My mom has been hurt, too. And I care about that, which is the reason I don’t want to face her just yet, or at least that’s what I rationalize. I’m not ready to be civilized, and I don’t know how to word my questions. I need to be prepared for her answers, as well—whether my suspicions are right, that she’s done nothing wrong, or Lucas’s version is true and she’s as much to blame as my father. I need to be mentally prepared to embrace and move forward on either path. Right now, I only want to floor it in reverse.

  This brings me to where I stand right now, literally, two feet planted on the tacky surface of the A-frame that covers my porch. I’ve taken myself to the brink of reason, avoiding my mom by roof leaping. The slide down the wall was a longer drop than I thought, and it’s left me a bit frozen here. The drop down from the spot where the A-frame ends, where the gutter drips rainwater into my mom’s flower garden, is about the same distance. My pocket buzzes from my phone so I lean flat against the wall, my backpack strap wrapped tightly around my right wrist, and pull my phone out with my left hand. It’s Abby calling, so I glance up to see her hunched over her steering wheel and staring out her windshield with her mouth agape.

  I answer.

  “I didn’t think this through,” I say through nervous giggling.

  “What the fuck, June!” It’s kinda funny how her mouth moves just a hair before I hear the words in my ear.

  “I’m avoiding my mom.” I shrug, the movement making me a little off balance for a blip and I bend my knees, gripping to the surface beneath my feet.

  “Yeah, well, you’re probably gonna have to deal with her when you fall and break something and she has to haul your ass to the emergency room.” She leans back in her seat but just a little. My friend is looking from side to side, maybe searching for help. I don’t want any, except for hers. The last thing I need is assistance from the problems I’m hiding from.

  “I’m coming down,” I say, my voice quavering as I cautiously lower myself until I’m on my ass, sitting with legs pointing down the slope. God, how I wish this were really a slide.

  “I’m coming out,” Abby says.

  “No!” I stop her fast. “Don’t. If you come out, my mom will see you and then she’ll come out, and then—”

  “And then your ass climbed out a window for nothing. Yeah, I got it. This is fucked up.”

  I sigh.

  “I know. Just give me a minute. I’m going to scoot.” I drag my butt along the grainy shingles about six inches before stretching my legs out like an inch worm to do it again.

  “You look ridiculous,” my friend says.

  “You better not be filming me,” I fire back.

  “I’m not, but I took a picture. You know, for my collection of June in her moods.” She’s amused by this, but all I can focus on is not dying. I end our call and slip my phone back into my pocket.

  In reality, I’m not that high, but maybe I have a fear of heights I was never fully aware of. Being up here has my heart racing and sweat pouring from every part of my body. I scoot and work my feet in a rhythm, quickening my pace until I finally reach the edge of the eave and am able to slide forward enough that my legs dangle. Our living room windows are just to my right. This is the corner where we usually put our Christmas tree. There’s a lamp there now, which helps to mask the view of me. My mom was in the kitchen before I left. I snuck a quick view down the stairs to see her sitting on one of the stools by the counter closest to the side door. If I can be silent with this, I might just make it out without her hearing.

  I pull my backpack to my chest and ready my hands on either side to heave it into the middle of the lawn. The grass needs to be mowed, but it’s also dry from the cooler weather, which makes it kind of like hay. I count on my decent aim as I shove my bag through the air. It lands on a thicker spot in the lawn and rolls a few times until coming to rest about a dozen feet from my friend’s car. I’m next, but there is no hay beneath me, only damp soil and my mother’s petunias. That isn’t much to break a fall.

  Feeling all kinds of ridiculous, I push myself up so my feet are under me, balanced on the edge of the eave, toes on the curve of the gutter. I rock forward and hold on to the edge with my hands, leaning out just enough to spot my landing before gravity takes over and I tumble to the ground. I land with my knees and palms deep in my mom’s garden, muddy water squishing up from the ground and staining my jeans and covering my hands. Amped from adrenaline, I bolt to my feet and sprint to my bag, grabbing it and rushing to my friend’s car. I shut the door on the strap of my backpack but leave it there, the strap dragging along the ground and my bag locked to the area near my feet.

  “Go, go!” I wave my arms emphatically. In my own mind, I just made so much noise. I nervously stare out the windshield as my friend pulls out of my driveway; my house remains still, and the side door stays closed. In about twenty minutes, my mom will discover the open window from my room and skyrocket to a new level of pissed. She’ll probably think I’m on drugs. I’m going to have to deal with everything today one way or another. I can’t live like this, and if I don’t come home for another night, my mom will think I’ve run away. That’s not even on the table. I’d miss her too much, even if the things Lucas told me are true.

  Abby finishes poking fun of my lame-ass sneaking-out skills for the first few minutes of our drive, but she becomes quiet as we get closer to school. I haven’t asked her point-blank what she thinks the truth is, and I know why I haven’t. Abby cuts through bullshit. She’s rarely wrong, even if the way she gives advice comes off harsh. She was right when she said I had to break out of my shell and quit worrying what people thought of me. As crazy as all of this shit I’m going through is, at least I’m living. I’m experiencing, growing, falling and picking myself up. I’ve rebuilt myself into something stronger, into the kind of girl who is on the verge of being an adult and who might be capable of handling the cruel things this world throws at people. Before this, I was balancing on eggshells and sheltering my feelings. Abby was right, I needed to move forward.

  Just like I need to now.

  “Do you think—”

  I stop there, bracing myself for her honest answer before finishing the question. I don’t even have to, though, because my friend is so in sync with me that she knows where my words are going.

  “I think it doesn’t matter,” she says. I glance at her to assess her expression. Her face is matter-of-fact as she lifts herself high enough in her seat to check the line of red on her lips.

  “How can it not?” I ask.

  She shrugs and sits back down as we cross the final intersection before school.

  “Well, either your mom did what she had to because she didn’t have a choice, or Mr. Fuller is a big fucking liar. And frankly, he’s already proven he’s the least to be trusted in this cast of characters. I’m pretty sure no matter how this plays out, your mom is the good guy.” Abby eases into her favorite spot right by the front of school and turns her car off before facing me with her signature you-know-I’m-right smile.

  “How come you get to be smart and confident, and look like that?” I’m only half joking. For real, it isn’t fair.

  She purses her lips with sarcasm and leans her head to the side.

  “June, honey. Looks and brains are not mutually exclusive.”

  Her lips briefly curve up on the ends to punctuate her brilliant response just before she opens her door and gets out of her car, leaving me there in wonder. Sometimes I wonder whether she and I would have become such good friends if Lucas and I never had our falling out. Maybe things do happen the way they’re supposed to.

  Lucas is waiting for me in his truck, the twins hanging out on the bench near where they park. Abby and I walk over to get Lucas’s key and go over the plan for the day with him. Tory pops up from the bench to offer her his seat, and I chuckle lightly as I hop into the passenger side to talk to Lucas.

  “What’s funny?” he asks.

  “Tory thinks being a gentleman is going to win Abby over,” I say.

  “Huh,” Lucas responds, leaning back with his wrists balanced on the steering wheel as we both stare at the odd little love triangle forming in front of us. Last night, Abby told me she was thinking about making a move on Hayden, already moving on from the new guy, Cannon. “He’s too moody,” she said.

  I haven’t mentioned anything to Abby about Tory because I don’t know how serious he is about the little crush he eluded to, and I’ve got enough balls in the air. I don’t need to stir up new drama.

  “So, the key?” I bring Lucas’s attention back to our mission.

  “Oh, yeah. Here,” he says, pulling his key from the ignition and handing it to me. The only truck I’ve ever driven was my uncle’s, and it was a piece of shit stick-shift with zero power steering. Lucas’s truck is a four-by-four and the engine rumbles in the driveway. There may be more car geek in my genes than I ever realized.

  “I see that twinkle in your eyes. Don’t get crazy,” he jokes. His hand covers mine, which now holds his key. My eyes dip to where we touch. I wonder if he’ll hold my hand when the bell rings and we walk into the building.

  “Let me go over things one more time, just to make sure I have it down. At lunch, we both slip out the gate and you get in the car with the MIT lady while I go to your truck and drive it to Two-fers.”

  He nods, but I can tell he’s anxious.

  “You’ll do great,” I reassure him.

  He quakes with a breathy laugh and turns to the side, resting his head on his seat back as his blue eyes settle on me. There’s a trust in his gaze that I’ve missed so much, but there’s a new fondness—a deep tenderness—in his expression now too. I know in my heart that he has never, not once, looked at Ava this way.

  “I’m not really worried about the interview,” he says.

  I twist to face him, mimicking his position. I tuck his keys in my bag by my feet and lean forward, taking his hand in both of mine. His fingers are callused from falls and summers spent taking snaps and gripping the football. These same rough hands felt so soft on my skin. His palm opens and I weave my fingers through his, and his thumb strokes the side of my hand, tracing a line from knuckle to knuckle.

  “Lucas, there is no way your dad can’t be proud of his son getting into MIT,” I say.

  He nods half-heartedly. He doesn’t believe that’s true, and maybe I don’t fully either. I’m starting to think his dad might not actually have a heart, but rather a cold stone in his chest that serves as a greedy magnet, driving him to take and take with little or no regard for the people he hurts along the way.

  The bell sounds, forcing us to break from this quiet moment inside his cab. Still not sure how things stand about Lucas and me in public, I squeeze his hand just before letting go. I reach for my bag to bring it to my lap, but before I fully open the passenger door, Lucas leans across the short distance between us, gliding his hand along my cheek and into my messy twist of hair. He kisses me hard, with a deep sense of urgency as if my kiss will somehow be his lucky charm to survive the day. Any thought that’s the case, though, dwindles the moment our lips part and my gaze lands on a steaming Ava Pryor standing a dozen feet away.

  “Fuuck,” Lucas breathes out, sinking his gaze to his lap, then out his window.

  “She’d find out eventually,” I say, ignoring the hammering in my chest that warns me bad shit is coming my way.

  “Yeah,” Lucas hums. His already tight face is now tighter.

  “Does she know about MIT?” I ask, and he quickly shakes his head.

  “She doesn’t know shit,” he says, flashing his gaze to mine quickly for reassurance.

  I spare a quick glance in her direction to see if she’s still lingering, but she already moved on. Her tiny form punches harsh steps into the ground as she marches down the main walkway into school.

  “I’ll see you at lunch,” I say over my shoulder before opening his truck and sliding to the ground. I hoist my bag over my shoulder, giving Lucas one last glance.

  “I wish you were still in my first hour,” he says before I shut the door, and even though I do, too, I’m also glad he misses me being there.

  I smile and ponder how much I want this day to go smoothly for him as I head on my way to the independent study room. Even though he said Ava Pryor doesn’t know shit, I can’t help but constantly scan my landscape on the lookout for her. That bitch is a sniper, I swear.

  The lunch bell blares, and I practically leap from my seat, my legs having primed themselves with nervous bouncing for the last twenty minutes. My stride is so long that I get to the gate at the front of the school well before Lucas shows up, so I walk near the office and check a few texts on my phone to avoid eye contact with any of the teachers or administrators. There’s a single text from my mom that I can’t get myself to open. I’ve only seen the preview, and the beginning words make me feel pretty terrible.

  June, I am worried sick. Please just tell me . . .

  I assume it goes on to say “that you’re all right.” I am all right. Ish. I’m also a lot wrong. And a whole lot confused and angry.

  “Psst,” a hushed voice sounds from behind me. I turn to see Lucas walking up, his tall, muscular body looking like an elite work of art in black pants and a crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves. The gray tie that I can tell he made a few attempts at hangs loose around his neck. He lifts his chin as he approaches, so I drop my bag at my feet and reach up to grab the satin ends.

  “These things are tricky,” I say through a wide smile. He’s so handsome right now, my mind has become complete goo. I’m not sure whether I want to straighten his tie, or lick him.

  “I fucking hate ties. They choke me,” he complains, swallowing hard and stretching out his collar with the movement of his neck.

  “You’re a big man,” I say, blushing at my words, my focus on the work my hands are doing with the tie. I catch the smirk playing on his lips, so I playfully bat at his chest.

  “Shush, or I won’t help you,” I say.

  A gravelly laugh leaves his chest.

  I get the knot just right on the first try, which is impressive since I haven’t tied one of these since my father left. I tug a few times to get the line of it straight, tucking the back tail into the loop on the back of the front one. I fold his collar down and brush away a tiny bit of lint. He smells like soap and vanilla. I’m almost certain his mom pressed this shirt for him this morning. Her towels always smelled just like this; I remember from the times I went over to swim.

  “There,” I say, bashfully glancing up at him. He looks down at me with a coy smile, and for the first time maybe ever, I believe in my gut that this boy is truly smitten with me, as much as I am with him.

  “Wish me luck,” he says.

  I shake my head.

  “You don’t need it. Break a leg,” I offer instead. He laughs with a short eye roll and then grabs the open gate as one of the late-start seniors walks through.

  “Ready?” he asks. I hold his keys in my palm and jingle them.

  “Let’s do this,” I say. I let him walk out first, his strides long and purposeful toward the middle of the lot, the same direction he went the last time I saw him do this. The red car sticks out, though I think only to me, and because I’m looking for it. I pieced it together when he told me he already met with the representative a few times.

  Today’s interview is at a nearby restaurant, with two other admissions deans. Our principal knows he’s leaving for it, and Lucas said he understands the sensitivity of keeping this a secret from his coach. I’m not sure he knows about me, though, so I don’t dawdle. I jog toward Lucas’s truck in an effort to get there unnoticed. But I don’t make it without at least one person seeing me. I don’t see her coming at all, or the fist she sends into my nose like a rocket.

  Ava fucking Pryor just punched me, and I’m pretty sure she spit on me too. I’m in a fit of rage, and all I want to do is drive every ounce of my body right through hers, flattening her ass on the pavement. But that would make a scene. Teachers would come running, and people would spot me out here at Lucas’s truck, with his keys, while he’s on a covert mission to live his best life without interference from the people who want to run it for him. Goddamn, my face hurts, and my pride hurts a shit-ton more, but I have loved Lucas Fuller longer than I’ve hated Ava Pryor. So for him, I wipe my bloody nose along the sleeve of my sweatshirt and get in his truck, firing it up and peeling out to head to Two-fers, where I hope they have a lot of fucking napkins.

  Chapter Nineteen

  There really isn’t an easy way to mask a black eye. There’s also a chance my nose is broken. I’m honestly kind of impressed with Ava’s form. She hit me good, a nice shot, square up on the bone, causing my right eye to swell shut.

  I spend my entire lunch hour in the Two-fer’s bathroom. I know I’m supposed to go through the drive-thru so nobody can tell for sure who’s driving, but I’m such a mess. And now, I’m the proud owner of a Two-fers long-sleeve T-shirt. I bought the red one because I might as well be prepared for the next bloody nose.

  There isn’t a way for me to hide this from Lucas. I have to give him his keys, but the plan is to be super discreet on his way into the locker room. Maybe he’ll be in such a hurry he won’t have time to ask questions. What I don’t count on is Tory.

  “Maybe Mabee, wonder what you’re hanging around here for,” Tory teases as he jogs up the ramp to the locker room entrance. I’m sitting on the middle of the steps that rise up the opposite side, my right eye facing away from view.

  Tory isn’t shy with me. He moves up the steps and sits with his back resting on the opposite wall, our feet practically touching. He stretches his toes forward, tapping the sole of his shoe into mine. I do my best to look at him sideways, but when he mocks my weird posture and side-eyes, I give in and get it over with.