She looks like she’s starting to understand. “Well, this isn’t the way. Either she gets to know you, or she doesn’t. You can’t force her.”
I realize, “You forgave Reyn, right?” and fling a hand toward him, blood flying. “You blamed him for the accident, but you forgave him. How did he do it?”
Her eyes follow my hand, and she snatches it up, gaping at the wound. “What did you do to your—oh for Pete’s sake.” She turns to yell, “Em, bring me the first aid kit from the glove box?”
“It’s fine,” I insist, but she just holds it between us, eyebrows puckered.
“I never blamed Reyn for the accident,” she reveals in an even tone, looking into my eyes. “I blamed him for putting us in the position to have one. There’s a difference.”
I feel my face go slack, because huh. Is that the problem? Could Sugar be madder about me picking the fight than the fact I hit her?
It doesn’t quite feel so easy.
Emory returns with the first aid kit, Reyn in tow, and they both look on with narrowed eyes as Vandy cleans my bloody knuckles. I don’t hold it against them—it’s not fair. I hurt her, and here she is fixing me up.
Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any lower.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
She curves a shrewd eyebrow down at my hand. “For…?”
Girls always do this thing where an apology has to come with an itemized bill. It’s annoying as fuck, but I suppose I get it. How can you truly be sorry if you don’t know what you did?
I know exactly what I did. “For using you like my yipping guard dog.”
She sends me a sad smile. “You’re forgiven.”
Before they leave, Reyn turns to me. Even though Vandy’s forgiveness seems to have softened his anger toward me a little—he does have a little experience with needing her forgiveness, after all—he still gives me a sharp look. “You know, Bass, speaking from experience? At some point you’re going to have to stop saying what a good guy you are and actually become one.”
He and Emory lead Vandy away, and fucking ouch.
I would have rather he beat the shit out of me.
8
Sugar
I learn a few things during the first week at Preston Prep, the least of which being my darkroom chemical and procedure training. Private school education is definitely superior to public. I’m already behind, which means working my ass off if I want to keep up with the rest of my class. I discover that, despite our differences, the kids are the same here as anywhere else—just more. More rewards. More opportunity. More privileges. More expensive drama. They drop brand names and exotic locations like they’re nothing, and I grow convinced half these people haven’t even met their parents since middle school ended.
If it weren’t for the photography club, I’d feel entirely adrift.
“Micha, this is stunning,” Mr. Lee says, exhibiting one of the member’s photos.
We’re in what I’m told is the newly renovated Hollis Bates Creative Arts building. We’re a mere group of seven, so the massive presentation room makes us seem like a particularly sparse bunch. We’d all moved our seats to a huddle at the front of the room, and it’s…
Well, it’s nice.
There’s a lot of space to stretch out without fear of being touched. The younger girl sitting next to me—Michaela—keeps offering me the open bag of M&Ms she’s been eating from, arm extended in the space between our seats. She gives me a sweet grin when I finally relent, popping a handful in my mouth. I reluctantly return it.
The photo Mr. Lee is examining up front belongs to her twin brother. It’s a bold, colorful shot of a dancer in motion, her hair swirling fluidly around her face.
“You really captured the movement here,” he’s telling Micha. “I enjoy the use of color.”
Micha himself is a study in bold color, from his bright green eye shadow to his neon purple shoes. He straightens in his chair, asking, “Is there going to be a Creative Corner feature this week?”
Michaela makes an exasperated noise, muttering, “Glory hound.”
“There will!” Mr. Lee pauses and turns to me, explaining for my benefit, “We have a little student exhibition space in the lobby of the arts wing. Every week we like to pick some creative works to display from various mediums—”