“I’m worried about you, Morgan.” Mr. Finney frowns at me, taking in my ensemble and my general dishevelment. “You’ve changed so much in a short time.”
“Change isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes a traumatic life event makes us reevaluate our priorities.” I’m quoting a self-help book now, God help me.
“And your priority is skipping school?”
“I was sick. If you don’t believe me, ask our housekeeper.” I’m betting on Mrs. Rhodes being savvy enough to confirm any story I tell. She likes her monthly bonus. “I was so dizzy this morning, but then I remembered scheduling this test, so I threw on the first outfit I found and came to keep my promise, so I didn’t waste your time.”
The teacher sighs like he’s only half convinced by my bullshit, which makes sense. Teenagers have been lying to him for close to twenty years. Yet he finally points at the first lab table. “Since you’re here, go ahead and take the final. You’ll also be performing a random experiment of my choice.”
An hour and a half later, I’m mixing chemicals and hoping for the best. I’m relieved when nothing explodes and I manage to get the reaction I’m going for. Mr. Finney is visibly puzzled; likely he has no idea why Morgan Frost knows this much about science. Her transcript gives no indication that I could tell an alkali from a base. As I hold my breath, he marks my test.
68.
It’s the worst score I’ve ever gotten in science in my life, but considering I learned a year of material in seven days, I’ll take it. Because that’s a passing mark, though barely, and I won’t be going into advanced chem. I’m aiming for physics, so I have the complete gamut of science credits by the time I graduate.
“I didn’t see this coming,” he says, rubbing his jaw.
Happiness goes off in my chest like fireworks. “Does this mean you’ll let me in your physics class?”
“That was the deal. I won’t give you any breaks,” he warns. “You’ve already missed the first month, so it may be tough.”
“I’m prepared for that. Thank you, sir.” Afterward, I realize I’ve spoken to him just as Liv did in the old days.
His chin jerks up and he studies me for a long moment, before finally giving an infinitesimal shake of his head. “See you tomorrow, Miss Frost.”
Though I told Clay he didn’t have to hang around, I know I’ll find him waiting. Sure enough, he’s playing a game of pickup basketball on the outdoor court. He’s shirtless and glistening, going all out against the guy guarding him. I admire his speed and strength for a few minutes, and it’s like he senses me watching him. He turns, scanning for me, which results in him taking a pass to the head, but he shakes it off. With a wave, Clay jogs toward me.
But I can see the moment he remembers that I used to be his brother’s girl and he’s not supposed to want me. The eagerness drains from his stride until his feet are practically dragging. The fact that he doesn’t meet my gaze offers a hint of what’s to come, and I try to brace for it, I do. But no matter how hard you try, getting kicked in the face emotionally always hurts.
Always.
“How’d it go?” He shrugs into his shirt as we walk to the car.
You’d never know he loves me, looking at him now.
“I passed. I’ll be able to change my schedule now.”
“Congrats. I know how important this was to you.” His tone seems ominous, like our relationship is a clock he’s choosing not to wind, so each tick of time brings us closer to that moment when the gears stop forever.
“Thanks for waiting.” That’s not what I want to say.
“It was no trouble. Get in.” He opens the door for me and I hop in the passenger side, knowing this is just a ride to my car.
Lost in thought, he drums the wheel as he drives. I don’t ask what’s on his mind. Though he doesn’t have to work tonight, Clay won’t ask me to stay. I tell myself this is not a big deal, and that I’m not hurt, even when he bags my dirty clothes and gives them to me with a polite smile. The gray plastic crinkles in my hands and I offer a jerky nod of thanks.
Spinning, I nearly run into Nathan, who’s coming in the back. Great, this is all I need today. He stares at me, mouth agape. Finally he says, “I’m pretty sure those clothes are mine.”
“Thanks for letting me borrow them.”
“I don’t remember doing that.”
“You were drunk,” I say, which is both bitchy and probable, given the way Nathan has been acting lately.
Behind me, Clay stifles a laugh. That only pisses Nathan off more, though. He narrows his eyes and grabs the hem of the shirt. “I want this back. Now.”
“Don’t be a dick.” I jerk away and try to step around him. “I’ll return everything after I wash it.”
“Some things don’t rinse clean, rich girl.” Before I can guess what he’s thinking, Nathan turns to his brother with an awful grin. “How are those sloppy seconds working out, bro?”
That’s when the smell hits me. Despite it being five in the afternoon, Nathan is already hammered. But that doesn’t eradicate the horror of what he’s about to do. I lunge for him, trying to shut his mouth, but with drunken limberness, he dodges away, slamming into the opposite counter. Clay glances between us, a frown pleating his brows.
“Guess that means you haven’t told him. Weird, you were so worried about that kiss, but it doesn’t bother you at all to bang my brother after hooking up with me.”
Clay freezes, his face instantly a study in anguish, and then it’s all gone, locked away in some private vault. “You think hurting me will make you feel better? Give it a shot.”
Suddenly I know exactly what to say because I know what Nathan was to Morgan, however he feels about her. “I wish you weren’t like this,” I snap. “Because you were convenient, Nathan. I wanted to punch my V-card, I was about to go to Europe for the summer, and I didn’t want to be an awkward American virgin anymore.
“I chose you to be my first because you were there and I wanted to get it over with. If you weren’t trying to use five minutes of bad sex to hurt your brother, I never would’ve brought it up. For the record, I haven’t banged Clay yet because he matters and if he’s willing, he’ll get a hell of a lot more than five minutes.” By the time I finish, I’m shaking because it feels like I’ve married Morgan’s icy wrath with my own temper and the result is a sort of snow-white rage.
Both Nathan and Clay are staring at me. Then Nathan bolts and I get a furious glare from Clay, who chases after him.
I wait for a minute, ridiculously disappointed. Still, I watch the door; he doesn’t come back. I’m not sure what I expected, but in my heart, maybe I’m hoping that Clay will realize he loves me more than life itself. Why I still have these romantic fantasies, I have no idea. By now I should understand that life doesn’t work that way. It’s often complicated, sad, and inexplicably painful. Sometimes you see old couples holding hands on a park bench but it’s probably not because they still love each other madly after sixty years. Instead, one of them likely has Alzheimer’s and the other is too tired to go looking for a lost spouse again.
That’s the world I live in, where Clay chooses Nathan. Again. Of course he minds that I’ve hurt and humiliated his little bro, even if said brother is kind of a douche. Blood is thicker than water, they say, but the actual quote is, “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.”
Loving me should mean something; it should matter to Clay, and it’s breaking my heart that this is a battle I probably can’t win.