TMI (14 page)

They shuffled off the train with sore legs and rumbling stomachs. Bailey's grandfather waited at the train station.

“Hello, sweet girl!” Mr. Grant opened the car door and held out his arms. Bailey ran into his hug.

“Gramps.” She pecked his cheek.

“We ordered pizza. Plenty for all.”

Meg shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Um…are you sure?”

“Megan, there's always enough for you. You too, Chase.” Gramps waved their objections away.

Bailey relaxed when she saw Meg exchange grins with Chase and figured she'd stop worrying about imposing because it was obviously a group thing now. Bailey called shotgun, forcing Meg and Chase to share the backseat of the car.

“Thanks, Mr. Grant,” Chase said.

“How was the museum?”

“Excellent!” Meg said, and then she launched into a floor-by-floor account of all they'd seen.

Chase watched her with a funny little smile, but Meg didn't notice. The ride from the train station to the house didn't take that long with Meg chattering away. It was nice to see. Chase was totally charmed, hanging on every word. When Gramps pulled into their driveway, Bailey grinned at Chase.

“What?”

She shrugged. “It's good to see her excited, right?”

But Chase frowned and looked away.

“Where's Mom?” Bailey asked Gran when they were seated around the old dining room table Gran and Gramps bought when they'd gotten married.

“Upstairs in her room. She said she's not hungry,” Gran raised her eyebrows at Bailey. “She's upset about something.”

Bailey's posture snapped rod straight. She bit into her pizza, saying nothing.

They finished the meal, with Meg still talking about the amazing art, the color, the texture, the juxtaposition—whatever that meant. Bailey just smiled and nodded and said little until Gran started clearing the table and Gramps went back to his favorite chair.

“Bay,” Meg said and nudged her with her elbow. “What's the matter?”

Bailey lifted a shoulder. “My mom's mad at me.” And because that wasn't news, she quickly added, “I mean
super
mad at me.” When Meg merely raised her eyebrows, she sighed. “She found out about the yearbook site.”

Meg gasped, and Chase's eyes swung from one to the other. “What? What happened?” he asked.

“I'm trying to find my dad. I registered as my mom for that classmates site, the one where all the yearbooks are posted. I figured I could find him myself. But she found out.”

Meg reached over, squeezed her hand. “Bay, I'm so sorry. Did she cut you off?”

Bailey shifted, traced a finger over the pattern on the tablecloth. “No,” she admitted.

Chase angled his head. “Does that mean she's letting you keep the account?”

“Definitely not.” Bailey rolled her eyes. “She was really mad. She tried to forbid me to look for him, but I told her I wasn't four anymore.”

Meg breathed out a loud sigh. “Bailey, maybe you should give this a rest if it upsets her that much.”

She'd thought about it. She'd thought about it for hours after her mother left her room. She dropped her head, scooped both hands through her hair, and finally lifted misty eyes to Meg's. “I can't. I'm so close, Megan. I just have to find him. Ryder's helping too.”

Meg opened her mouth but then closed it, and Bailey let out a sigh of relief.

“But why?” Chase asked. “What do you think's gonna change if you do?”

Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Wasn't that the point? To find out? Frowning, she lifted her hands, tried to find the right words. “It's like trying to play a game without knowing the rules. I have all these questions and—” She gave up. She just had to know—that's all. “She said I was just like him.”

Meg propped an elbow on the table, cupped her chin. “How?”

“She said he was always laughing, always trying to have fun. Just like me. It's what she loved most about him.” She smiled. It now made her happy, even though her mother had fired it out like an insult.

“Bay, that's great. That's something you never knew and she told you. Why don't you meet her halfway and just maybe give it some more time?”

“I don't know. Maybe,” she hedged. It was so hard to talk about, hard to find the words. Even though Meg's dad died, at least Meg and Chase knew their fathers. All she had was a great big black hole. How does anybody ever figure out who they're going to be when they don't know who they came from?

“Bailey,” Meg began and then swallowed. “God, this is hard.” She took a deep breath. “I wish I never knew. He was my dad, and I loved him. I miss him every day, but Bailey, I swear to you…I wish I never knew.”

Bailey's hand fell to the table with a loud smack. “Then why the hell are you so determined to be just like him?”

Meg flinched, stared at her with huge wounded eyes, and finally shoved back from the table.

“Meg, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.”

But Meg was already at the door.

Chase sighed and patted Bailey's shoulder. “I'll talk to her. Thanks for the pizza.”

She managed a sad smile when he trailed after Meg and put her head in her hands.

Meg hurried out of the house before her tears drowned her. She hadn't touched the last step off the porch before Chase called her.

“Megan, wait!”

Meg huddled deeper into her hoodie and kept walking, frustration adding a strut to her stride.
Why, why did Bailey say that?

“Leave me alone, Chase.”

“No! What the hell happened back there?”

Meg pressed her lips together and Chase cursed.

“Okay, I get that you and Bailey have secrets, but what she said hit you hard. I can see it. Tell me why.”

Meg whipped around. “I
can't
. Don't you get that?”

But of course, he didn't.

“Well, explain it to me then!” He grabbed her by the arms, held her in place to glare at her with glittering eyes.

The breath stuck in her chest while Meg stared up at him. The Want, oh, God, it was back. It whispered in her ear that one kiss hadn't killed her, so why not take another? The last time he'd been this close to her, she wondered when he'd gotten so tall…so strong. His hands on her pulled her closer, his grip tightening almost painfully. His eyes lowered to her mouth and darkened as he pulled her even closer. Meg didn't want to stop him.

But she would.

She had to.

She took a step back. Stopped looking into his charmed eyes. That was the key—never look him in the eyes. Chase-charmed. She might have laughed if her heart didn't hurt so much.

“Stop it, Megan!” Chase raked his hands through his hair and then closed the gap between them to get in her face. “Just stop. You want me. I know you do. So why the hell aren't you with me?”

She stepped around him, strode to the opposite side of the street. “It's not that simple, Chase.”

“Oh, it's
exactly
that simple.” He sprinted and caught her by the elbow, spun her around to grab her shoulders. “Just tell me why. Why am I not good enough for you?” He shouted, gave her a little shake. “Do you want Simon's millions?” His face changed into something else—something mean and foul. “Or maybe you want Ryder. You like Bailey's guy, don't you? All that concern and worry, that was just a show, right? You want
him
so you can talk art.”

Shock dropped her jaw. Anger reddened her vision. But it was pure fury that brought her hands up to shove him.

They stood on the street glaring at each other. He tugged down his hoodie and drew himself up to his full height. He raised wounded green eyes to hers and shook his head.

“Here.” He tossed a brochure at her. She fumbled and it fell to the ground. “I saw this at the museum and grabbed it for you because I thought—” Abruptly, he snapped his teeth together. “Forget it. It doesn't matter what I thought. I'm done, Megan.” He shook his head again. “I'm…I've given you time and space and…and—all the patience I could squeeze out, but
shit!
It's not enough. It's never enough.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You said you're scared, but you won't tell me why. You tell me you're worried about Bailey, but you won't tell me why. For God's sake, I see you stabbing a picture of your own father, but you still won't tell me why. I'm sick of it, Meg. Don't you understand? Don't you get it yet? I love you!”

A car went by. The beam from its headlights caught Chase straight on. “Fuck,” he muttered and turned away.

Too stunned to say anything, Meg watched him take two steps before he spun back to shout in her face.

“Maybe you don't feel the same way, but I know you feel something. I know it! Call me when you can face it without freaking out.” He turned and stalked away. This time, he did not look back.

Meg let him go.

It was what she wanted. She told herself that over and over, but watching him walk away cut a hole through her as big as the one her father had left. She bent to pick up the brochure he'd thrown at her.

The Cooper Union.

She ran down the street and up the path to her dark and empty house and then went up the stairs to her dark and empty room. She flung herself on her bed, the brochure gripped tightly in her hand, and let the tears drown her.

I
love
you
, he'd said.

I
love
you.
That was never supposed to happen.

I
love
you.
She'd done everything possible to ensure her life had no room for love. She never wanted the mess. The pain. And yet—

Yet, her life was a painful mess. She'd stayed away, stayed uninvolved. But he loved her anyway, and damn if that didn't change everything. She folded up and sobbed, pounded a fist into the pillow. How had she so thoroughly screwed up everything? She grabbed the pillow, curled around it, and cried for what might have been. Her hand brushed the paper she kept under it—Chase's sketch.

Pain speared her, and she had her phone out, seconds away from calling him and begging his forgiveness when sanity managed to claw its way to the top of her tortured mind. It buzzed once—a text from Mom. She didn't bother to read it.

This was what she'd wanted. She hadn't wanted to hurt Chase. Never that. But she'd decided on her future and that included career goals and never having to answer to anyone or be responsible for anyone but herself. She would never be a burden on him as she'd been to her mother…and to her father before he'd checked out.

And Bailey knew all that. Knew it and still made her question why.

Bailey pouted in her room. She was so angry at Meg and her mom and even Ryder, and then she was sad for being angry and angry for being sad, and she didn't know what she felt anymore, and that just mad her madder. She typed a terse message and clicked Send.

Bailey:
Hey, what's up?

She waited, not patiently, for Ryder to text back.

Ryder:
I got into it with my aunt. It was like she was just waiting for me to screw up so she could attack. I can't stand living here.

Bailey nibbled a fingernail.

Bailey:
Can I call you so we can talk? You're upset, and texting makes it hard to comfort you.

There was no delay for his next message.

Ryder:
No! If she hears me on the phone, she'll take it away. UR already comforting me.

She sighed, wished she could be there with him, that they could go someplace together to be alone and thanked God Meg couldn't hear that thought because she'd never hear the end of it.

Bailey:
What about Facebook? Can we chat? That's easier than texting.

She powered up her computer, opened an Internet browser window, and logged in. Ryder was already online, waiting.

Bailey's heart flipped over at that. Meg's wouldn't. Meg's heart would have rolled its beady little eyes and said “Yeah, right.”

He needed her. Bailey swooned. Oh, God, he needed her. She quickly thought of a neutral meeting area because even though Meg was being way too prissy about this, even Chase had told her to be careful and she'd promised she would.

Before Bailey could type her next message, Ryder pinged again.

Meg was texting Ryder? Bailey's eyes narrowed to slits.

Was that so?

Ryder did not reply. Bailey picked up her phone, but she didn't want to leave Ryder hanging.

Bailey groaned. Of course Meg would be ranting.

Bailey froze. Her blood went cold, and she wasn't sure but thought it was possible she'd passed out for a moment. She rubbed her eyes and read Ryder's last message again. There was no mistake. Meg had told him something she'd promised, something she'd
vowed
she'd never talk about. With hands that shook, she typed her reply.

Her face flamed. How could she ever face Ryder after this? It's not like she purposely walked up to her teacher and threw up on her. She'd had the flu! She hadn't wanted to go to school, but Nicole made her go. And by the time she'd gotten there, she was shivery, achy, and her stomach was screaming. She'd tried, she'd really tried to be brave and strong, and when she couldn't stand the rumble in her belly another minute, she went to the teacher, intending only to ask permission to see the nurse. Instead, her last meal had come up the second she'd opened her mouth. Everybody laughed and pointed and made
eww
noises, and she'd wished she was dead. Unfortunately, she'd recovered and had gone back to school a few days later.

Annoyed and embarrassed all over again, Bailey grabbed her cell phone and tapped out a quick message to Meg.

Bailey:
WTF? I like this boy. I REALLY like him. Why would you tell him I threw up all over Miss Monroe? I'm sorry I keep forgetting our plans, but if you ruin this for me, I'll never speak to you again.

Bailey closed her phone with a snap and typed another message.

Bailey stood up so fast that she jostled her desk and everything on it. With her hands clenched into fists and her chest heaving, she tried to form a plan, but each of her ideas involved tearing out Meg's silky straight hair strand by strand. What was
wrong
with her? She'd told her how much she liked Ryder. She'd even told her she'd never speak to her again.

A thought struck her with such clarity that Bailey stilled. All that pouting, all those times Meg pounced on Ryder's broken promises, their arguments—of course! She should have seen it. Meg was jealous.

But why? Why would she be jealous when she keeps warning her Ryder could be a serial pedophile? And Meg had backed off after she'd texted Ryder herself. Why? Oh, Bailey pressed both hands to her gaping mouth when the answer kicked her in the head. It was art. It had to be the art. Ryder knew a lot about art. Better, he even
liked
it. Meg said herself Chase thought
The Scream
guy was just a movie producer. Bailey never knew
Scream
had been anything but a movie either. But to Meg, it was like this huge deal.

The more she considered the possibility, the more likely it became. Her chest hurt. It was hard to breathe. She rubbed the ache, but it didn't help. All this time, she'd believed—really believed—that Meg was just worried about her safety. But that wasn't true.

Meg wanted Ryder.

Meg was trying to steal Ryder from her. Bailey wrapped her arms around her middle and tried not to throw up. It explained everything. And now she thought by telling him her most embarrassing moments, she was just going to hide? So not happening.

Bailey's mouth twisted. Meg wanted to tell stories? Awesome! Bailey had a bunch to tell.

“Ha!” Bailey laughed out loud and grabbed the mouse. She clicked the link to Ryder's Facebook Wall and then changed her mind. On her own Wall, she posted something she was certain would make Meg curl up and die.

Hey, Meg! Remember that time in first grade when you wet your pants and had to wear a pair of underwear Mrs. Nichols kept in her desk? Too bad they were boys' underwear though. Do you still have them?

Laughing quietly, she added a link to a potty-training website and sat back while her Wall filled with comments. The computer pinged.

Bailey crossed her arms and nodded at Ryder's last message. Meg had gone too far this time, and Bailey wasn't taking it anymore.

What
? No! Bailey waited for another message, but no more came. She even texted Ryder an apology from her phone, but he never replied. Bailey flung herself to her bed with a curse. Damn it! It wasn't fair. Things had been going so well. Ryder was sweet and funny and really liked her, really understood her, and Meg had to go and ruin everything again.