I reach for my body wash and squirt it onto a washcloth that has replaced my loofahs for the time being and bring it to my chest, careful to avoid my piercings. After Thayer played with them, they were sore for a couple days, but I was lucky that was all that happened. And God, was it worth it. I’ve never felt anything like it. I was on sensory overload, and I think at that point, a heavy breeze would’ve sent me over the edge.
I shake the thoughts out of my head. He’s probably fucking that girl six ways from Sunday while I’m in here reliving some heavy petting like an idiot. I throw the washcloth down and it lands on the tub floor with a wet smack, then I crank the knob none too gently, turning the water off. Stepping onto the cushy mat, I pluck the towel off the hook on the back of the door and wrap it around myself.
Standing in front of the foggy mirror, I swipe my hand across it, just enough to see my face in the reflection. How did everything get so messed up? And what the hell was Holden up to?
After brushing my teeth and throwing on last year’s oversized volleyball shirt, I shoot a quick text to Grey.
I miss you. Call me.
When ten minutes go by without a response, I know I won’t hear from him tonight, if at all. I crawl into bed in a room that still doesn’t feel like mine and dream of a boy who never really was.
Shayne
School drags on slow as ever, but I manage to make it through without incident. It’s the end of the day, and since we have a game tonight, we had to wear our warm-ups to school. Black track pants with the snaps down the side and our maroon and black uniform shirts, donning our new mascot. Opening my locker, I shove my backpack inside, t
aking only my calculus book and a pencil.
“Are you avoiding me, little sister?”
I close my locker to see Holden standing there with his arm propped against the locker next to mine, looking no worse for wear. You’d never guess that he looked like the living dead two nights ago.
“Let me guess. You had sex with the wrong guy’s daughter,” I deadpan, hitching my bag onto my shoulder before walking away. Holden falls into step with me.
“Wife,” he corrects, and I snort, knowing that there’s a very real possibility that he’s not joking. When we walk into class together, Taylor is already there, shooting daggers at me with her eyes.
“Better go. Your little girlfriend doesn’t look too happy,” I tease him, sliding into a desk at the opposite side of the room.
“She’ll live.” He smirks, taking the desk next to mine, but then he focuses on something behind me, and his smile falters. I frown, looking over my shoulder to see two police officers making their way into the room. Everyone in class exchanges confused looks while they speak in hushed whispers with Mr. Turner.
“Listen up,” Mr. Turner says in a voice more serious than the one he usually uses. “These officers would like to talk to you about an incident that occurred over the weekend.”
One of the officers with dark, slicked-back hair moves toward the front of the class to address us. “As he said, an incident occurred on Friday night involving one of our officer’s houses. The perpetrator is believed to be a student here, so if anyone knows anything, or maybe saw something, now is the time to speak up.”
No one says a word as the officers survey the class with expectant expressions. I swallow hard, looking at Holden out of the corner of my eye. He flicks a pencil between his thumb and forefinger, appearing bored, but I know it’s an act. The all-black getup. The bloody nose. It was him. It wasn’t some pissed-off husband he was running from. It was the police, and by letting him in my car, I unknowingly became an accomplice.
I sit back, folding my arms across my chest, pissed that he dragged me into this.
When it’s clear that no one is going to talk, he speaks again. “All right, well, if anyone has any information, I’ll leave our card with your teacher.” He turns to Mr. Turner. “Thanks for letting us interrupt.”
Mr. Turner nods, shaking the officer’s hand. Everyone breaks out in chatter about what could’ve possibly happened and who it could be. As the officers near my desk, one narrows his eyes, regarding me warily. He pauses next to me, tapping two knuckles on my desk.
“Shayne Courtland?” he asks, and my eyes lift to meet his.
“Yeah?” My stomach drops, anxiety making my heart rate double.
“Mind if we have a word with you in the hall for a second?”
“Um.” I look around, not knowing what to say.
“It’ll only take a minute,” he says, assuring me. I nod, pushing out of my desk. I chance a glance at Holden, and I can tell he’s nervous by the way his jaw tenses.
“Are they even allowed to do that?” some girl I don’t know asks in a hushed tone.
“It’s not like they’re interrogating anyone,” a kid named Jason replies. “They don’t need permission to talk to us.”
“He’s right. It’s at the school’s discretion,” Mr. Turner explains. “Now let’s get back to work.”
I fold my arms over my chest as I follow them out of the classroom. As soon as we’re in the hall and the door is closed, they don’t waste any time getting to the point. “There was a car stopped on Arrowhead Trail at the same time of the incident that matches your vehicle’s description.”