Mallory Lockhart was thirty-seven. Her relationship was complicated, and she was an ads manager at West Coarse Technology. She had brown hair, a heart-shaped face, hazel eyes set a little too close together behind wire-rimmed glasses, perfectly trimmed and arched eyebrows, and a petite and compact body.
Her bachelor’s degree was from West Scottridge University.
She’d shared five puppy memes over the last day, three sarcastic quote memes over the last week, and she had more than two thousand social media friends.
She’d recently gotten a golden retriever named Bugsy, and she was “excited to have her new pup for a new chapter in her life.”
I leaned forward to see the timestamp on that last post. It was four days ago, posted at 7:03 in the evening. I scrolled through the comments.
“Love you!! So proud of you.”
“Big hugs, babe xoxo”
“Can’t wait to meet Bugsy!”
“Adorable! Yay!” (insert a gif of a puppy tearing up a pillow and then falling backward off of a couch.)
Heart emoticon heart emoticon heart emoticon heart emoticon
“Wonderful to hear. So happy for you.”
I stopped reading them. Apparently, all her friends were ecstatic for her. I wanted to piss on each one of them.
Fuck them. Fuck her. Fuck my dad. Fuck them all.
That “new chapter” wasn’t just about a dog. I bet they didn’t know that. Maybe I should educate each one.
“Are you still cyberstalking her?” Cora asked as she dropped into the seat next to me in our school library.
Still. I almost laughed at that, but rage had been a firm friend since last night.
I hadn’t slept after Ryan and I went back to my room. He had, but I couldn’t. I went right to the computer and got all the information on my dad’s mistress. I knew her mailing address and her birthday. I had figured out her family members. I knew where she had gone to high school and college. And Google had helped me guess at her annual income.
But none of that told me why.
Why my dad? Did she pursue him? Did he seek her out? How did they meet in the first place? A joint project? Did she work with him on projects? Had they started flirting at the water fountain? Coffee hut, maybe?
I hated her.
I didn’t know her, but I hated her.
I looked over at Cora. I’d given Ryan the task of questioning his parents about Mallory Homewrecker Lockhart, but I needed someone as crazy as I was with the stalking skills.
“I want to drive to her house and slice her tires,” I told her. “No, no, I want to drive to her house, ring the doorbell, and make her as uncomfortable as she’s made my family hell.” Which would be a lot.
I didn’t need Willow to call me out. I was projecting everything onto this mistress, and I knew it.
I didn’t care.
My dad was grieving. He was supposed to go to my mom for that.
Pot meet kettle.
Okay. I heard Willow there. Our family sucked all around at comforting each other, except that my mom had actually decided to be a mother. She went above and beyond. I got a text saying the visit to Robbie had been postponed and she knew I’d talked to my father. She promised to speak to me later because she knew I would have questions. And if all that wasn’t enough, she’d called Ryan’s mom.
I was supposed to stay at the Jensens’ for the rest of the week and weekend, but not in Ryan’s bed. I was to go home after school, pack a bag, and Ryan would drive me to his house.
I rolled my eyes when I read that last text. Such a silly (or delusional) mother, acting like I was in third grade and she’d arranged a weeklong sleepover. I’d go over to Ryan’s, but probably not in time for after-school snacks. I’d go when I wanted to go. Sometimes she forgot I’d actually turned eighteen.
I rolled my eyes and clicked on the mad icon under one of Mallory’s posts.
Cora leaned forward and laughed under her breath. “You’re in your sister’s Facebook account. That’s creepy and hilarious at the same time.”
I felt Willow’s pride and shrugged. “She’d think it was awesome.”
Cora looked at me, her gaze lingering, but I ignored it. I kept scrolling through more of Mallory’s posts to put the mad icon on all of them.
“She’ll know it’s you. You know that, right?”
She would, and I grinned. “She can prove it.”
Cora shifted back. “Dude. You look evil right now.”
If she only knew what went on in your head.
I ignored Willow and clicked the mad icon under another post.
“That’s a Pinterest meme on DIY Halloween decorations.”
I kept scrolling. “My dad hates Halloween. She should know that.”
Cora laughed again, but the sound was becoming less amused and more cautious.
I couldn’t be bothered with any of it. I was a madwoman on a mission. If my mom wasn’t going to rage about this whole situation, I was. Willow would’ve been going nuts. She would’ve screamed, demanding answers. She would’ve been on the phone, calling the mistress and our mom at the same time.
She would’ve burned our house down—figuratively . . . I think?
I waited to see if Willow had anything to say, but she was quiet. Come to think of it, she’d been quiet more and more lately.
I’m taking on her personality.
That was why. Willow was living through me, so she didn’t need to—and the bell rang.
Thank the gods. That stopped me from having a whole conversation in my head about why my dead sister wasn’t talking to me anymore . . . in my head.
Cora grabbed her bag and stood. She hugged it against her chest as I clicked out of everything on my computer. “Everyone is going to Patty’s for lunch. Are you going too?”
I grabbed my bag and began walking out of the library. “Who’s everyone?” I asked as we got to the door.
She ducked out behind me. “The guys. Ryan, I think. Erin. Her group.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. The popular people.”
Ah. Popularity.
The stuff normal teenagers cared about.
I glanced over at her, but she wasn’t looking at me. “I’m not popular.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Trust me. You are, even if you don’t know it. You’re with Ryan, and the other girls are scared of you.”
They should be. There were two of me, and one of us could haunt their asses. I snickered at that but didn’t reply. I wasn’t popular, and I didn’t care. I hadn’t cared in Arizona, and that hadn’t changed. Ryan was the only benefit of moving.
I stopped in the middle of the hallway. Some students protested behind us. I ignored them.
Cora had taken a step forward, but she stopped and looked back.
“Is that why you wanted to be with him?” I asked.
Her eyes enlarged, and her mouth made a popping sound. “Uh, what?” She adjusted the bag in front of her, hugging it tighter.
“You want to be popular?” I shook my head. “But aren’t you? You’re friends with those guys. Shouldn’t that make you popular too?”
A strangled squeak left her throat. “This is so embarrassing.”
“Why?”
People were trying to press around us. One guy cursed at us, then saw me and coughed to cover it up. “Sorry. Hey, Mackenzie.” He was gone before I could say anything, but I could see the back of his neck turning red.
“See? DJ Reynolds has no idea who I am. That would not have happened with me.” She pointed in the direction he went.
“No, I’m not. I’m . . .” Damaged. Broken. Half-dead. Having sex—make that I had sex. Once. I was sexually experienced, kind of. “This is not normal me. Trust me. Normal me is not popular. Normal me . . .” I hesitated, but normal me was like Cora. Somewhat.
Everyone likes you, Mac. Get over yourself. You never have to try for anything.
Willow had said to me the day we found out we were moving. I flinched when I remembered.
She had been so wrong. She was the one everyone liked. Even my two best friends had dropped me because they missed her so much. Didn’t she get that? Had she really not gotten that? She was the star.
I looked away. “Normal me was invisible. Trust me.”
I was wrong. I hadn’t been like Cora. She cared the way Willow cared, but Willow had succeeded. She’d thrived with the social hierarchy stuff.
I needed to stop thinking about Willow.
I felt her snort and thought to her, Sorry, but you make me slightly deranged.
Only slightly?
Cora and I needed to get moving. The next bell would ring soon, and I clamped on to her arm. She was watching me with her head tilted to the side, but I wanted to make sure she heard me.
“I lost my sister. My brother moved to a different school, and I found out last night that my dad is leaving our family. If I could switch places with you, I would. I’m not saying you don’t have problems or struggles. Everyone does, but I’m saying rethink what you want. If you want to be popular so much, forget it. It isn’t worth it.”
She looked down, but I heard her say, “It isn’t worth it to you.”
“It isn’t worth it to anyone.”
That would be utopia. If everyone was kind, if everyone was worthy. If there were no hatred, pain, or suffering. If people couldn’t see someone’s skin color, quality of their clothes, where they lived. If nothing mattered except the heart and mind.
I wanted to live in a world like that. I could almost taste it, I wanted it so bad.
I gentled my tone, “If I’m popular, then trust me. I’m miserable. You aren’t. I’ve seen you with the guys.”
The second bell rang.
I was late, but as I turned down the empty hallway, which was thankfully empty, I looked back. Cora hadn’t moved, her back toward me.
Hope fluttered in my chest. It was small, but it was there.
A fourth piece inside me found the other three. They fit the right way.