Page 30 of The Design of Goodbye
I squinted at my math problem, but it was still as confusing as it’d been forty-five minutes ago when I’d first ignored it.
“Hey, Liam?” I whispered. After we’d gone over my math lesson, I’d started the homework due Monday, and he’d struggled to stay awake as I worked. After ten minutes, he’d rested his head on the table and fallen asleep. I’d been putting off asking him questions because I didn’t want to wake him, but I couldn’t finish my assignment without his help.
Quietly, I said again, “Hey, Liam?”
He jerked awake. “Sorry.” He rubbed at the red mark on his cheek from the table and asked, “Did you have a question?”
“I did most of my homework, but there’s a few—”
A loud bang sounded from the adjacent wall. We both jumped, and Liam’s head snapped to the closed door.
“It’s from the construction they’re doing in the children’s reading area,” I said, recognizing the sound. He didn’t take his attention off the door. “Liam?”
A second bang jolted him out of his trance, but instead of turning back to face me, he grabbed a mint out of his backpack and popped it in his mouth.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he said, but the trembling in his voice and the shaking of his head betrayed him.
Another bang. He pulled the collar of his hoodie over his nose before folding into himself. His breaths were frantic and heavy through the fabric. While he was easily startled by loud noises, this reaction was different than anything I’d ever seen. A louder bang came from the wall right next to us, and he shot up, his chair crashing to the floor.
“I have to go.” He scrambled to gather his stuff, his hands trembling like his voice.
“But we haven’t finished.”
I wasn’t sure why I said that. It was obvious my homework was the least of his worries, but his actions were making me so nervous I didn’t know what to say or how to react.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Do you need—”
He was gone before I could finish speaking.
chapter twelve
That night, Jules and I drove to Zach Forster’s house for a Halloween party. I’d been looking forward to Halloween all month—until earlier this week, when Jules had informed me our haunted house plans were canceled. Apparently, Zach’s Halloween party was supposed to be amazing, and she refused to miss it. I loved haunted houses, but I wasn’t walking through one alone, so Zach’s party was my only option.
As we walked up the driveway, I tried to bury my sadness. It was hard, though, when my costume was a reminder of how much I’d changed. This was the first year since I’d taught myself to sew that I hadn’t made my own Halloween costume. It’d always been the time of year I pushed aside all pressure my mom put on me—that the only clothes I should make were original pieces—and sewed a Halloween costume based on a template I found online.
This year, I hadn’t felt like making one. Instead, I’d bought a Little Red Riding Hood costume at one of those pop-up Halloween stores. The fabric was awful and the skirt way too short, but Jules had convinced me it was perfect when I’d texted her a picture. I’d bought it because I craved her approval; I knew I probably shouldn’t.
Jules was dressed as Ariel. Her costume consisted of a seashell-shaped bra and a tiny sequined aquamarine skirt with the highest red stilettos I’d ever seen. Her hair was curled and had tiny seashell barrettes pinned throughout. Her skin was glowing, eyes bright with anticipation. She was stunning.
Zach’s house was so crowded I held onto Jules’s arm as we searched the house for Claire. The party had only started a few hours ago, but Zach’s house was a disaster. Red cups were scattered on the floor, some still trickling beer onto the carpet. Empty chip bags and pizza boxes were piled in corners. The entire house reeked of smoke.
We found Claire doing shots with Bruce and Spencer in the kitchen. As soon as she saw us, Claire flung herself at Jules, and the tiny bit of good mood I’d mustered disappeared. Claire was dressed almostexactlylike Jules. The only differences were the color of their skirts and hairstyles.
“Finally!” said Claire. Her hair was in a sleek bun with pearl necklaces woven throughout, complimenting her purple skirt. “He’s been here for an hour. He’s downstairs with Alex.”
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“Tanner, of course,” said Claire. “Let’s get drinks and go downstairs.”
As Claire and Jules filled us all cups with beer, I leaned against the kitchen counter. I’d been hoping Bruce was too distracted with his alcohol to notice me, but luck wasn’t on my side.
He sidled over to me, our arms grazing. “Looking smokin’, Winters. As always.” He was dressed as some type of comic book character—I think Wolverine—but I’d never been good at recognizing who was who. “Wanna do a shot?”
He waved a bottle of vodka in front of me, and I turned away, repulsed. “No, thanks.”
