"If you don't stop turning your head, I'm going to pull your hair out by the roots, Kristina Leigh ― on purpose!"
"Do that and you'll never see this Hermés scarf again," I retorted as Carene yanked another chunk of hair towards the crown of my skull.
Her eyes narrowed at me in the mirror, and I stuck out my tongue playfully.
She said, "You know who would kill both of us if anything were to happen to that scarf."
"Even so, don't think I'm not brave enough to do what it takes for the integrity of my locks!"
"You mean stupid enough," Carene said. "Now please, for the love of Pete, hold still for one second so I can finish this. It's like working with a nap-starved five-year-old!"
"Sorry," I grumbled, wincing as she pulled my freshly-curled ponytail higher on my head. "But don't make it look like I'm trying too hard. I don't wanna be the jilted ex-girlfriend ― just the hot one."
"Got it." She affixed a ponytail holder around my hair when it was high enough for her liking, then held out her spare hand, eyes still raking over her handiwork. "Hairspray?"
Trying not to move more than necessary, I closed my fingers around the pink aerosol can at my elbow and eased it into the air above my head so she could reach it.
A half hour later, with my hair perky and sleek and my makeup dynamic yet dainty, Carene let out a satisfied sigh and smiled at my reflection; her shoulders relaxed for the first time since she'd taken it upon herself to doll me up like her personal Barbie. I didn't mind, though. Carene was great with hair and makeup, and this was one of those times I needed her to work her magic.
In less than two hours, I'd be seeing Aaron. In person...
...still good and dumped.
"You look beautiful," Carene gushed at me, twirling a tress of hair cascading towards my shoulders. "Now gimme the scarf. It's time."
When I stuck out my lip and brought the coveted Hermés silk scarf against my chest, she rolled her eyes. "It's not like you'll never see it again."
"But I'm sad," I said pitifully.
"It was supposed to make you feel pretty, not make you more sad."
"Fine." Pouting, I handed over the beautiful scarf that Sherry had once won as a door prize at some surgeon's Halloween murder mystery party. Carene and I enjoyed holding it in turns when we were down in the dumps. It made us feel fancy to wear a scarf that cost over three-hundred dollars retail.
Carene returned the scarf to her mother's closet, and I gathered the mess of cosmetics and hair products we'd spread all over Sherry's bathroom counter like a Cirque du Soleil dressing room. She'd let us make camp in here because it was so much bigger than Carene's bathroom, and since there were two of us and only one of her, she'd opted to get ready for church in the downstairs half bath.
Next on the agenda was finalizing my outfit, which Carene was more than happy to assist with. When we made it back to her room, I showed her the garment bag of potentials I'd brought with me, and she sifted through them, waiting for inspiration to strike. There was a pair of tailored black dress trousers with a cinched waist and tie sash that gave her an idea, and she took to her closet like a madwoman, flinging articles of clothing every which way in a maelstrom of fabric as she searched for whatever piece she had in mind. Eventually she turned up an attractive heather gray blouse with a rounded neckline and quarter-inch sleeves; she threw it at me, insisting I try it on immediately.
I did as she demanded, humoring her sass because she was in the zone at my behest. The soft knit top fit me like a glove, and not for the first time was I thankful that Carene and I were almost the exact same size and able to share our wardrobes with each other.
"This is perfect," I breathed, staring at myself in the body mirror between Carene's dresser and the windows.
"You'll crush him like a grape," Carene agreed, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Now add the pants."
When I had the trousers on, she stepped back to observe me. "Oooo, am I good, or am I good, Kris?! Check you out! But don't forget the sash." When I struggled with it, she threw her head back with a boisterous exhale. "Ugh, helpless! Let me do it then."
In seconds I was all tucked in and tied up, and all that was missing now was jewelry and shoes, both of which Carene wasted no time in rustling up.
"What do you think, the pearl or the gold?"
I pointed to the pearl earrings and matching ring she held, and she promptly surrendered them to me. As I put them on, she disappeared into the depths of her closet, prancing back shortly with pointy black kitten heels that were not at all practical for the arctic temperature outside, but they would look fantastic with the ensemble. I sat on the edge of the bed as she then instructed, and Carene strapped the shoes onto each of my feet like an old pro.
"If high school doesn't work out, you'd certainly have a bright future as a shoe fitter," I told her with a grin.
"My life's ambition," she replied. She then led me to the mirror again, showing me the complete look.
If I hadn't already known it was me, I would have thought the reflection in the mirror was of someone else ― someone prettier and more grown up and put together; definitely not a recent dumpee. I turned to my best friend, feeling my cheeks flush with excitement and gratitude.
"You're amazing, Rene. I really needed this. I can almost say I feel better about seeing Aaron now." I folded my arms around her slim shoulders, pulling her into me for a bear hug. A tear almost slid past my defenses as I asked softly, "Do you think he misses me?"
Carene gave me a reassuring squeeze that sent a fresh flood of confidence coursing through me. "Of course he does. As dumb as Aaron Arsane is acting right now, he couldn't keep himself from missing you if somebody paid him a billion dollars."
❇
"I can't believe he's not here. I look like a supermodel and he's not freaking here?"
"Hang tight, don't lose your edge. He'll be here; he's always here."
Carene's words would have been comforting, but my stomach was roiling as though full of those chattering teeth toys, and I was pretty positive nothing would change that at the moment.
We'd made it to church fifteen minutes early because Sherry had insisted we leave ourselves plenty of time to go slowly on the still-slick roads. She was willing to bet there would be a car wreck or two in our path along the way (she'd been right; we'd passed three wrecked vehicles on our way to the church, even though Carene and Sherry lived only ten miles away). Following our arrival, Carene and I had made a mad dash to the one-hole, out-of-the-way bathroom in the Education Building.
Our Sunday School classroom was on the second floor. We'd figured hiding in this particular bathroom for a while would lessen our chances of running into Aaron or his friends before class. I wanted Aaron to see me, yes, but from afar ― not in an awkward scenario that would force us to talk, even briefly.
When our time was down to three minutes before Sunday School would begin, Carene had peeked her head out of the bathroom and signaled that the coast was clear. We'd trekked up the stairs in strained silence, eyes peeled for any problematic persons. At the open doorway of our classroom, Carene had gone ahead of me to scope out seats that would be far away from Aaron.
Breath catching with nerves, I'd waited impatiently outside the doorway for her to come back; when she did, her expression was mild but her eyes were on high alert.
"He's not here yet. C'mon, I have seats right by the door. We can make a quick getaway after class."
I'd followed her inside, conjuring up a neutral air that wouldn't draw unnecessary attention. Since I was the pastor's daughter, I had many political obligations in the church. Most days I didn't mind them at all because I genuinely liked interacting with people and ensuring newcomers felt welcome and at home; but today I wanted nothing to do with anyone but Carene. Although I'd been compelled to give nods and minimalistic hellos as we wound our way to the chairs Carene had picked out, I was operating on autopilot.
Now we were in our seats, and the other students in the room were trickling into theirs. The youth pastor, an albino-looking man everyone called "Whitey" despite his last name being "Whatley", hopped onto the mini-stage at the front of the room. As he called for volunteers to get started on some icebreakers ― a weekly tradition since we got so many visitors in youth group ― I saw Aaron's best friend, Brady, take a seat in front of me and Carene. He smiled when he noticed us, and turned his upper body so he could speak to us over the tall chair backs.
"Morning, ladies. Looking especially beautiful today." Brady flashed a debonair grin that had made many a sensible girl go jellylegs since he'd gotten his braces off. "Where's your beau, Miss Harmon? He's usually here by now."
There was a beat of stunned silence between Carene and me as it hit us both that Brady didn't know Aaron and I had broken up. Why hadn't Aaron told him?
I started to reply, "I don't know", but before I could do more than shrug, Carene said to Brady, "What is she, his mother? She doesn't keep an ankle monitor on him. Is she supposed to know where he is at any given second?"
Two girls in the row in front of Brady inclined their heads in our direction. Too much, Rene, I thought in a panic, my palms beginning to sweat.
One of Brady's generous eyebrows ticked upward. "She always knows, Carene."
A glance at my best friend's face told me she realized her mistake, but it was too late for her to back down; doing so would seem like deflecting, and deflection would only draw in more curious eavesdroppers. But Carene was smart; I mentally willed her to work out a lightning-fast strategy for survival in that dependable brain of hers.
Regardless of what she said or did next, I knew I needed to say something, to show I wasn't uncomfortable, or it would be obvious that I was.
"Aaron's a free man, Brady," I said good-naturedly, more for the benefit of our audience than for Brady. It also wasn't a lie.
Brady smiled in that suave, lazy way he'd developed out of nowhere in the last year. "So, the long leash today. Gotcha."
It was the most perfectly insulting line he could have picked. Carene wouldn't have to strategize after all; her reaction was the same as it would have been on any other day when her head surged towards Brady, sending him lurching backward in his seat.
"Is that you, Brady Rogers, implying that Kris has Aaron on a leash? Because I seem to recall ― with vivid clarity ― you dating a one Shannon Bromine for all of junior year, making you King of the Whipped Court. So do you really wanna talk to me about leashes right now? Because I don't think you do."
A gaggle of soft laughter broke out around us, and I sank a little lower in my seat. I couldn't help feeling bad for Brady, even though he'd had it coming. Carene's tongue carvings could make you feel about as big as an English Pea in a room of asparagus.
"Somebody ate their Snippy-Ohs this morning," he grumbled, turning around in his seat with cheeks as red as his ex-girlfriend's lipstick, who was in that same instance taking to the stage at Whitey's beckoning.
As soon as his back was turned, Carene grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
I leaned into her, whispering, "This was a bad idea. I should have faked sick, stayed home. Or at least dressed down, made myself as invisible as possible."
"Just relax, Krissy."
"I can't." There was a machine gun firing in my abdomen, and the mere thought of seeing Aaron at any moment had me queasy.
"Yes, you can," said Carene. "Focus on Whitey. Tune everything else out."
But her words were wasted, because the door opened behind us, and the smell of my favorite Ralph Lauren cologne caught on the air. Unfaltering footsteps on the linoleum floor approached from behind, and I steeled myself for his touch, or his breath on the back of my neck as he asked me to step outside to talk to him.
But neither came.
I remembered the open seat next to Brady, less than two feet in front of Carene and I, and a fresh whirlwind of emotion kicked up inside of me. Then he appeared in my peripheral, scooting from the aisle into the row of chairs towards Brady. But his back was to the stage ahead, giving me an eyeful of that handsome face, whether I liked it or not, as he maneuvered to his seat. Our eyes locked as if by a magnetic force, and he nodded solemnly.
"Good morning." Aaron gave a subdued smile to both me and Carene as he turned and sat down.
That was all it took for the whispers to commence circulating. The sound reminded me of static on a baby monitor during a rainstorm ― soft but discernible, and in fluctuating motion.
People couldn't break up in peace around here. I'd always been aware of this, but becoming a specimen trapped beneath a water glass for everyone to oggle and speculate over was near the top of my list of life's most excruciating experiences.
I took a long, dragging breath, and Carene's hand snaked up my arm into the crook of my elbow as though anchoring us together, though neither of us looked at the other. I felt her support plainly without need of furtive glances.
On stage, Whitey initiated whatever icebreaker he'd been explaining before, saying something to his three volunteers. As the volume of whispers increased, his tone took on a strained quality when he ascertained he'd lost everyone's attention. He cleared his throat loudly, and the room quieted, albeit reluctantly. A few girls here and there continued whispering with their heads pressed together, but the adults scattered around the room snapped their fingers and tapped the shoulders of the remaining offenders until every pair of eyes had been redirected to the front.
I tried to stay centered, to fasten my thoughts on Whitey and nothing else. I really, really did. But staring at the back of Aaron's head, I became legitimately afraid he would hear my heart thundering in my chest.
He was wearing the hunter green shirt I'd bought him for his birthday, and his jawline was prickly with stubble from not having shaved all weekend, as was his habit. It was such a strange sensation ― everything seemed almost normal on the surface. The hunch of his shoulders was the same, the line of his profile when he turned his head slightly, the constellation of dark freckles splashed across his neck, the muscles and tendons that flexed in his arms and back whenever he moved...it was all ingrained in my mind. He was as familiar to me as breathing.
And here I was, sitting so close to him, yet we were a world apart.
Worse than that, perhaps, was seeing the proof with my own eyes that Aaron's life kept right on going without me in it. Aside from the minor difference in our proximity and our formal acknowledgement of each other, it was like nothing else had changed.
"Pretend he isn't there," Carene whispered directly into my ear when she perceived my limbs shaking. "Deep breaths. You can do this."
Yeah, Kris. You've got this, I preached to myself. He's just a boy.
And this was just a broken a heart.
❇
The moment Sunday School officially ended, I bolted.
I didn't even wait for Carene. I stumbled blindly over the two people still seated at the end of our row, resulting in an undeniable commotion, but I didn't stick around to see the aftermath of pity and giggles. It wasn't lost on me how many girls in the church didn't consider me a friend, although the reasoning for it was often yet to be determined. I'd grown accustomed to it long ago, and although I'd made myself an expert at ignoring their whispered jeers and comments, it was moments like this that I knew exactly how vulnerable I was to their criticism.
I was already down the stairs and headed for the secret bathroom on ground level by the time Carene caught up with me. The tears hadn't come yet, but I was on the brink of hyperventilation. Carene's expression screamed her concern for me, and I knew then how unhinged I must have looked.
"Why did you go rushing out of there? Now everyone knows for sure that something's up with you!"
"Oh please, Carene," I said. "They all know. They knew it the second Aaron didn't sit next to me. They're not stupid."
"That's debatable," said Carene with a snort.
"I'm serious."
"So am I! Shannon Bromine is already batting her lashes at Aaron like a llama in heat, I swear. She couldn't even wait a full hour after finding out the news before she was moving in on your man. If that isn't stupid, and against all things Girl Code, then I don't know what it is."
"She's under no obligation to steer clear of my ex-boyfriend," I pointed out.
"Don't act like you're okay with this," seethed Carene. "She's been after Aaron since before we hit puberty! Almost as long as you."
"I know this," I said. "What difference does it make? He isn't my boyfriend anymore. She can have him. I guess patience really is a virtue."
Spinning on my heels, I stormed into the bathroom. The tears were finally coming; I could feel them burning at the back of my eyes, and I didn't want to be out in the open whenever they started. Carene was at my back in an instant, all prior sass and feistiness evaporated. She looked suddenly tired, and as though she might cry herself.
"I'm so sorry, Krissy," she said. "I can only imagine how hard this is for you."
I braced myself against the counter, a hand on either side of the sink. "I wish I could have skipped this part." It was all I could do not to allow my voice to crack.
Carene wrapped her arms around me from behind, resting her cheek on my shoulder. "This is just the worst."
We stayed like that for several minutes, as I tried my hardest to stave off the tears. Several slipped through, but I wiped them away delicately enough that the beautiful makeup Carene had done was not ruined. "He looks so good, too. I hate that. Why does he have to look so dang good?"
Carene released me, and ran her hands down both my arms in a comforting gesture. "It isn't fair, is it?"
"It's torture," I said.
"I know." Carene's face showed every bit of empathy she felt. But she checked her watch then, and I knew I was out of time to sulk.
"Time to go, huh?"
She nodded at my reflection. "Sorry, sweetie. But you know how your folks get when we're late for the service."
"Yeah." Turning my back to the mirror, I let Carene adjust my ponytail, and mop around my eyes with a tissue.
"There," she said. "Good as new. No one will be able to tell."
"Of course they will," I said miserably.
"I swear they won't!"
"It doesn't matter anyway. Let's just get this over with."
I insisted Carene keep her distance as we walked to the sanctuary from the Education Building, hoping it would draw less attention to the fact that anything was wrong. Anyone who missed my faintly red-rimmed eyes would definitely notice if it was combined with Carene's motherly, sympathetic expression and her practically hugging me the whole morning.
"Sure. We'll just pretend everything is fine," she said. "Maybe if we act like nothing's wrong, we can convince everyone else that it's true."
"Uh huh." But I was only humoring her; we both knew it was wishful thinking.
There were still a few minutes left before the service started, so some of the adult Sunday School classes that were always cutting it close with their release time were crowding up the doorways to the sanctuary at both entrances.
Pretending to study the floor, I kept my face downcast so I wouldn't inadvertently meet anyone's eyes. Carene played my diplomatic bodyguard with practiced ease as we made our way through the foyer, greeting and shaking the hands of other members that came at us as if she were me. Most seemed confused by this, but they didn't mention it.
When the line inside wasn't moving fast enough for her, Carene said under her breath, "This is ridiculous. Come with me."
Moving quickly, she led me into the bride/nursing room off to the side of the foyer. There was a door with a lock, the room was large, and it was equipped with its own lights without timers or remotes or anything complicated, so Carene locked us inside. A small TV for watching and listening to the sermon live was mounted to the wall in one corner, and she walked towards it.
"Have a seat," she said as she went, tossing her arm out in the direction of the loveseat by the door. There was also a couch on another wall, two matching arm chairs that looked very uncomfortable, and a rocking chair. I'd been in here before, but it had been years ― and I had definitely never hidden out during the service.
"We can't stay in here you know," I said.
Carene switched on the television as if I hadn't spoken. "What, you'd rather walk out there in front of everyone with your red eyes and sit for another hour, staring at the back of your ex-boyfriend's head? All the while hearing people whisper about you, wondering why you aren't sitting together for the first time in eight months? Yeah, sounds like a spectacular idea. Let's get right on that." She rolled her eyes at me and sat down in the rocking chair facing the TV. She held a small remote in her hand now, and pointed it at the television set, hiking up the volume.
"What do I tell my parents when they ask where I was? They're probably going to freak out when I don't come in in the next few minutes. Especially my mom. And my dad can see the entire audience from the pulpit. He'll definitely notice I'm not there. And what if some woman comes in here needing to nurse her baby?"
Carene shrugged. "If that happens, we will just share the room with her. It's not like we've never seen boobs before. And like I said, we can go out there, if you really want to. It's your choice. You just have to ask yourself which trauma you'd rather experience right now. The ex-boyfriend display, or the epic dad fight."
I leaned against the stiff backing of the loveseat. "True."
❇
My dad's sermons never lasted a minute past 11:50. It was one of those predictable things in life I'd always been able to rely upon. As soon as he bowed his head in prayer, Carene met my eyes.
"What do you think?" she questioned. "Should we get out of here now? Go chill in the parking lot so we beat the crowd out of the sanctuary? We could avoid everyone altogether if we play this smart."
I felt no hesitation this time. "Let's do it."
Carene clicked off the television and I cracked open the door, checking to ensure no deacons were hanging out in the foyer as they sometimes did in case homeless people came in off the streets. I didn't see anyone, so I flipped off the light and motioned for Carene to follow me out. We tiptoed across the tiled foyer, careful not to make too much noise in our clacky heels. As soon as we shot through the doors of the entrance, I breathed a sigh of relief. Although the air was frigid, and I immediately wished I had fur to keep me warm, it felt good to know I would be missing out on additional awkward encounters.
"See," said Carene. "I knew this would make you feel better."
I smiled at her. "You are a genius."
Together we walked the paved thoroughfare that separated the two side-by-side buildings of the church campus, the sanctuary and the Education Building. The wind seemed to cut straight through us like a wind tunnel, pushing our bodies together in a huddle for warmth. But as we neared the small alleyway behind the Education Building, home to the dumpsters and second floor fire escape, Carene brought us to a halt.
"Why are we stopping?" I asked through chattering teeth.
"I hear voices. Don't you hear voices?"
"So? C'mon, the car is still so far away, and I can't feel my fingers and toes as it is."
But my pleas fell on deaf ears as Carene steered us toward the alley, her curiosity forever taking us off the beaten path. "I just want to see if―Oh, hi. Look, Kris, it's Taylor and Olivia. Smoking a joint. How cute! I bet their parents would love to know about this. Smile for the camera, girls!"
I had barely processed what the two girls clustered behind the dumpsters were doing by the time Carene had already snapped a slew of photos, her phone's camera clicking forebodingly in the quiet of the alley.
"You― What the heck, Spicer!" Except Taylor didn't say "heck" as she lunged for Carene's phone. "What is wrong with you, freak?!"
"Oh, nothing, Taylor." Carene didn't have trouble keeping the phone out of the other girl's reach, because as motivated as Taylor was, Carene was twice as fast; I'd spent years trying to physically wrestle things from Carene's grip, and I'd never won once because she was that good at keep-away. "I just have a fundamental issue with kids who skip out on the sermon and sneak around church property to smoke friggin' weed when their parents think they're sitting upstairs in the balcony!"
Taylor screeched her frustration at that, struggling against Carene with renewed vigor while Olivia and I just stood there, frozen in horror.
"Hand...it...over!" Taylor's demand came through clenched teeth as Carene fended her off.
"No...way," huffed Carene. "Call it...your toll...for being...so...stupid...you can't... even...hide...in a...good spot...and stay...quiet!"
"We weren't...smoking...weed!"
Olivia recovered herself then, her pale eyes wide with restored purpose. "OH! She's right! It's not, Carene, it's only a vape pen!" She held out a slender device as if in offering, like she'd just realized she was holding it.
The other girls paid no attention to her as both of them buckled onto the ground with shrieks of alarm. But it didn't stop their momentum; their bodies melded into a swirling, grunting, cursing ball of clothing and limbs. I finally found my voice when I caught sight of a flailing arm in the fray with a scratch that was bubbling up with blood. "Stop it! I said, stop! POLICE!"
Surprisingly, that was the magic word. I'd never seen two people fly apart so fast. White clouds poured from their mouths as each girl heaved herself off the pavement, panting and disheveled.
Taking advantage of their separation, I yanked my phone from my coat pocket and wiggled it at Taylor and Olivia with lifted chin and false gusto forged into my tone as I said, "Back off, or these pictures go on Instagram right now."
Olivia whimpered, shrinking against the dumpster, hands on her cheeks and tears in her eyes. Taylor, however, didn't look convinced. Her heavily-lined eyes narrowed to slits as she stood with hands on hips, her stance communicating no lack of fighting energy. There was a tear at the seam of her left shirt sleeve like a low-key battle scar.
"There's no police. I think you lie when you get in a pinch, preacher's daughter. Nah, I say you're bluffing," she hissed between breaths. She pointed then to Carene. "No way she had time to send those to you."
Carene cackled, bending down to pick up a lone high heel from the ground, which she'd apparently kicked off in the ruckus. She shook it in Taylor's direction, showcasing her bleeding arm as she said with stunning confidence, "Clearly you don't know me well, Fasulo."
"Please, Carene." This came from Olivia, shivering from fear as much as cold. I didn't know Hal and Josie Langston well, but I knew enough to understand why Olivia wouldn't want to get caught cutting church and vaping.
"Yeah, her parents will freak, okay? You can't show those photos to anybody. It's not like she's ever done anything to y'all anyway. Why punish her like that, huh?"
It was the wrong thing to say to Carene. Her eyebrows rose and she pinched her lips, hearing Taylor's attempted manipulation for what it was. "And what about your mom, Taylor? How would Ellen feel about this intriguing development in her daughter's otherwise spotless reputation?" It was jab of irony, and we all got it. Taylor Fasulo was a lot of things, but spotless wasn't one of them. Why she even came to church with her mother was something of a mystery, because she had zero interest and made sure everyone knew it.
Judging by the scary gleam in her eye, I half expected Taylor to launch another attack on Carene, but she crossed her arms and shifted feet, tongue fiddling pensively with that hideous lip stud from inside her mouth. "What is it you want, Spicer?"
Carene blinked. "Want? Fasulo, I don't want anything other than for my fellow teens not to act like idiots who don't care about themselves or their futures. Gimme the vape thingie and we're done here."
"And what happens to the pictures?"
Carene shrugged, her expression bored. "I keep them. But I don't do a thing with them unless you get stupid on church grounds again, h'yuh?"
Taylor considered this, her lip ring popping in and out of place in its hole like a spike-headed gopher. She swung around to Olivia, extending her hand. "Lemme have the pen, Liv."
Without so much as a flicker of hesitation, Olivia dropped the vape pen into her friend's open palm. As though it had been an enormous burden, she sighed with relief as soon as it was gone from her hand.
Unexpectedly, Taylor turned to me. "You do realize you and your bestie are blackmailing us, right? Ain't very Christian of you, preacher's daughter."
The words bit down on my conscience with the force of an iron giant. She was right, and the second I realized it, my chest deflated. My jaw worked involuntarily as I chewed on my options, and Taylor smirked.
With a sigh, I pretended to delete the non-existent photos from my phone.
"Pushover," Carene muttered, but I ignored her.
"There." I showed Taylor my photo grid to prove the incriminating pictures weren't there. "What you're doing isn't illegal because you're both eighteen, or else we wouldn't be having this discussion. And I don't condone this, at all. But...I can't force you to make different choices. So." I lifted one shoulder.
Taylor's dark brow arched. "And what about Spicer's pics?"
"Carene also makes her own choices."
"Yeah?" Taylor's expression hardened, and my throat seized up at the darkness there as she turned it on Carene. "Well, snitches get stitches, Spicer. You keep that in mind, huh?"
Carene held up both hands like a pantomime of a glass wall. "Uh, sorry, boo, but hold up right there ― you do realize this isn't gangs of New York, right? Like, this is Sageview, mamacita. The scariest takedowns here are in bingo. Sooo, sorry, but I'm not worried about threats made over a vape pen, Tay-bae."
"Carene," I warned.
"Listen to your mommy, Spicer," sneered Taylor. "You're gonna walk into something you can't strategize your way out of one of these days, then you'll wish you'd shut your piehole."
"Probably," Carene agreed with a mocking grin. She held out one open-faced hand to Taylor expectantly. "Vape pen?"
With a roll of her eyes, Taylor gave the pen to Carene. "For all I know, you're just gonna use it for yourself," she said with a toss of her cropped towhead.
"Oh, definitely," Carene responded conversationally just before she dropped the pen onto the pavement and stomped it with her shoe.
Olivia squeaked, and Taylor's mouth dropped open, her eyes lighting on fire.
"Come on, Kris. Let's skedaddle before these two forget we're in Sageview." Carene wrapped an arm around my waist, and twirled me around toward the end of the alley. "Walk fast, walk fast, walk fast," she intoned at a chipper cadence.
"Oh, real mature, princess!" Taylor called after us. I wasn't sure which one of us she was talking to until she added, "No wonder that cheesehead Arsane dumped you on your tuckus. He likes real goody-goodies like Safe Shannon, and you're nothing but a cheap imitation!"
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"Aw crap," Carene lamented between blowing warm breaths on her fingers. "And here I was having visions of space heaters."
Taylor's countenance was smug when I turned to face her; I wanted to smack that look right off her round, chipmunk face more than I'd wanted to do anything in a long time.
As I walked toward her, she continued taunting me with reasons why Shannon was my better, and why she and Aaron made a superior couple. It was like the most condescending, paranoid parts of my inner voice were being spoken through her, spewing years' worth of lies straight at me like a firehose.
Shannon was prettier.
Shannon was smarter.
Shannon was nicer.
Shannon was thinner.
Shannon was taller.
Shannon was―
THWACK!
There was a collective gasp that reverberated off the walls of the alley as my palm collided with Taylor's cheek. Her head popped back, her hand instantly coming up to cradle her face.
It had happened so fast. I hadn't even known I was really going to do it until after the fact, and then her gaze met mine, and all I saw there was shock mingling with betrayal, which confused my already wounded heart.
I wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in my throat. I glanced at Olivia, still standing by the dumpster, and her hand was cupped over her mouth, her eyes aghast like I'd just kicked a dog right in front of her.
The only thought my brain could form that my body would listen to was to run. But when I whirled around, Carene wasn't the only bystander anymore. Apparently the service had let out, because at least ten people were gathered at the mouth of the alleyway, and it was evident by their expressions what they'd seen.
Then I heard my father's voice bellowing my name. I felt the cold again all at once, and I was so chilled to the bone I thought I would surely turn into an ice sculpture right then and there.
When Dad rounded the corner at last, his calculated rage was the last thing I saw before I turned and ran the other way, past Taylor, still clutching her cheek, eyes now welled up with tears, past Olivia hunkered against the dumpster like Taylor's meeker shadow, past the fire escape, and out the other end of the alley.