“Yes,” Ryan says. “Yes, I liked Gwen. But she was sad, man. She was sad all the fucking time. I was sad when she died. But I wasn’t surprised. And I knew it wasn’t an accident.”
I shake my head, feeling the tears stabbing at my eyeballs. I want to get out of here. I want to stay and hear more. I want to fucking kill him. I want to ask him more about my sister. A sister I didn’t know as well as I thought, but am starting to realize I have harbored resentment in quantities I’m not equipped to deal with.
“You’ll drag Remington down the same path if you don’t let her go, you know,” I say instead of screaming and fighting and taunting him like I desperately want to. “You want her to stay so you can bask in her light. But she’s going to end up a Shelly or even a Gwen if she doesn’t get out of this town, and we both know it.”
“No.” Ryan stubs the cigarette into a wall to put it out. It’s disgusting, but then again, this whole room is full of cigarette butts and smells of piss. “No, I’ll get better.”
“You won’t, and we both know it.”
“I will.”
“You can’t.”
“She’s mine.”
“She’s no one’s,” I admit. “But if she’ll ever be anyone’s, if you truly love her, you better hope like hell it’s not you she’ll belong to.”
“Shut up!” he screams, tugging at his hair.
“You know it’s true.”
Ryan falls to his knees and cries. I want to do the same but stop myself. Instead, I take a step back. I watch him. I feel sorry for him. Life failed him the way it failed my sister. Or maybe they both just failed at life and didn’t have the guts or strength to take another stab at the test.
“I don’t want Rem to turn into Gwen,” Ryan admits, sniffing. He looks like a boy like this. Sitting on the floor, messing his blond hair with his fist.
“Then you know what to do about it,” I say.
“Maybe,” he answers.
Maybe is better than no.
The cafeteria looks smaller.
The hallways seem narrower.
Everything is closing in on me. I want to get away, but at the same time, I’m desperate to stay and see him. To feel him. To be around him.
Christian is trying to keep a low profile, something I’m not sure he is capable of doing. He is waiting for me by the door after each class, and we walk together—arms linked—to grab lunch or to our next period. I can almost smell his insecurity. Ever since he and Benton fought in the hallway, he’s been trying not to draw attention to himself. But even in school uniform, everything about him is colorful. If he were a character in a book, he would jump out of the page. Like right now, we’re walking toward the entrance, about to get out of school and hit the nearest mall, and he is telling me about his upcoming trip to New York—he is trying to get into NYU and is looking at the dorms—he flings his arms in the air and gets caught up in describing the big city to me before he takes it down a notch and lowers his voice.
“So, anyway, I need a new suitcase. And maybe a new tie. I want to look the part, you know? I really feel like I can reinvent myself there.” We’re both breezing through the doors, and my heart feels a little lighter to put West Point behind me. Leaving Pierce behind is another story.
Ryan has been okay in recent days. Mostly absent and very quiet, but not in the way he was when he was using. I don’t know why, and I don’t dare to ask. He’s slowly turning into the old Ryan, and that’s what’s important.
“You don’t need to reinvent yourself,” I say absentmindedly. “I like you just fine the way you are.”
“Other people here don’t.”
“Other people here are stupid,” I drawl.
“Because you’re such a genius, aren’t you?” I hear a familiar voice behind me and twist my head with a frown. Christian spins around, his whole body tilting to the voice. He reacts to it like I react to Pierce.
Addiction. Obsession. Attraction. Reaction.
“What do you want, Herring?” I feel my nostrils
flare. I grab Christian’s hand and squeeze it for assurance. “If you get anywhere near him, you’ll get expelled.” Benton should be expelled already, but Christian didn’t want to press charges, and with both Mikaela’s senator father and his own father, he never faced any real trouble. And he knows it.
“I just want to talk to him.” Benton stares at Christian. Not at me. I can’t read his expression, but surely it can’t be good. Not after their last encounter together.