Weekend slips away and before I know it, it’s Monday morning. Time to start a whole new week.

I worked both days of the weekend, but when I wasn’t studying for school, I was studying for my pet project—my Carter Mahoney project. I did more and more research online, trying to peg him. It’s useless to try to understand his actions separate from him, so I’ve made understanding him my mission. A tricky project with perilous research that I can’t conduct easily, but at least research is something I’m comfortable with.

Given a sense of purpose, I find it much easier to get through the days. No longer a numb bundle of feelings wrapped up in a blanket without the ability to feel safe anymore, now I am a woman on a mission. Now, I have an objective. Once I have achieved that objective, I can let this whole thing go and move on with my life.

I don’t even see Carter until history class today, and he doesn’t get to class until seconds before the bell, so there’s no chance for interaction until afterward.

And of course, because I’m curious, he pays no attention to me whatsoever and leaves class talking to his friends instead of harassing me.

Tuesday morning I show up to a renewed chorus of “Zoey the ho” chants, and Carter is right there at the center of the asshats doing the chanting. He doesn’t add to the noise, but he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me hear it. He looks like a king holding court, and his subjects are all assholes.

Definitely not going to approach him when he has an audience to perform in front of. I might be curious about Carter, but I’m still sensible enough to be wary of him. Whatever he’s like with me when we’re alone, I know he won’t be the same person in front of them, and I have no interest whatsoever in their Carter.

Since I caught his attention on the way in the building today, after history class, Carter falls into step beside me as I’m leaving.

“Missed you at the game,” he remarks, like we’ve lost no time.

Glancing over at him as I hug my books against my chest, I remind him, “I told you I wouldn’t be there.”

He shrugs casually. “Could have changed your mind.”

“No offense, but I honestly could not care less about football. I know that’s a sacrilege in this town, but it’s not my thing.”

“Your friend Grace was there,” he states.

I didn’t even think he knew Grace’s name, and the way he says that, like he knows it will unsettle me… well, it does unsettle me. It sends chills of caution dancing across the nape of my neck.

He probably wants a reaction, so I don’t give him one. “I don’t go everywhere my friends go; I’m not you.”

His tone is amused, and as he speaks, he reaches his arm out and drapes it around my shoulder. “Yeah, you have a mind of your own, don’t you, princess?”

It shouldn’t be an accusation, but I know it keeps me from fitting in with my peers, even some family members, so it feels a little like one. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

“I like that,” he tells me casually enough, but it feels real. “I like smart girls who navigate their own paths instead of following everyone else’s. You strike me as that sort of girl.”

Excitement shouldn’t jump within me, but he just gave me a free puzzle piece, and I grab it up with greedy hands. “Yeah?” I ask, with genuine curiosity. “Do you know many women like that?”

He nods his head, and I begin making mental notes. Doesn’t look down on/disdain all women. “My older sister is sharp as a tack. You’d like her.”

“What about your mom?”

His lips curve up faintly, but he doesn’t respond. “I just answered a question, didn’t I? Your turn. Give me something about you.”

“I don’t know what you’re lookin’ for. What I like in a woman?” I ask lightly.

“Hey, if you roll that way, I am all ears.”

I know he’s joking, but I answer him anyway. “I don’t. I mean, girls are pretty, but I seldom have to resist the urge to corner them in classrooms and grope them against their will, so… I’m probably not that into them.”

“Is that the barometer?” he asks, amused.

“Seems to be.” My heart speeds up, but this is such a perfect opening to ask the one question I need an answer to, I don’t see how I can resist. Shoving down my doubts, I ask, “Have you… have you ever done that before? To anyone else, I mean? Before me?”

Predictably, he falls silent. His arm feels heavier around my shoulder, but he doesn’t move it. When he doesn’t want to answer a question, I notice he ignores it. I expect him to change the subject altogether, but instead he asks, “Why do you want to know?”

My pounding heart tells me I should stop, that I should break away, cut my losses, and flee his company. My gut tells me maybe giving him something real is the way to go. I go with my gut. “I… I can’t help wondering if my silence is endangering other girls. Telling isn’t just about consequences for the sake of myself, for some sense of justice, it’s about correcting the behavior. I assumed when I told on Jake, he would be punished, then if he ever thought about behaving that way again, he would remember the consequences he faced and choose differently. Obviously it didn’t work out that way, but it wasn’t all about satisfying my own ego. It wasn’t just that someone dared wrong me, and my fury had to be sated. It was about more than that. It was about making sure someone more vulnerable than me wasn’t hurt. Maybe someone who… who wouldn’t be able to handle it the way I did.”

I feel stripped bare, having said that to him. My insides are shaking with the vulnerability of exposing myself to a known predator, my gut roiling with dread as I wait for him to strike me when he knows he can land a good hit.

The moment stretches on forever, bile rising in my throat as I wait. When he continues to hold his silence, I finally work up my nerve to look at him, half-expecting him to look amused at my little speech. He doesn’t, though. A small measure of relief courses through me because he looks pensive, the way I must have looked when I was perusing article after article, trying to understand him and his behavior.

“Yo, Mahoney!”

The shout breaks the spell. Carter’s arm falls from my shoulders. We both look up as one of his teammates stalks toward us, nodding at Carter, then looking over at me. His smirk grows when his gaze lands on me.

“Careful, man, you don’t wanna mess around with Zoey the ho. She’ll run and tell her mommy on you for lookin’ at her wrong.”

I stiffen, but tilt my chin up stubbornly. “No, you can look all you want, just don’t touch unless you want a criminal record.” My tone is deceptively sweet, but my eyes are two orbs of blue ice.

He shakes his head at me, his gaze dropping to the most inappropriate parts of my body. “It’s a damn shame someone so fine has to be such a prude.”

“I prefer selective. Tossin’ a ball around with your buddies doesn’t really go the distance in impressing me. Sorry.”

Scoffing, he says, “Tossin’ the ball around with our buddies? We don’t play ball in someone’s backyard, darlin’; we’re champions.”

God, who cares? I’ve talked to jocks enough for one day, and I’m definitely not going to get any more insight into Carter with his bonehead friend here, so it’s time to wrap it up.

“Great. Well, if you’re so impressive, surely there are girls who want your attention, so there’s no need to force it on the ones who don’t,” I point out.

“No one buys your bullshit, Zoey,” he tells me, his blue eyes glowing with contempt. “Parsons has never struggled with the ladies, and frankly I don’t see anything so special about you to make him lose his damn mind.” Advancing a step closer, his voice drops with menace. “We all know you’re just a stuck-up, lyin’ little bitch.”

I swallow, resisting the urge to take a step back. It’s easy to run off at the mouth with these meatheads, but when they bring physicality into the arena, I can no longer compete.

“That’s enough,” Carter says, surprising both of us.

My gaze darts to him, and his friend’s eyebrows rise, but he takes a slow step back. Despite his obedience, he regards Carter with the confusion of a junk yard dog whose owner just commanded he let a thief escape unscathed.

Carter doesn’t explain himself. He moves away from me and nods at his friend as he walks ahead of him, clearly expecting him to fall in line and follow his lead. “Come on, I’m starving. What’d your mom make good for me today, Cartwright?”

His friend smiles, shaking his head. “You’re such an asshole.”

As unimpressed as I am when other girls are struck stupid by the sight of Carter Mahoney, I find myself watching him disappear down the hall, wondering endlessly about why he does everything he does. Why did he let me mouth off like that without joining Cartwright’s side. Why stop Cartwright when he got mean? What just happened doesn’t jive with Carter’s all-important image. I’m the enemy, and Carter let them chant at me just this morning.

I’m so distracted that I don’t even realize Grace sidles up beside me until I hear her voice. “Why were you walkin’ with Carter Mahoney?”

Finally tearing my eyes away from his disappearing figure, I force my feet into motion. “I wasn’t walking with him. We were both leaving class at the same time, that’s all. He’s in my history class.”

“I’m aware of that. But it definitely looked like you two were talking until his friend broke up the party.”

I shrug. “Sometimes when he leaves class and doesn’t have anyone else to talk to, he talks to me.”

“Now that I think about it, I haven’t heard him joinin’ in lately when people are talking crap about you with that lame nickname the jocks used absolutely no brain power to dream up,” she says.

“Right? Zoey the ho is so easy. They could have at least gone with something fun, like harlot or trollop.”

“Harlot is such a fun word,” Grace agrees. “Ho is unimaginative.”

“Yeah, well, they’re not popular for their cunning wit,” I point out.

Glancing over at me, Grace decides to go fishing. “Carter Mahoney is kind of gorgeous. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”

“Ugh.” I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “Don’t do this. Not today, Satan.”

Shrugging innocently, she says, “I’m just saying, he doesn’t follow me out of classrooms talkin’ my ear off. Do you like him?”

“Definitely not. No. He’s… bad news.”

“I can’t disagree with that,” Grace says, hugging her own books as we walk. “I don’t like to gossip, but considering the women he’s known to spend his time with, I’m sure he’s way too fast for you anyway. Romantically, I mean. If you’re just reaching out in a casual, Christian way then no big deal, but he’s definitely not waiting for marriage, I’ll just say that.”

I nearly stop in my tracks, staring with new eyes at my best friend and possible fountain of information. “You know things about Carter’s sex life?”

Heat blossoms on Grace’s cheeks. “It’s not nice to gossip.”

My mind shoots off so many questions, I don’t even know what to ask first. “No, I know. It’s not gossip. I won’t tell anyone else, I promise. Tell me everything you know. Everything. Leave nothin’ out.”

Grace fidgets. “Well, I don’t know all the details. I try to close my ears to that sort of talk.”

Dammit, Grace! Don’t be a goody two shoes right now!

“I do know he generally sleeps with women a lot older than us, though. For the most part, he acts like high school girls are beneath him—not like he hasn’t slept with any, but the only one he kept around for a while was Erika Martin, and that’s probably just because he’s stuck with her in his friend circle so he got pushed into dating her.”

I suppose that sounds feasible. Carter guards his image, and Erika is popular, too. I’m not familiar enough with their dynamics to know how her social power stacks up to his.

“I heard the reason they broke up was because Carter slept with a teacher, and Erika caught them red-handed, makin’ out in her classroom. Remember last year when that pretty redheaded art teacher just disappeared halfway through the term? Rumor was, that’s what happened. Once their affair was found out, she had to resign and leave town quietly before it all blew up into a big legal hoopla. It was crazy too, because she was married, and she and her husband had bought a house from Barbara Lane from church.” Grace shakes her head. “It was a terrible situation.”

“What?” I demand, wide-eyed. “How do I not know these things?”

Grace shrugs. “You’ve never cared about Carter. Why do you think I was so surprised to see you talkin’ to him? Not to make you sound like a snob, but I always thought you were too swept up in your own world to even notice the jocks until this Jake thing happened.”

Why does everyone keep saying that? When the jocks suggest I’m a stuck-up bitch, I’m not surprised, but my own best friend? Grace wouldn’t be mean to me on purpose, so she must really think that.

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of hard not to notice a guy grabbing your breasts,” I mutter.

“I heard Carter dated a stripper once. I bet she wouldn’t have noticed,” Grace jokes.