The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

River nodded. “That fucker is my kryptonite. But I promise that won’t happen again.”

“I trust you. But River, if things change—”

“They won’t.”

“But if they do, I’ll understand. Just give me a heads up before our dance comes up.” I laughed. “Scratch that. Your dance, not ours. I doubt I’ll be anywhere near the Prom court this time around. “

“Also my fault.”

“It’s not important. But now that we’ve established our BFF status, can I suggest something? Talk to your mom and dad before you head off to college, move away from Santa Cruz, and begin a life you don’t want.”

He shook his head. “The pressure… It’s the weight of an ocean. Dad’s pinned all his own broken hopes on me. It’d kill him if I walked away. And with Mom being sick, I can’t do that to him.” He stood up before I could argue and offered me his hand to pull me off the bench. “Come on, BFF. Confession is over.”

We walked in companionable silence as the bell rang at the end of lunch. When we reached my locker, I gave him a hug.

“Thank you,” he said in my ear. “I mean it.”

“Any time. Oh, and River? It’s blue.”

“What’s that?”

“The color of my Prom dress is blue. For my corsage?” I teased, arching a brow at him. “In case you need the reminder.”

“I won’t,” he said heavily. “My dad won’t let me.”

Chapter Twenty

June 3rd arrived. My flight to Los Angeles wasn’t until that evening. Violet had a late doctor’s appointment for a final check-up after her concussion, so Evelyn was driving me to the airport to give me last-minute advice. In LA, a car would take me to the Fairmont Miramar Hotel. The next morning, I’d meet with Jack Villegas, senior vice president at Gold Line Records.

Holy shit, I thought for the millionth time that day as I packed.

I didn’t have much. I put my best dark jeans in a duffel along with my Sonic Youth T-shirt, which was my least faded. Evelyn had advised me to wear the leather necklace with the bone horn she’d found for me to complement my braided leather bracelets.

“And your beanie,” she’d said. “For God’s sake, wear your beanie.”

The clothing felt shabby and too casual, but I had nothing else. Evelyn said it was the “real me.”

But what if the real me isn’t good enough?

I cursed myself for being this wound up and invested, but I couldn’t help it. Hope was sometimes as potent as fear and just as debilitating.

I went to the fridge with my portable med storage bag and took a quick inventory of the snacks I needed to bring, estimated what I’d eat on the trip, and calculated how much insulin to take. I felt Chet’s eyes on me as I removed the refrigerated capsules and packed them in the travel bag.

Since hearing the news about my interview, he’d been in a foul mood. Like a simmering pot ready to boil over.

“Hey, hotshot,” Chet called from the couch, then muttered into a beer can, “Yeah, thinks he’s fucking hot stuff now. Little bitch is what he is.”

My pulse quickened. It was only ten in the morning. Everyone—with the possible exception of Ronan—still had school until three. Mom had called in sick from work, and I’d stayed home with her to make sure she was okay.

I’d been staying home from school as often as I could, since the day I found the bruises on her arm, but she’d told me not to. I was truant, for one thing, but instead of protecting her from Chet, she said me being home all the time made things worse. Put Chet more on edge.

“He’s never touched me again after that,” she’d sworn, and so I went to school.

But that morning, I was too jacked up for school and even more reluctant to leave Mom. I went into her room to check on her.

“He’s ready to blow.”

“I know,” she said. “But you have to go. Please. You’ll only make it worse.”