our diner. Coffee for me, cocoa for Wren, and a huge slab of the World’s Best Boston Cream Pie to share.

We sat side by side, shoulders touching. She hadn’t said a word on the ride over. The miracle of her being there with me, of even talking to me, still hadn’t worn itself out, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it. I took a forkful of pie and held it up for her. She opened her mouth, sliding her lips across the fork and grinning as she tasted it—an unintentionally sexy move that left me wishing we were somewhere more private.