Page 50 of Undone

To my left side. Again.

I stop in the middle of the quad, pulling him by his wrist to a slightly more secluded spot.

“What—”

“He told you,” I say, arms crossed. Anger wars with frustration and embarrassment in equal measure. My skin feels hot, flushed across my cheeks and down my neck. My limbs feel twitchy and uncontrollable. “About my hearing.”

Holden winces and rubs at the back of his neck. “He . . . It was only because—”

“He told you?” I ask it this time, eyes watery, but then panic because I probably yelled and didn’t mean to. How much did Holden figure out on his own? Is it obvious? Have I missed things he’s said before or talked too loud and he didn’t want to tell me?

My body sinks, heavy and exhausted. I think I could sink into the grass like a puddle if I tried. “Tell Toren to keep his friends out of my business. I don’t need help. I’m fine.”

“Lily—”

“And . . . don’t sit with me in class,” I go on. “I’m not . . . I don’t need a pity friendship.” I don’t need any more of Toren’s friends pretending to be mine. “I’m not a kid.”

“Lily, wait—”

Not bothering to look back, mildly afraid I’ll do something I never do, like cry, I turn my chin up and head toward the parking lot, frustrated and angry and so defeated.

There’s a sense of loss there too.

Why is this friendship thing so hard? My stomach churns. I want to call Paloma. I want to go find her and tell her everything. To seek comfort in her.

But I also don’t want to be so needy of her.

Just go home. See if she’s there and talk to her then. She has to come home eventually.

I nod to myself. It’s a solid plan—ideal, and a good balance. I can occupy myself until she’s free and then Paloma can tell me what I should do.

Turning on my heel, I head back to the parking lot, a confident pep lingering in each step, until I spot a stupid black motorcycle and a stupid helmet with a faded Watch Me Van Go!

Chapter 21

Toren

She’s like a living flame—usually pale skin red with exertion and fury, glossy auburn locks gleaming in the sun, even the flurry of her movement toward me is so intoxicating I don’t breathe let alone blink or dare to look away.

Trying to keep my face cool and unapproachable is hard enough when this level of emotional display from her is like a goddamn drug.

I’d once prided myself on unfurling her like a flower, pulling once-restrained intensity from her with ease. At fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, it was refreshingly cool water on my overheated skin, a relief to the fury blazing constant in my blood. To see the careful mold her father tried to shove her into crack and break under my harsh handling.

Come here, Lil. Let me do it again.

“Hey!” she shouts, marching right up to me. There’s a scarce amount of people near the bike area of the parking lot. And I might have parked slightly closer to her car than I usually would on the off chance I’d get a glimpse of her.

“Yes, Little LaBlanc?”

The nickname hits her like a slap, enough that she momentarily pauses, before storming forward again. Her eyes are blazing this close, shimmering like misty lakes under a glittering sunbeam.

And I can still taste her on my tongue from the other night, when I’d pressed my fingers in my mouth the second I got back on my bike. It’s all I can taste now as she comes close enough for me to catch her scent again.

“Stay. Out. Of. My. Business.” Each word hangs on its own in the air as Lily stabs just between my pecs with her pointer finger on each syllable.

I raise my hands in mock surrender. “No idea what you’re on about.”

“Yes. You. Do.”