The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things (28 page)

Shane settles beside me. “I wrote this for you, Sage. I hope you like it.”

And I’m too breathless to respond as he starts to play.

“Rock bottom, left for dead, / Furies screaming in my head— / I was off the rails, way off track / Somehow you brought me back.”

This song is soft and slow, his voice deepening, lending the lyrics greater intimacy. He gazes at me as he sings, and I melt. My hands are folded in my lap, and I restrain the urge to throw myself at him. My body isn’t big enough to hold this feeling.
God, he wrote me a song.

Shane launches into the second verse, cradling the guitar tenderly.
“You’re the one who makes me whole / When I’m broken in my soul / The queen of bright and shiny things, / Not designer clothes or diamond rings.”

I push out a shaky breath, listening.

“So you’re the calm and I’m the storm; / I’d sell my soul to keep you warm. / You’re the angel in my bed; / You’re all the words I never said.”

My cheeks heat when he says I’m the angel in his bed. Technically, he was in mine, but I’m thinking that will change tonight. But words, which ones? The big three? I can’t stand this. It’s too beautiful and personal. I ache all over.

“Princess, let me fight for you / I’ll go to war if you want me to / But I’d rather take you home tonight / Hold you close and treat you right.”

I remember the way his fist balled up when Dylan was giving me shit. Shane really
would
fight for me, I suspect, but it’s enough that he wants to. Because of him, I don’t hate that nickname anymore; I used to hear “princess” and flinch, but now it makes me smile.

His voice drops, so intense and heartfelt, and his eyes blaze blue fire as he plays.
“Other men could give you more / But none of them could love you more / They can keep the world if I’ve got you / I’m forever yours, forever true.”

Did he just say he loves me? I’m pretty sure he did.
For a few seconds, I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t speak, let alone move.

“Well?” he prompts, looking worried.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe you wrote that for me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he says softly. “That was just a song.”

“
That
was the best present anyone’s ever given me.” Sliding off the sofa, I take his hand. “Wanna show me your room?”

Shane’s off the couch like a shot. “It’s not decorated like the rest.”

“Doesn’t matter. I just want to be close to you.”

The twinkle lights from the other room cast enough of a glow for his room to seem less stark. His bed’s right there, so there’s no doubt why I wanted to see the room. Otherwise, there’s not much scenery.

Shane comes up behind me and I spin, leaning toward him. He meets me halfway with a kiss so sweet that the top of my head tingles. One-armed, he puts his guitar down and then draws me up against him. His hands drop to my hips, the boldest he’s been in touching me.

Tonight, he can have everything.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and the world disappears. The next thing I know, we’re a tangle of arms and legs, lips touching again and again. He runs his palm over my hip, stealing under my shirt to graze my bare belly. My whole body reacts.

“Do you want—”

“Yes.” I answer before he finishes the question.

And then we’re both in a hurry, though I keep my top on. Shane scrambles for a condom, and I don’t care why he has them. I’m just glad he does. He’s so close. We’re both trembling. He kisses me as it happens, and I know this changes everything. I don’t care. For these moments, he’s part of me. I’m part of him. It’s quick and strange and deep, like diving from a high board. I come up for air, gasping, holding on to him as he shakes.

Afterward, he holds me. I stroke through his hair. “Tell the truth, did you plan this?”

“What do you think?”

“You had protection.”

“Would you believe I was a Boy Scout and my motto is Be Prepared?”

“Unlikely.” I use his word. Our word.

“Then, no, I didn’t plan it, but let’s say I hoped.” His smile is too beautiful for this world, and I am dying of love.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I go to school the next day … and everything is different. People are whispering, staring at me. I check my clothes to make sure nothing’s unzipped or tucked in where it shouldn’t be. No, no wardrobe malfunctions. No TP clinging to the back of my shoe. It’s weird, and I don’t spot Shane at our locker. God, I hope he’s okay. Maybe something happened to him last night after I left, and that’s why everyone is talking. They just don’t know how to break the bad news to me.

Shit.
I’m about to panic when I get swept into the pre-bell rush. Somehow I end up in my first class, but nobody will make eye contact. Whatever it is, this is bad. I can’t hear the teacher. I can barely keep from screaming. I look for him in the hall between classes, but I don’t see him. My stomach doesn’t settle until Shane sprints into geometry, a few periods later.

He smiles at me and whispers, “I overslept.”

Some of the sour feel eases from my stomach. At least whatever’s going on, Shane is all right. The strange behavior from the rest of the school continues until lunch, however. People aren’t greeting me like they did, no friendly smiles or fist bumps, no “sup, Shage” when I’m walking with Shane. In fact, one guy mutters to him, “Wow, you’re brave, dude.”

This can’t be what I’m afraid it is. It
can’t.
Then Dylan strolls by, smiling. He makes eye contact and his expression ripens into a grin. He aims a finger gun at me and pulls the trigger.

Worried, when I reach our table, I ask Lila, “What’s going on? Have you heard?”

She shakes her head. “They aren’t talking to me. People know I will cut a bitch if they start something with you.”

Today, our crew is sparse, just me, Ryan, Lila, and Shane. I spot the others scattered among other tables. Whatever it is, I guess they heard … and they’re gone. I try not to mind; I mean, they’re freshmen and sophomores. They can’t afford any social errors.

After lunch, I’m at my locker with Lila. It becomes crystal clear when a guy I don’t know steps up to me, ignoring his friends’ nervous laughter. “So … is it true?”

“What?” I fold my arms, pretending to be bored, when it feels like I might hurl. I have an inkling where this conversation is going, based on Dylan’s clue.

“That you killed your mom.”

My breath goes in a rush, and I literally see sparks, so Lila has to catch me. She helps me lean against the lockers, then she takes a step forward. “You will step off
right now,
unless you want to eat your nutsack.”

When the kid doesn’t move, she lunges at him and he flinches backward. It’s enough for her to clear a path with an arm around me. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m puking up the lunch I packed. Then I sit down on the toilet, not crying, but shaking. I can’t stop.

He did it.
That’s the thought looping in my head.
Dylan promised he’d dig until he found something to wreck me with … and he did it. I even riled him up two days ago, gave him a reason to keep hate alive. I shouldn’t have let Shadow Sage off her chain.

There’s always a price.

“Sage? You okay?” I hear worry in Lila’s voice. She must be wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

I burst out in near-hysterical laughter. “No. Not even close. I can’t go to class. Please get me out of here.”

To my relief, she doesn’t argue. “Let me check the hall.” A few seconds later I hear her come back. “It’s clear for now. We’ll go out the back and circle around for your bike.”

“Sounds like you’ve cut before.”

“Trust me, I’m a pro. I’ll take you home.”

And she isn’t lying. She knows exactly how to slip out of school and get us off property before anyone notices. Pretty soon she’s pedaling my bike and I’m on the seat, which is good because I’d probably end up in a ditch. I can’t go back to school now. I can’t. I’d rather live in the group home again than face another day of this.

Once we get to my house, Lila makes tea, looking worried. “Should I call your aunt?”

“No, she’ll find out when she gets home. That’s soon enough to ruin her day.”

“So … what’s the deal? Obviously
something
happened with your mom or you would’ve told him to screw off. But why would some random dude know that about you?”

Since I don’t feel like spilling my guts, I tell her the truth—about Dylan and the private war we’ve been waging, which I escalated yesterday, and he shot back. This is a hot button for Lila, and she’ll forget about my past, at least for now. As expected, when she learns how he threatened to dig into my life and find something shitty to spread around, she starts pacing, ranting with more four-letter words than I’ve heard before in one breath.

“That son of a bitch,” she fumes. “If he thinks he can get away with this, oh,
hell
no.”

Well, he
did
warn me. I have no idea how he found out, but he won, fair and square. And he told me this was the way it would go down. I just … got cocky. I hoped that if we shamed him bad enough that he’d slink away, but that’s not how he rolls. He’s been the alpha dog for too long.

Eventually, she settles down long enough to ask, “Does Shane know what’s going on?”

“I should text him.”

For a few seconds, I just stare my phone. Then I type,
went home early. Skipping Green World. TTYL.

“Do you have to work tonight?” Lila asks.

“No, that’s only on Monday and Thursday.”

Despite her trying to cheer me up, it’s just not happening. I brush my teeth and get in bed, pulling the covers over my head. In the end, Lila stays until Shane shows up, just past three. She’s eager to go out and implement some revenge scheme against Dylan, and I don’t have the energy to tell her it’s a bad idea. A part of me even admires how much he loves his mother. He ruined me, as promised, to make sure I can’t say anything about her and the principal. Who would listen now?

I’m feeling like crap when I hear Shane’s footsteps coming down the hall. “Sage? What the hell? There’s some crazy shit about your mom going around at school. Why’d you take off?”

I can’t look at him when I say this. I just can’t. “Because it’s true.”

If he had any common sense, this would be the last I hear from him, and what
perfect
timing for Dylan’s payback; I sleep with Shane, then he breaks up with me.

Right now, given what he’s probably heard, he should be walking. Instead, Shane sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m supposed to believe that? You don’t even eat meat.” Gently, he draws the covers off and pulls me into his arms. “Talk to me. I’m not leaving until you do.”

Some shrinks say that it’s best to share your trauma. You become less sensitized to it. And I’ve done all kinds of therapy: group, personal, specialized, hourly, artistic, musical. Some of those programs even felt experimental; they were supposed to fix me. But none of the awful shit I had to do in order to be released into Aunt Gabby’s care horrified me half as much as the idea of telling Shane the truth.

But I have to. I owe him that much. He needs to know what I used to be. That way, he’ll understand why he needs to bail.

“I told you part of my story … but not the really bad stuff.”

“Okay.” It’s an encouraging word. I hate it.

Yesterday was perfect; yesterday was before. This is why
before
is a magical word.

I take a deep breath to offset the ache in my chest. “Things were fine with my dad. He died when I was seven. I spent a year in foster care, and that sucked, but I don’t have any horror stories. Just … I never felt at home, I guess.”

“I get it.”

No, you really don’t,
I want to scream, but I’m not allowed to be angry. Anger is flames, showering sparks and death. And besides, I’m not even mad at him. I just want to burn the world down right now. And that’s the impulse I’m hiding from. Because at this moment, I can imagine Dylan Smith’s house on fire—and it makes me feel
better
.

“When I was eight, they found my bio-mom. She was clean, then. But it didn’t last long.”

Time for some show-and-tell.
I sit up, pull off my hoodie, and show him my bare arms. There’s a reason I always have on a sweater or a jacket. Years later, I’m still marked with cigarette burns, the scars lined up in neat rows. They were punishments for when I didn’t do what my mom expected or sometimes even when I did. There was no pleasing her. She hated me, I think. I don’t understand why she took me in when the social worker contacted her. Guilt maybe, or possibly the welfare money. I’ll never know, now.

Shane takes my hands in his and runs his long fingers over the marks. I shiver; it’s been such a long time since anyone touched me here. Even last night, I didn’t strip down with him. I let him think it was because I’m shy, but that wasn’t the reason. I’ve always had darkness to hide.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

The question’s like a blade between my ribs. “It’s not exactly cafeteria chat.”

“We’ve had plenty of time alone, Sage.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Ruin it how?”

“With this.” I bend my head, staring at my scars. “This happened when she was sober. Once she got back on junk, she stopped caring where I was … or who was in the house with us.” I’m relating this in a monotone because it’s just so ugly that I can’t think of an emotional tone that seems right.

This is me. This is where I’m from.

“Oh my God,” he whispers.

“I was eleven when I broke. Three years of this shit. We were renting this hellhole … and she couldn’t come up with the money. So she gets this idea—” I break off.
Wow, this is harder than I expected. And I
knew
it would suck.
“To use me. To pay. So she invites the landlord over.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“They drank a lot that night. And passed out before he could … you know. Then I set fire to the place. And I went outside.”