I Am Her Revenge (14 page)

The next morning
before history class, G-Man appears at my locker. I haven’t spoken to him since he sold me Molly two months ago, though I’ve sent him a few sultry smiles when we’ve passed in the halls, just in case I need something more from him.

His dark brown hair looks even messier than usual, and there is a look of deep concern in his eyes, which erases the wannabe cocky schoolboy mask he usually wears. He’s actually much more attractive for it.

“What’s going on with Claire?” he asks, without saying hello first.

I close my locker and lean against it. “What do you mean?” I ask, all bewildered innocence.

“She’s out of control. She took way too much Oxy last night. Nearly passed out. I stopped selling it to her a while ago, but she must have begged a few pills off somebody.”

G-Man looks at me like he’s expecting me to say something, to take responsibility and promise to fix it. I shift from one foot to the other, then shrug, pulling my book bag strap over my shoulder. “Claire’s old enough to make her own decisions, don’t you think?” I ask, my tone bored.

“I think she’s got a problem. Like I said, I’m not selling to her anymore, but she needs—I don’t know, someone to watch out for her.” He opens his hands palm up, gesturing at me.

I stare at his hands and then at him, watching the concern in his eyes morph into exasperation. “I’m late for class,” I say, pushing past him. I leave him gaping at me.

When I walk into English class later that morning, Ben smiles up at me, then turns to his friends and listens to whatever lame joke they’ve come up with today.

“Ms. Foster?” Ms. Prisby asks, her lips in a thin line. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I have your attention, please?”

There are a few giggles and snorts of laughter behind me. I cock one eyebrow at Ms. Prisby and nod tightly. I’m sure she hates that I write such flawless papers and ace all of the tests; she’s so very tempted to fail me. I can see it in her eyes every time she looks at me. Even my work on the literary magazine isn’t enough to make her ignore my dismissive attitude.

I finally understand why Mother wanted me to build such animosity between us, though, when Ben catches me by the arm after class and pulls me into a supply closet. His lips are on mine as soon as the door has closed securely behind us, and I can’t see anything in this dark room. My only point of reference is the feel of his hands on my hips, his tongue searching into my mouth. It anchors me, and I feel myself relax into him. Almost as if I missed this.

He pulls away for a moment, running his fingers through my hair. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he whispers. “Sorry Ms. Prisby was in such a strop.”

“She hates me,” I say, nuzzling into his neck. “I don’t know why.”

He keeps his hands tangled in my hair and kisses my forehead. Like I really am a girlfriend. Like I really deserve his love and have permission to love him back.

“No one’s allowed to hate you,” he declares, his voice making the disinfectant-scented air swirl with anger. “I won’t let them.”

I laugh a little, and then fake-simper, “What would I ever do without you?”

He pulls me in for another deep kiss. “Sometimes I wish we could just, you know, run away,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against mine.

I hold my breath. I can tell from his tone, though, that in reality, it’s an impossible thought to him. Something he wishes, not something he thinks will actually happen. I still have a long way to go.

“How about we just stay in here all day?” he asks, only half joking.

“Let the world outside disappear,” I agree.

We let ourselves forget the world outside for a few more minutes, but if he doesn’t show up for lunch, people will talk. By silent agreement, we push the door open, make sure there’s no one in the hall, and head out. He goes to lunch, and I hide in the library until next period.

A smile threatens to bloom on my lips the entire time.

It’s clear Claire has had enough of our mutual silence when she spots me in the hall that afternoon. She grabs me by the arm before I can walk past her. “I’m sorry about being such a bloody idiot,” she tells me, locking her sorrowful eyes on mine.

I look at her, really look at her, trying to reconcile this little blonde ringleted thing with a drug problem. It doesn’t make sense. Though her face does seem a little thinner, and there are purplish circles under her eyes. “It’s all right,” I shrug. “I was being a ‘bloody idiot,’ too.”

She smiles widely and links her arm through mine, pulling me down the hall. “So,” she asks, “how’s lit mag going?”

“It’s fine,” I answer, though I can tell from her tone that it’s not really lit mag that’s she interested in hearing about, and I roll my eyes for her benefit.

“Oh, come on,” she says, nudging me. “Are you two star-crossed secret lovers exchanging love poems under the table? You are, aren’t you?”

I shake my head at her, but my smile falters a bit. There’s only one boy who’s ever written poetry for me.

“Sorry,” Claire says, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to pry. I thought—is everything okay?”

I muster up a bigger smile and show it to her. “Of course! Sorry. He did tell me that he’s writing a short story inspired by me.” Though he still hasn’t let me read it, no matter how much I beg.

“Aw, that’s so sweet! He must really like you.”

“He doesn’t really know me,” I murmur, but only when she’s already moved beyond me down the hall.

The first snow
falls in mid-December, covering the moors with a thin white powder. Each day is grayer than the last, and everyone seems to feel the gloom resting more heavily on their shoulders as we struggle through classes.

Ben and I spend more time tucked away in the stacks enveloped by the warmth of musty library books than we do in the cottage, since the prospect of walking a mile in the snow and bitingly cold wind has grown less appealing. But he knows I long for the privacy and the peace of the cottage, and every once in a while, we put on our heaviest coats and escape into the cold-hearted night.

“What are you doing for Christmas break?” he asks one night as we sit under one of the warm blankets we snuck out here and watch the golden blaze of the fire. He didn’t take the Molly I offered him, but he lit a joint, and he seems even more affectionate than usual. His arms wrap around me securely, like nothing can touch me.

Mother’s voice enters my mind before I can stop it, though. She’s made very specific plans for my Christmas break, and I have to make them happen.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, filling my voice with sadness.

“You’re not going home?” he asks, surprised. His arms tighten around me.

“No. I—I told my mom I had to stay for the break to get some studying done.”

“Why?” he asks softly.

“Because I can’t go back there. I’ve only just escaped her.” I let my body start to shake, and tears spring up into my eyes.

“Hey,” Ben says, his voice even softer than before. He scoots back and tugs at my shoulder until I turn to face him. My face is a crumpled mess of fear and pain, and I even think some of it is real. It’s not hard to pretend, in any case.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, hugging me to him. I let him comfort me, let myself hold on to him, and the tears dry up on their own.

“I’m sorry,” I say finally, my voice still heavy with sorrow. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you like that.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Ben says. “I know how screwed up families can be. Mine’s not much of a family either.”

I nod, cuddling into him to offer him comfort.

And then he says exactly what I want him to. “What if I stayed with you over Christmas break? I don’t want to go home anyway. We’d have the school to ourselves. Just you and me, you know, snowed in.”

I pull back to face him, my eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Really? You really want to?”

He smiles back, catching my excitement. His hazel eyes grow brighter. “Yeah. I can’t think of anything better than being alone with you for two weeks.”

I hug him tightly. “That would be perfect.”

Claire and almost all of the other students leave a few days before Christmas. Even Mrs. Hallie leaves, giving us all suffocating hugs before she goes.

Claire grumbles the whole time she’s packing about how lucky I am that I get to stay here, without any real supervision for two weeks.

“Whereas my parents are going to make me study for A-levels the whole bloody holiday,” she mutters, shoving books into her suitcase. “Because if I don’t get perfect scores, I’ll be even
more
of a disappointment.”

I cluck sympathetically and swing my legs off the edge of my bed. I must look like a little kid waiting impatiently for something exciting to happen. “The break will be over before you know it. And then you get to be back
here
studying for your A-levels.”

She stops and looks at me, surprised. “Did you just make a joke?”

I smile brightly. “I think I did.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “So lucky.”

Once she and the others have left, I trudge out into the wet and mushy snow. The day is warmer than average, with a hint of sun peeking behind the gray clouds, and the air is filled with the sound of melting snow dripping from the benches and the trees. I head toward the dining hall. I don’t have to live on fruit and cereal anymore. I can actually eat a real meal and not worry about looking like too much of an insider.

There are about a dozen other students scattered around the dark wood tables. They’re mostly sixth formers using the break to study, books and papers exploding around them, and other assorted people who don’t celebrate Christmas or international scholarship students who can’t afford the airfare to travel home.

Ben is waiting for me at an empty table, and his entire face lights up when he sees me. He catches me in a hug despite the other students’ prying eyes. He wraps his arms around me, our bulky layers of clothes scrunched between us, and I have to stand on my tiptoes to rest my head on his shoulder. “We can stop being a secret now, can’t we?” he asks.

I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter, since everyone, including the kitchen staff, is staring at us. I shrug and kiss him lightly on the lips. The buzzing gossip starts immediately.

We’re kissing in the yard Christmas morning, a rare bolt of sunshine lighting up the remnants of snow in a thousand blinding sparkles, when I feel Arthur’s eyes on us. My stomach flips over, and a strange sort of heat spreads over my body, a heat that has nothing to do with Ben’s kiss. I break my lips from Ben’s and turn to see Arthur, his mouth in a tight line. He wears a heavy black coat that emphasizes how broad his shoulders have grown, and he crosses his arms over his chest to look even more imposing. I don’t know what he sees in my face, but it only makes his eyes flash more. I feel flushed and deathly pale all at once, and my lips part slightly as I watch him, my eyes locked on his intense stare. My legs want to move, want to carry me to him, want to brush that disapproving look off his face. It’s all I can do to stay in Ben’s arms.

“It’s just the gardener,” Ben says with a laugh, loud enough for Arthur to hear him.

I glance at Ben, studying his face. Anger rises up through my body, but I keep it in check and don’t let it show through my eyes. “Let’s get out of here,” I say, my voice only a touch cooler than it should be.