Chapter Eleven: Confessions

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Freddie did not go back into Berm High. She couldn't stand the thought of her mom's squealing or the RH students leering. Besides, she was in desperate need of legitimate psychoanalysis, and there was only one person on the entire planet she trusted for that.

Also, she needed to get rid of Justin Timberlake.

"Take him back." Freddie's eyes screwed shut and she held out the keychain like a toxic dead thing. "I don't want him. His magic is broken, and now he feeds off only darkness."

"Huh," was all Divya said in reply. She tipped out of her family's front door and examined the short space between porch and street. "Where's your bike? Wait—did you just walk here?"

"From the school, yeah." Freddie shuffled inside, JT still kept far from her person. "It's only two miles."

"Yeah, but..." Divya frowned at the sky before shutting the door. "It's, like, super dark outside."

"I hardly noticed." Freddie rubbed the side of her face. "Please just reclaim Justin. I am in great distress, Div."

Divya's eyebrows shot high, and for the first time since Freddie's arrival she took a long, hard look at her best friend. Then her eyes locked onto Freddie's neck, and her jaw slung low.

"Oh. My. God." She grabbed Freddie's chin and tipped it up. "Is that a hickey?"

Heat ignited on Freddie's face. She nodded miserably. "Probably."

"Oh my dear Honey-Baked Ham, let's go to my room." Divya laced her fingers into Freddie's and towed her out of the foyer, up the carpeted stairs, and into her bedroom, where sounds of Nirvana drifted through the wall from her brother's room.

"Aren't you going to take Justin—"

"Fine." Divya snatched him back and pushed him into her own pocket. "Though it's your loss, Fred. Your loss."

Once the door was shut, Divya flung herself onto her bed and Freddie flung herself onto the floor. Face down. Nose into the carpet. "I've made a huge mistaaaaake, Divya."

"How?" Bed springs creaked as if Divya were shifting positions. "I thought you were madly in love with Kyle. Surely making out with him is what you want."

Freddie moaned and covered the back of her head with her hands. "It wasn't Kyle I made out with."

"Wait, what?" A thump shook the house, and suddenly Divya was on the floor beside Freddie and trying to peel back Freddie's hands. "Who the heck did you make out with then?"

Freddie groaned into the carpet.

"You don't know any guys, Frederica Gellar." Divya tugged and tugged. "Tell me right this instant who you made out with!"

Freddie curled into a sideways ball. "It's the enemy," she whispered to her knees. "The Leonardo DiCaprio to my Claire Danes."

"The...Leonardo?" Divya's voice pitched upward in confusion. "I don't understand—"

"Theo Porter, Div. I made out with Theo Freaking Porter."

Divya gasped—a great in-burst of air that was the loudest gasp Freddie had ever heard. So loud she thought Divya's lungs might have seized and CPR was necessary.

Freddie unfurled, all ready to try out her best Baywatch life-saving techniques on Divya...only to find Divya was not in need of assistance. Oh no, Divya was lunging in close, grabbing Freddie's wrists, and now pinning them to the sides of her head.

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