The Love Story (The Things We Can't Change Book 4) (10 page)

I wonder if the solution is to lose Evie before she can lose me.

Evangeline

93

Between Zeke’s strange distance, my inability to find a way to please, placate, or appease him, Clarissa, the bullying and my onslaught of AP homework, it’s hard to drag myself out of bed on Friday. The thought that I need to do my hair for Zeke is what finally gets me out from between the warm covers, even though I have a fleeting moment of calling in sick and just saying to hell with it. But I don’t. The lure of seeing Zeke—moody and confusing as he is right now—is too strong.

I get up, trying to wield vigor into my fingers and arms as I do my hair, makeup, and get dressed. It all feels like empty effort. Somehow, Zeke isn’t like Tony—something I already knew, but this time I’m realizing it on a different level. An outfit in his favorite color or hair done the way he likes isn’t enough to dispel his bad mood.

I may as well not have bothered. He greets me a little impartially, just as he has the whole past week, ever since the locker incident. Every time I think of that moment, I wish I could melt into the floor. I can’t believe I actually said that to him. To Zeke, of all people. Ever since then, I’ve been worried sick that his strange silence is a result of it and have been trying even harder to do nothing to annoy him.

It’s useless. I wonder if the truth of the matter is that I’m really just no good at being in a relationship. That could be closer to the truth than anything else. I manage to anger Zeke again when he gets a text at lunch.

“Who’s it from?” I ask, noting the hard set of his jaw as he returns the phone to his pocket.

“Alex,” he says, too quietly for Koby or Dominic to hear.

Distance or no, I can clearly read the look on his face. “Your dad?” I ask, just as quietly.

He gives a nod without looking at me and I put a hand over his, trying to reassure him.

“If you want to talk about it,” I begin cautiously, but for the umpteenth time, Zeke glares at me and I fall silent.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growls. “If I wanted to talk about it, I would. Okay?” He shrugs his hand out from underneath mine and stands up, snatching his tray from the table and crossing the lunch room in long, digging strides.

I feel my face flush with humiliation and stand myself, ignoring the pitying looks from Dominic and Koby.

I duck into the bathroom and try to catch my bearings as I stand before the sink. I don’t understand it. Even when Zeke had fights with his dad in the past, he didn’t treat me like this. I don’t even think he’s seen his dad since our first date and he started staying with Alex. I feel confused and defeated and most of all, hurt. Hurt that he doesn’t trust me with whatever is bothering him, if there is anything.

I have the single, horrifying thought that it’s me. That he doesn’t want me anymore, that he’s tired of the weight I represent around his neck. But no. For some reason, I’m not convinced of that. I can still
feel
it there, in him. I catch it in his eyes when he looks at me. I feel it in his touch, how even if his words aren’t gentle, the way he touches me is.

It’s something else. I just don’t know what.

He’s been just slightly better this past week, since reading the note. He’s been…
around
more. In body, maybe, if not mind. So he must still want me, if just a little bit.

Or, I should say, he
was
better. Until I had to go and try to push him yet again. How many times will it take to get that same lesson through my thick head?

I heave a heavy sigh and turn to leave the bathroom, tired of looking at myself in the mirror when I can’t even figure out what’s wrong with my boyfriend. When I face the door, however, I find that my way is blocked by a wall of girls. To be specific, a wall consisting of Grace, Tiffany, Chantal and Jenny.

“Well, well, well.” Tiffany, always the ring leader, crosses her arms.

The others follow suit, all but Jenny. Their designer purses dangle from the crooks of their elbows and their clothes, hair, and makeup are all perfectly done. They don’t carry any books in their hands because really, it doesn’t matter what grades they get. Their college acceptance is based more on their parents’ donations and legacies than their industrious hard work and rapt attention in a classroom.

I stare at them and have the wild, random thought that regardless of anything else, I’m grateful that I am no longer part of them. Even if I almost had to die at Tony’s hands in order to escape them. I wish I’d had the courage to do it long ago, before Tony had started hitting me, but even if it was now through cowardice, at least I don’t have to be on their level.

But then again I wonder, as they all advance on me with Jenny a beat behind the other three girls, is being bullied
by
them really much of a step up? Somehow, I don’t think Zeke will say that it is.

“What do you want?” I try to inject some boredom or at least false bravado into my voice, but it just comes out sounding tired. Better than a scared squeak, at least.

“Oh, nothing.” Tiffany shrugs a too-thin shoulder. “We were just coming in to gossip with you, like old times. Tell us, how are things with Zeke?”

My fists clench around my books and I try to keep my head. It doesn’t take much effort because above all else, fear is rising in my throat and eclipsing all else. I hate these girls. I hate how they can turn me into a sniveling coward, unable to speak up for myself or my boyfriend.

I say nothing.

“You guys had a date last week, didn’t you?” Tiffany continues in a soft, lethal voice. She advances on me again, flanked by the other two.

My eyes flick to Jenny, but she’s staring at the floor and seems to be doing her best to ignore the whole situation and pretend she’s invisible. There won’t be any rescue from that quarter. And then I am disgusted with myself, because why should I have to look to someone else—Jenny or even Zeke—for rescue when I should be able to rescue myself?

“You know, I hear Ezekiel Quain is an animal in the sack.” Tiffany says it in an aside to her friends and Chantal and Grace laugh. “What’s he like in your experience, Evie? I heard the two of you already took a spontaneous vacation together and did it on the beach.”

I force a laugh but it sounds hollow and weak and I hate myself for it. “Like you would know anybody who has had sex with Zeke Quain,” I retort, stating the obvious flaw that I see.

I want to push my way past them and am trembling with the effort of trying to force myself, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t touch them, as pushing through their wall would require me to do. The idea of it sends rolling waves of shivers and cold down my spine and I shudder before I can stop myself.

Stop sniveling!
I order myself, shamed by my own weakness.
If you can’t keep a brave face then just say nothing at all!

“Word gets around,” Grace says, flicking her long, curly black hair over her shoulder. “Is it just more exciting when you’re slumming? Or is he just as good as they say?”

I don’t answer. I’m still focusing on the slight gap between Chantal and Tiffany, the one that I could shove my way through if I really wanted to. If I could just force myself to take. A damn.
Step.
My legs feel glued to the floor and I can feel actual sweat standing out on my brow.

They won’t hurt you,
I reason with myself.
It’s not like they’re going to beat you down like Tony did. In the bathroom.

Suddenly my surroundings don’t feel safe and secure. For the first time ever, I get a flash of uneasiness at the sight of the metal stall doors and rows of sinks. In my mind’s eye I’m remembering that last awful night with Tony. The sensation of being slammed up against the door and then thrown on the ground. Dragged around by my hair and having my face smashed into the floor and my own blood.

Shudders rack me before I can stop and in that minute, more than anything, I want Zeke. I want him right next to me, to wrap his arms around me and kiss me on the head and tell me that everything is okay.

“What a spazz,” I hear Chantal mutter as I wrap my arms tighter around myself, fighting to be free of the memories.

I take a single, shuffling step forward, looking up at the wall of girls that stands between me and freedom. “Please, get out of the way,” I mumble through numb lips.

“Not until you answer us,” Tiffany insists. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you show us that tattoo you had them put on you? I mean, is a boob tattoo really better than a tramp stamp?”

“Leave me alone,” I mutter, squeezing my books even tighter against my chest, my vision blurred by an onslaught of tears that I’m helpless to stop.

“
Leave me alone
,” all three of them mock, and then start to giggle.

“Wow,” Chantal says, planting her hands on her hips and nudging Jenny, who gives a weak smile. “Are you
crying
, Evie? For pete’s sake, we’re just kidding with you.”

Sure, and Tony was just shoving me around. I want to glare at them, show my hate with my eyes at the very least since I can’t seem to get any words out but I can’t pull myself from my frozen, huddled state.

“I still want to see the tattoo,” Tiffany declares. “I heard you got Zeke’s face right on your nipple. Come on, Evie, show an old friend. We’re your girlfriends, we’ll keep your secret.”

She makes a sudden movement toward me, probably not in earnest and just to scare me, but scare me it does. Already on the defensive and terrified as I am, reflex hits before common sense and I react instinctively. My books and binder crash to the floor and when I open my eyes a moment later, feeling lost as to what even happened, all four girls are staring at me in surprise.

I realize I’m standing just as I was that day Zeke knocked my hand to the side; hands raised to protect my face, to ward off an oncoming blow. I don’t even remember doing it, but it appears that some old habits are very hard in dying. I’m visibly trembling, shaking all over from my outstretched hands and probably to my wide eyes, which are now overflowing with tears. Embarrassment complete, I slowly lower my hands to my sides, horrified at my reaction.

Tiffany is the first to recover and she does so with a snort of derision. “Wow. You really are fucked up in the head, aren’t you?” She nudges my fallen books with one designer sandal, shoving the cracked-open binder and neatly sending my loose papers flying all over the bathroom floor.

“Come on, girls. We’ll see Evangeline again in Speech.” She gives me a sardonic smile. “Can’t wait.”

They turn to leave and make it to the door before Tiffany wheels around. “Jenny!” she snaps. “Come on!”

Jenny seems rooted to the spot. She’s staring at me and horror is plain in her bright green eyes. Her mouth is actually hanging slightly open and it isn’t until Tiffany calls her name a second time, even more sharply, that she seems to come back into herself. She gives me one dismayed, wide-eyed look of apology and terror and turns to follow the others.

I’m finally left alone in the bathroom, fallen books at my feet and with the sound realization that I am always going to be a coward.

Ezekiel

94

When Evie walks into Speech that day, I know without a doubt that something has happened to her. I have no idea what, but she’s pale and trembly as she hurries in and takes her seat in front of Koby. She doesn’t even look at me and that more than anything clues me in to the fact that something is up. I try and hiss her name but it’s drowned out by the noise of the bell ringing and class is called to order.

It’s the first day we’re giving our speeches, this one about a significant person of history that we were assigned our first week to research. Mr. Riordan does a brief bit about respecting people and listening quietly as the speeches are given and then writes a randomized list on the board for the order we’ll be giving the speeches. Koby is first up and gets out of his desk and steps up to the podium.

He gives his speech about Abraham Lincoln, which is perfect of course, but I barely pay attention. I wait until he’s finished and then lean forward and manage to get Evie’s attention as applause for Koby fills the room. Anxiety fills me as I see the sadness in her eyes.

What’s wrong?
I mouth, but she only shakes her head and then Koby is there between us once again. I sit through the rest of the period feeling jittery. A feeling is coming over me, a familiar feeling I detest but know all too well. My skin is feeling prickly and tight, as though my insides, all the emotion inside of me, is too much to hold. An old feeling I’d thought I’d conquered but that keeps coming back lately, especially where Evie is concerned.

More and more as time passes, I return to the same thought—
we did this too fast.
Neither of us is ready for the emotional push and pull, the intenseness, of a real relationship.