an I’m saying. She at least does me the favor of not trying to coax it from me. Perhaps we both sense how futile that would be. I’m not ready to admit what happened between Hamilton and me, and I’m not sure if I ever will be. I just want to box it up, shove it into a dark closet somewhere, and never see it again.
Dad’s constantly uncomfortable around me, often approaching me like I’m a ticking time bomb who must be treated with delicate care. He takes to offering me snacks, to letting me run errands, to giving me the remote control. Sometimes when he looks at me, I can see a thread of fear in his eyes. He already had one daughter fall apart. I don’t think he can handle a second.
Debbie, as usual, is a godsend. She does none of these things. She gives me time, space, and chocolate, and doesn’t seem as if she’s asking a question every time our gazes meet.
Brayden gives me a wide berth at first, until late one night, he finds me sitting alone on the back porch. I fully expect his well-earned ‘I told you so’, but it never comes. He sits down beside me, silent, and the weight of his palm, warm against my back, means he probably feels the hitch in my breath when I struggle to choke down my tears. We sit out there for over an hour, just staring into the darkness of the backyard, and it’s nothing, really. No words are spoken. Nothing gets resolved. But it’s the first night I fall asleep without shedding a single tear.
Then there’s Micha.
Micha is, by all accounts, perfectly fine. He’s still riding a high from the show, and if he’s upset with me or anyone else, then he isn’t showing it. I watch him for days, waiting to see a sign of resentment or detachment, but they’re never there. Nevertheless, I stew in the need to comfort him while I wait, carefully composing my apology in my head.
Eventually, I take the plunge.
“Hey,” I say, walking into his room. Michaela’s stuff is back on her side, but you’d never know it was a boy and a girl who shared the space. There’s pink and glitter everywhere. He’s watching something on his laptop and barely flicks his eyes in my direction. “Can we talk?”
He sighs, flicking me a long-suffering gaze as he presses pause. “Sure.”
I walk in the room and sit gingerly on the edge of his bed. I lean to take a peek at what he’s watching on YouTube, and see the still frame of a dancer leaping across a dark stage.
I look away, lacing my fingers into my lap. “About what happened at school—”
“What about it?” His eyes are shrewd, completely unguarded.
He’s not going to make this easy.
With a composing breath, I confess, “I think the Devils targeted you because of me. And if that’s the case, then I’m really sorry. I know that seeing the pictures of you floating around like that has to hurt, and nothing would hurt me more than seeing you feel self-conscious or—”
“Gwen, stop.”
“What?” I look at him, sighing. “I’m just trying to clear this up because I feel really shitty—”
“Well, this isn’t actually about you.” He closes the laptop, pushing it aside to level me with a frank gaze. “I don’t care about that graffiti, okay? Honestly it was pretty cool.”
I blink at him for a moment before openly gaping. “Excuse me. What?”
He shrugs. “I looked amazing in that costume. I did amazing in the show. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of here. I crushed it.”
“I know, but—”
“There’s no ‘but’.” He rolls his eyes. “Are those guys assholes? Yes. They’re also jealous haters who can’t stand the fact that us middle school kids don’t care about all their Devil bullshit. I have friends, Gwen. Real friends, who love me for who I am.” He pulls out his phone and opens the ChattySnap app. He goes to a hashtag—#queenofthefreaks—and I see hundreds, if not thousands, of posts. Each and every one is something positive; demands for more pictures, celebratory gifs, kids showcasing their own uniqueness. I look at it in awe, realizing that he’s already got support—a tribe of his own. He explains, “It went viral. The freaks shall inherit the Earth, sis, and I’m proud to be one.”
I stare at the photos and feel my cheeks heat. Leave it to Micha to see this as good publicity. “I’m proud of you too, Micha, so much. I just didn’t want you to get hurt like—”
“Like Skylar got hurt at that party?” My gaze jerks to his, widening in surprise. The twins aren’t supposed to know anything about Skylar and that party. “Please,” he scoffs, watching me. “With as much of a snoop as Michaela is? Did you really think we were just sitting around, not even trying to find out what happened to our own sister? We might be younger than you, but we’re not dumb, and we don’t love Sky any less.”
“I know that.” I frown at him. “I wasn’t meaning—”
But Micha just continues, “What happened to Sky was bad, and I hate that she had to go through it. But that’s not who I am.”
“You’re strong,” I agree. Way stronger than I am. “But people like the Devils? They see that strength and they want to break it.”
He rolls his eyes, seeming entirely unconcerned. “I’m not scared of the Devils—or whatever is left of them, anyway. Every day, I walk out the door and make the choice to defy assholes like that.” He turns to me, eyebrow raising. “Like, come on, Gwen. Do you have any idea how much bad bitch energy it takes to pull off some of the outfits I wear?”
I can’t help but laugh, feeling something in my chest slowly loosen at the sight of his twinkling eyes. “You really are the baddest bitch I know.”
“And don’t you forget it.” He smiles back and it warms my heart. “Now, can I tell you something? From one bad bitch to another.”
I nod. “Of course.”