Dad wasn’t better the next day.
Or the day after that.
He went back to work at the end of the week, but I was sure I wasn’t the only one who noticed the hangovers he
took with him. It seemed like there was always beer or whiskey lying around the house now. He was always
passed out on the couch or locked in his room. And he never mentioned it to me. As if I didn’t notice. Was I
supposed to ignore it? Pretend this wasn’t a problem?
I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell him to stop. To tell him he was making a huge mistake. But how? How
does a seventeen-year-old convince her father that she knows what’s best? If I tried to stop him, he might get
defensive. He might think I’d abandoned him, too. He might get angry with me.
Since Dad had stopped drinking before I was born, I didn’t really know much about the whole sobriety process. I
knew that he’d had a sponsor once. Some tall, balding man from Oak Hill that Mom had always sent Christmas
cards to when I was a kid. Dad didn’t talk about him anymore, and I was sure that, even if I tried, I wouldn’t have
been able to locate his number. If I had, what would I say? How did that whole sponsor thing even work?
I felt powerless and useless and, more than anything, ashamed. I knew that, with Mom gone, it was my job to do
something. I just didn’t have a clue what that something was.
So in the weeks after Mom left for Tennessee, I spent most of my time at home avoiding Dad. I’d never really seen
him drunk in my life, so I didn’t know what to expect. All I had to go on were the little bits of conversations I’d
overheard as a kid. He’d been an angry person once. He had a temper. I couldn’t imagine this coming from my
father, but I didn’t want to start anytime soon. So I stayed in my bedroom, and he stayed in his.
I just kept telling myself it would pass. In the meantime, I’d keep his little secret to myself. Lucky for me, Mom was
gullible enough to believe me whenever I told her everything was fine over the phone, despite my less than
awesome acting abilities.
Honestly, I thought hiding my secrets from Casey would be the hardest. She could always see right through me,
after all. I tried avoiding her at first, ignoring her phone calls and making up excuses when she asked me to hang
out. I never called her about that Girls’ Night Out she’d suggested in the bathroom. I was sure she’d bombard me
with questions the second she got me alone, so I always tried to use poor clueless Jessica as a buffer. But within a
week, I got this strange feeling that Casey was steering clear of me.
She called less and less.
She stopped asking if I wanted to go to the Nest on weekends.
She even switched seats with Jeanine at lunch, putting herself all the way across the table—as far away from me
as possible. Once or twice, I even caught her giving me dirty looks.
I wanted to know what the hell her problem was, but I was scared to confront her. I knew that if we actually talked
about it, I wouldn’t be able to keep lying about Dad. Not to her. But it was his secret, his shame, not mine to tell. I
wouldn’t let anyone, not even Casey, find out.
So I had to let her supreme weirdness slide for the time.
Wesley was really the only thing getting me through those weeks. Some part of me was appalled at myself, but
what could I say? I needed that escape—that high—more than ever, and he was always just a short drive away. A
fix three or four times a week was all it took to keep me sane.
God, I was like a fucking druggie. Maybe my sanity was long gone already.
“What would you do without me?” he asked one night. We were tangled in the silky sheets of his gigantic bed. My
heart was still pounding as I came down from the high of what we’d just done, and he wasn’t helping matters by
putting his lips so close to my ear.
“Live a happy, happy life,” I murmured. “I might even be an optimist if you weren’t around.”
“Liar.” He bit my earlobe playfully. “You’d be absolutely miserable. Admit it, Duffy. I’m the wind beneath your wings.”
I bit my lip, but I still couldn’t hold back the laughter—and just as I was finally catching my breath, too. “You just
referenced Bette Midler in bed. I’m starting to question your sexuality, Wesley.”
Wesley looked at me with a defiant glint in his eye. “Oh, really?” He grinned before moving his mouth back to my
ear and whispering, “We both know that my manhood has never been in question. I think you’re just changing the
subject because you know it’s true. I’m the light of your life.”
“You...” I struggled for words as Wesley pressed his mouth into the crook of my neck. The tip of his tongue moved
down to my shoulder and made my brain get all fuzzy. How was I supposed to argue under these conditions? “You
wish. I’m just using you, remember?”
His laughter was muffled against my skin. “That’s amusing,” he said, his lips still grazing my collarbone. “Because
I’m pretty sure your ex is out of town by now.” One of his hands slid between my knees. “Yet you’re still here, aren’t
you?” His fingers began gliding up and down my inner thigh, making it difficult for me to think of a retort. He
seemed to like this, because he laughed again. “I don’t think you hate me, Duffy. I think you like me a lot.”
I squirmed uncontrollably as Wesley’s fingertips danced along the inside of my leg. I wanted so badly to argue, but
he was sending electric currents up my spine.
Finally, when I thought I might explode, his hand moved to my hip and he pulled his mouth away from my shoulder.
“Oh, thank God,” I whispered as he reached for a condom in the nightstand drawer, knowing what came next.
“I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t mind having you around,” he said with that cocky grin. “Now, let me answer all of
those questions you claim to have about my sexuality.”
And my head filled with clouds again.
But I couldn’t deny things were getting way out of hand. It became painfully clear to me one Friday afternoon in
English that something wasn’t right.
Mrs. Perkins was passing out old papers she’d graded and chattering away about some Nora Roberts book she’d
just finished—totally unaware that no one was listening to her—when she stopped at my desk. She gave me this
big, goofy smile, like the smile of a proud grandmother. “Your essay was wonderful,” she whispered to me. “Such
an interesting take on Hester. You and Mr. Rush are an excellent team.” Then she handed me a tan folder and
patted my shoulder.
I opened the folder as she walked away, a little confused about what she’d said. Inside was a paper that I instantly
recognized. Hester’s Escape: An Analysis by Bianca Piper and Wesley Rush . In the top-left corner, Mrs. Perkins
had scribbled our grade in bright red ink. A ninety-eight. An A.
I couldn’t help but beam at the paper. Had it really been only a month and a half since we’d written this in Wesley’s
bedroom? Since the first time we’d slept together? It felt like decades had passed. Millennia even. I looked across
the room at him, and my smile vanished.
He was talking to Louisa Farr. No, not just talking. Talking just involves the vibration of vocal cords, and there was
way more than that going on. His hand was on her knee. Her cheeks were getting red. He was giving her his cute,
cocky grin.
No! Repulsive grin. Since when did I think that display of arrogance was cute? And what was this weird twinge I
felt in my stomach?
I looked away as Louisa started to play with her necklace, a definite sign of flirting.
Whore.
I shook myself, surprised and a little worried. What was wrong with me? Louisa Farr wasn’t a whore. Sure, she
was a preppy cheerleader—cocaptain of the Skinny Squad—but Casey had never had bad things to say about
her. The girl was just talking with a cute guy. We’d all done the same. And it wasn’t as if Wesley was taken or
anything. It wasn’t like he was committed to anyone.
Like me.
Oh God! I thought, realizing what that twinge in my gut must mean. Oh God, I’m jealous. I’m seriously fucking
jealous! Oh, shit!
I decided I was sick. I had a fever or PMS or something was severely impairing my mental stability, because there
was no way in hell I’d be jealous that a man-whore like Wesley was hitting on someone else. I mean, that was his
nature. The world might have actually stopped spinning if Wesley didn’t flirt with poor, naive girls. Why should I be
jealous? That was ridiculous. So I must be sick. I had to be.
“Are you okay, Bianca?” Jessica asked. She swiveled around in her desk to look at me. “You look p.o.’ed. Are you
mad or something?”
“I’m fine.” But my words came out through gritted teeth.
“Okay,” Jessica said. She was just as gullible as my mom. “Listen, Bianca, I really think you should talk to Casey.
She’s kind of upset, and I think you two really need to have a heart-to-heart. Maybe today? After class?”
“Yeah, whatever.” But I wasn’t listening. I was too busy coming up with ways to mutilate Louisa’s perfect little face.
PMS. This was definitely just a bad case of PMS.
I got my ass out of that classroom the second the bell rang. My head would explode if I had to hear Louisa’s girly,
oh-I’m-so-happy-you’re-flirting-with-me-Wesley giggle one more fucking time. So what if she was as thin as my
pinkie and had boobs the size of basketballs! I bet she had an IQ of twenty-seven.
Stop it, I told myself. Louisa has never done anything to me. I have no right to think those things about her+
even if she might be a moron.
I threw my stuff into my locker and ran toward the cafeteria, eager to escape the school building. I was so focused
on not thinking about my PMS-induced jealousy that I didn’t even see Toby until I skidded to a stop about six inches
from him.
“In a hurry?” he asked me.
“Sort of,” I sighed. “Sorry for almost running into you.”
“It’s not a problem.” He nervously played with his glasses. “But do you think you’d mind slowing down the pace? I’d
like to talk to you.”
I wasn’t all that surprised. Toby and I had kind of gotten to be friends over the past couple weeks. We mostly talked
in AP government, but you know, that was a definite improvement. Actually, I’d even become somewhat
comfortable around him. While my heart still fluttered a little when he walked into the room, I no longer worried
about losing my voice.
“Sure.” I said. At least it would give me something else to think about for a few minutes.
He smiled and fell into step with me. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked as we reached the cafeteria, where the
student body congregated, waiting for the final bell that would dismiss them for the afternoon.
“Most of the time. Why?”
“Do you remember when I missed school a few weeks ago? The day after Valentine’s Day?”
“Uh-huh. I believe that was the worst day of Mr. Chaucer’s life,” I said. “I thought the guy was going to cry when he
realized no one was there to do most of his job for him.”
Toby laughed—but only a small laugh—and said, “I was skipping school well, for an interview.” He pulled a large
envelope from the inside of his blazer and whispered, “I applied to Harvard. I just got my letter in the mail this
morning.”
“Why is that a secret?”
His cheeks went pink in the cutest possible way. “I don’t want to be humiliated if I don’t get in,” he said.
“You’ll get in.”
“I don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“I wish I had as much confidence in me as you do.”
“Oh, come on, Toby,” I said seriously. “All great politicians—like senators and presidents—go to awesome
colleges. You’re going to be a great politician, so they have to let you in. Besides, you’re one of the smartest kids
in the senior class. You’re valedictorian, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Toby agreed, frowning at his envelope. “But but it’s Harvard.”
“And you’re Toby.” I shrugged. “Even if you didn’t get in, there are a million other schools that would kill to have you.
That doesn’t matter, though, because I know you got in. Do yourself a favor and open the letter.”
Toby stopped in the middle of the cafeteria and smiled at me. “See,” he said, “this is why I wanted you to be the
one with me when I open it. I knew you’d be—”
I cut him off. “While I’m sure the next few words out of your mouth are going to be incredibly sweet, I’m one hundred
percent aware that you’re stalling. Open the letter, Toby. Even a rejection is better than putting yourself through this
hell. You’ll feel better if you just read it.”
“I know. I—”
“Now.”
He ripped open the envelope, and I realized just how odd this was. He was coming to me with this very personal
thing. For support. For encouragement. Back in January, I never would have imagined commanding Toby Tucker to
open his acceptance letter. I never would have imagined speaking to him, period.
My, oh my, how things can change.
In the best ways possible, of course.
He slid the paper from the torn envelope with shaking fingers and began to read. I watched his eyes scan the page
and widen. Was that joy or heartbreak? Shock, maybe? Surprise that he got in or surprise that he hadn’t?
“Well?”
“I... I was accepted.” Toby dropped the paper and let it float gracefully to the floor. “Bianca, I got in!” He grabbed
me by the shoulders and pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around me.
That was something else I never would have expected to happen back in January.
“I told you that you would,” I said, returning the hug.
Over his shoulder, I spotted Casey and Jessica walking across the cafeteria. They were looking at me as they
moved through the crowd of students; they saw me wrapped in Toby’s arms. But for some reason the expressions
on their faces didn’t mirror the happiness I felt. Jessica looked kind of sad, but Casey well, she looked downright
furious.
Why? What was going on with her? With both of them.
Toby squeezed me before letting go and kneeling down to scoop up his fallen letter. “I can’t believe it. My parents
will never believe it.”
I pulled my eyes away from my friends as they vanished behind a group of freshmen and turned my attention back
to the beaming boy in front of me. “If they know you at all, Toby, they’ll totally believe it,” I said. “We’ve all known that
you’re destined for great things for a long time. I mean, I’ve known for years.”
Toby looked surprised. “Years? But we really didn’t start talking until just a few weeks ago.”
“But we’ve had classes together since we were freshmen,” I reminded him. “We didn’t have to talk for me to know
you were awesome.” I grinned and clapped him on the back. “And you just proved me right.” The bell rang, and I
turned toward the doors that led to the student parking lot. “See you later, Toby. Congratulations!”
“Yeah. Thanks, Bianca.”
As I walked to the double doors, I wondered if I’d said too much. Did I give myself away as a semi-stalker? God, I
hoped not. The last thing I wanted was to scare the poor guy away after less than a month of actual human contact.
That would really make me a loser.
I was about to push open the door that led to the student parking lot when a loud “Ahem” caught my attention. I
turned around and saw Casey leaning against the school’s nearly empty trophy case, her arms crossed over her
chest. The way her eyes were narrowed annoyed me right away.
“What?” I asked.
She scowled and let her arms fall heavily to her sides. “Nothing,” she grumbled. “Forget it!”
“Casey, what are you—?”
“Not now, B.” She turned around and started stomping away from me. “I have cheer practice.”
My hands flew automatically to my hips. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I demanded. “You sound like a total
bitch.”
She stopped and looked over her shoulder at me. “I’m the bitch? You ignore me, and I’m the bitch? WTF, Bianca!”
She shook her head. “Whatever. I’m not having this conversation right now. Not when we were supposed to have it
ten minutes ago, like you told Jess we would. I guess you were too busy hanging all over that geek to—”
“Criticizing Toby sounds pretty damn bitchy to me, Casey,” I snapped. How dare she! She knew I liked him. She
knew that having him pay any attention to me was a big deal! She knew, and yet she was bitching at me for it?
“You’re acting like a preppy cheerleader snob.”
Her eyes flashed, and for a second it looked like she might pounce on me. I seriously thought I was going to get
into an all-out, hair-pulling, reality-show girl fight with my best friend right in front of the parking lot doors.
But she walked away. Not a word. Not even a sound. She just drifted toward the gymnasium, leaving me pissed
and totally confused.
I’d fought with Casey before; it’s bound to happen when you’ve been friends as long as we had. But this argument
really unnerved me, mostly because I didn’t know what her deal was. I stormed across the parking lot, trying to
figure out what I could have done to deserve that drama. Clearly I’d set her off somehow.
And of course things just had to get better and better.
My car wouldn’t start. I tried and tried again, but still got nothing. The battery was completely dead.
“Fuck!” I yelled, slamming my fist into the steering wheel. This was not what I needed. Hadn’t my day been bad
enough? Hadn’t my life been bad enough? It was like nothing ever went right. “Shit! Damn! Hell! Start, you piece
of—”
“Having car problems, Duffy?”
I paused mid-rant to glare at the offending shadow. I opened the door and told Wesley, “My fucking car won’t turn
on.” Then I saw the girl standing next to him.
Skinny. Big boobs. It wasn’t Louisa Farr. This girl was cuter. She had a round, sweet face with curly brown hair that
bounced around her shoulders and large gray eyes. Way prettier than me, of course. Probably some freshman who
only had to take one look at Wesley’s sexy smile and pretty, shiny car before she put out. Again, that twinge of
jealousy overpowered me. Just PMS.
“Would you like me to give you a ride?” he asked.
“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll just call” But who would I call? Mom was in Tennessee. Dad was at work. Casey had
cheer practice. Not that it mattered. She was pissed at me anyway, and she and Jess both relied on their parents
—or me—to drive them around. Who would come get me?
“Come on, Duffy,” Wesley said, grinning at me. “You know you want to ride with me.” He bent down to look me in
the eyes. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“That’s okay.” There was no way I was riding in the same car as Wesley and his latest conquest. Nope. Not a
chance.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can call someone later. There’s no point staying in the parking lot until dark. I just have to
drop Amy off, and then I can take you home.”
Amy, I thought. So that’s the bimbo’s name.
Then something in the back of my mind clicked.
Oh my God! Amy! Amy was his sister! I looked at the girl again, wondering how I’d missed it. Curly brown hair, dark
gray eyes, very attractive. Duh. The resemblance was obvious. I was an unbelievable dumbass.
Wesley reached past me and pulled my keys out of the ignition.
“Fine,” I said, feeling significantly better. I snatched back my keys and dropped them into my purse. “Let me get my
stuff.” Once I had everything I needed, I locked the doors and followed Wesley to his car, which was easy to spot
since it was the only Porsche in the parking lot.
“Now, Duffy,” Wesley said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. I slid into the back so that Amy, who was apparently
the quiet type, could sit with her brother. “This means you’ll actually have to admit that I do nice things for people on
occasion.”
“I never said you don’t do nice things,” I told him as I attempted to situate myself in the cramped backseat. God, for
being such fancy cars, Porches had zero legroom. I had to sit sideways with my knees pulled up to my chest. So
not comfortable. “You do. But only when it benefits you in some way.”
Wesley scoffed. “Did you hear that, Amy? Can you believe what she thinks of me?”
“I’m sure Amy knows what you’re like.”
Wesley went silent.
Amy laughed but she seemed kind of nervous.
She didn’t say much during the ride, though Wesley made several attempts to coax her into our conversation. At
first I wondered if maybe it was because of me, but it didn’t take long to figure out that she was just shy. When we
pulled into the driveway of the large, old-fashioned house, which I knew must belong to Wesley’s grandmother, Amy
looked into the backseat and said quietly, “Bye. It was nice to meet you,” before ducking out of the car.
“She’s sweet,” I said.
“She needs to break out of her shell.” Wesley sighed as he watched her hurry up to the front porch. Once she’d
disappeared into the big house (it was no almost-mansion, but clearly his grandma had money, too), he looked
back at me. “You can take the front seat if you want.”
I nodded and got out of the car. I opened the passenger’s door and eased myself into the seat Amy had just
abandoned. Right around the time I got my seat belt fastened, I heard Wesley let out a low groan. “What’s your
problem?” I asked, looking up. But I figured out the answer before he said a word.
A woman in her sixties had just come out of the house, and she was walking toward the car. Wesley’s grandma, no
doubt. Wesley’s grandma who hated him. No wonder he looked like he wanted to hide. I felt a little anxious as I
watched the woman, who was very well dressed in an expensive-looking salmon sweater and perfectly creased
slacks, stride toward the car.
Wesley rolled down his window when she got close enough to hear him. “Hi, Grandma Rush. How are you?”
“Don’t play with me, Wesley Benjamin. I’m furious with you at the moment.” But she didn’t sound furious. Her voice
was high-pitched and soft. Silky. She sounded like the sweetest old woman ever, but her words didn’t fit the part.
“What did I do this time?” Wesley asked with a sigh. “Wear the wrong shoes? Or is it that the car isn’t clean
enough today? What mild imperfection are you going to throw at me this afternoon?”
“I would suggest you refrain from using that tone with me,” she said in the least intimidating voice imaginable. This
would have been funny if Wesley didn’t look so unhappy. “Live your life how you like, but leave little Amy out of it.”
“Amy? What did I do to Amy?”
“Honestly, Wesley,” his grandma said with a dramatic sigh. “Why don’t you just let Amy take the bus? I don’t
approve of you driving her around with your”—she paused—“friends in the backseat.” She looked across Wesley,
her eyes locking with mine for an instant before shifting back to her grandson. “I wouldn’t want them to be a
negative influence on your sister.”
For a second I was confused. I was a straight-A student. I’d never been in any trouble in my life. Yet this woman
thought I would somehow damage her precious granddaughter.
And then it hit me.
She thought I was one of Wesley’s tramps. She thought I was a slutty chick he screwed around with. Wesley had
told me that his grandmother disapproved of his “lifestyle.” She hated the way he slept around. And seeing me in
the backseat, she’d just assumed I was another floozy he’d picked up.
I looked away, staring out my window to avoid seeing the expression of disgust on the old woman’s face. I felt hurt
and angry.
Mostly because I knew it was true.
“That is none of your business,” Wesley growled. I’d never heard him sound so pissed before. “You have no right to
disrespect my friend, and it certainly isn’t your place to decide what I do with my own sister. You should know me
well enough to know that I wouldn’t do anything to harm her, despite what you’ve convinced her of. I’m not the
monster you tell her I am, you know.”
“I think I should drive Amy home from school after today.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “But you won’t keep me away from her. She’s my sister, and Mom and Dad will have a fit if I
tell them that you’re trying to break apart our family, Grandmother.”
“I’m afraid your family is already broken, my dear.”
There was a buzz, indicating that Wesley had rolled his window back up, and the engine revved. I watched as the
old woman walked back toward her house. Then, with squealing tires, Wesley backed out of the driveway and
sped down the street. I glanced over at him, worried and unsure of what to say. Luckily, he spoke first.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was coming outside. She shouldn’t have treated you that way.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“No, it’s not. She’s a shrew.”
“I gathered that much.”
“And the worst part is that she’s right.”
“About what?” I asked.
“About our family,” he said. “She’s right. It is broken. It has been for a long time. Mom and Dad are always gone,
and Grandma’s managed to come between Amy and me.”
“Amy still loves you.”
“Maybe,” he murmured. “But she thinks less of me. Grandma has her convinced that I’m some no-good son of a
bitch. I’ve seen the way Amy looks at me now. She looks at me like she’s sad. Like she’s disappointed in me. She
thinks I’m a horrible person.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have made the joke about you only doing nice things for for
benefits.”
“It’s fine.” The car was slowing down a little. “Honestly, you’re right. And Grandma is, too. I just never wanted Amy to
see me that way.”
I couldn’t resist the urge to reach over to the gearshift and put my hand over Wesley’s. His skin was warm and soft,
and I could feel his pulse throbbing steadily beneath my palm. I forgot about my stupid car and my fight with Casey.
I just wanted Wesley to smile again. Even that cocky grin would have worked. I hated that he was so hurt by the
possibility of losing his sister’s respect. I wanted to comfort him. I cared about him.
Oh my God. I actually cared?
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