So instead of a two-day weekend with Shane, unsupervised, I’m getting four days with my aunt in the house. I’ll take it. Impulsively I hug her. “You’re the best.”
“So you occasionally tell me,” she mumbles, smiling.
“Is Joe coming over?”
“Not this year. He’s driving to Missouri to see his folks … if he feels up to it.”
“Yeah, the demon strep. How’s he doing?”
“I haven’t seen him all week. He was off work for four days.”
“Well, I hope he feels better and has a good holiday.”
After eating a quick dinner, I head to my room, happy with how this worked out. Tuesday morning, I pounce on Shane at our locker.
He hugs me, looking startled. “Good news?”
“You’re coming home with me Wednesday. It’s cool with my aunt if you stay until Sunday.”
His eyes widen. “You didn’t—”
“I explained that your dad got stuck with an unexpected job and you’re at loose ends for Thanksgiving.” With my eyes, I warn him not to say anything else. If Dylan can’t make trouble for me, he might go after Shane. And he does have a secret he’s keeping.
I glance around, and sure enough, a member of Dylan’s crew is leaning against the lockers nearby. It’s not like I haven’t noticed his people watching me, but I spend all my time being good. They won’t catch me doing anything he can use.
He nods. “Should I bring anything?”
“Nah, we’ll handle it. Hope you like Tofurky.”
“I can honestly say I have no idea.”
“Don’t worry, there will be plenty of other trimmings. Cornbread dressing, sweet potato casserole, green beans and mushrooms, fruit salad, fresh yeast rolls, pumpkin pie, and homemade vanilla bean ice cream.”
“Wow. Sounds like you guys go all out. I … haven’t had that in a while.”
“Before I came to live with my aunt, me either.” That’s more than I usually tell anyone about my time with my bio-mom, but I want Shane to know I understand, at least somewhat.
“Thanks, Sage. This will be awesome.”
People push past us, reminding me I need to get to class. There’s still Tuesday and Wednesday before the fun begins. I’m nervous thinking about having him at my house—what if I do something embarrassing or he catches me going into the bathroom with bed head and morning breath—but I’m excited, too. Shane squeezes me before letting go, just as the bell rings, and we run in opposite directions. I slide into my chair just in time.
I wish I could say the time races like white-water rapids, but it’s more like honey in cold weather. But the clock hands can’t actually run backward, so eventually, it’s Wednesday afternoon. Shane and I head out to the bike rack, but I draw up short.
The tires on my bike have been slashed. I get the message loud and clear. If Dylan can’t ruin me socially, he can hurt me in other ways. There are no security cameras, so it would be my word against his, and he occupies a higher social echelon. Plus, Principal Warick’s banging his mom, so he has reason to keep Dylan happy. That means he’s practically untouchable.
“Well, that was a dick move right before Thanksgiving. It’ll be days before you can get that fixed.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
I’m sure that was the point—to make me feel helpless and crippled. And it upsets me because it works. I would love to let Shadow Sage answer this challenge. I could escalate so fast, it would make Dylan’s head spin. I imagine slipping a cotton cord into his gas tank, then lighting it up. The flame would burn inward, like a fuse, until it caught the fuel inside. That would make a really satisfying explosion. I’m enjoying the thought when Shane’s hand wraps around mine.
“Don’t just leave it here. Some asshole might make it worse over the weekend.”
His touch recalls me to the person I’ve chosen to be. So instead of doing something horrible, I unlock my bike and push it home on the shredded tires. A quick check in the shed tells me that I don’t have the supplies to fix this myself. I’ll have to take it to the repair shop, and it’ll take a chunk out of my college fund.
Shane grabs the basket and starts attaching it to his bike, distracting me from thoughts of revenge. “What’re you doing?”
“I’ll handle the shopping. It’s the least I can do.”
Since I’m barely keeping my shit together, I don’t argue. I dart inside to get the grocery money from the coffee can in the cupboard, then I hand over the list and he’s off. Long after he’s gone, I sit in the shed, staring at my shredded tires. It’s just a bike, right? It’s not like Dylan hurt me. A little voice whispers, You don’t have to blow up his truck. You could hit him in a quieter, deeper way. Right now, I’m restraining the urge, but only just. It takes all my self-control to bury the desire to wreck him and pin on a smile by the time Shane gets back.
* * *
Late Thursday, after my aunt has retired in a food coma, Shane and I are curled up together on the couch. He’s got an arm around my shoulders and I’m leaning against his chest. I’m sleepy, but not tired, and I’m 100 percent reluctant to end what has been the most perfect Thanksgiving ever. I’ve buried my anger beneath food and the sweetness of spending time with my favorite people.
Lazily I flip through the brand-new memories: Shane helping us cook, him scarfing down our traditional feast, and then us breaking out the artificial tree. It’s kind of ridiculous but Aunt Gabby always puts up our god-awful white Christmas tree after we eat Thanksgiving dinner. Now it’s twinkling behind us, throwing interesting shadows on the walls. We could be watching a movie, but I turned on the radio instead.
“This was … a phenomenal day,” he whispers.
It’s raining now, just a gentle patter, and I bet it’s chilly outside, but snuggled up against Shane, I can’t imagine ever being cold. “I’m glad you had fun. I know our traditions are a little weird. My aunt doesn’t believe in killing trees, so we’ve had this kitschy fake one forever. It grows on you.”
“No, I liked it. All of it. But especially this part.” He pulls me a little closer, so he can kiss my temple, and the tenderness of the gesture curls my toes.
“Me too,” I admit.
“So, I was wondering … are we official?”
“Are you asking if I’m your girlfriend?” Though I’m trying to be cool, inwardly I’m screaming my head off.
“Yeah. I mean, you had that problem with Ryan, where you were always together, and people thought you were a couple but you really weren’t. And people have been asking me, and I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to do to you what he did, so I thought—”
“We’re official.” I put him out of his misery, though I’ve never seen Shane ramble so much. It’s tempting to let him continue. “And it was never like this with Ryan. We never kissed.”
“Good,” he whispers, surprising me. “I wish I could have all your firsts, because you’re getting all of mine.”
Instead of saying something profound, I make a weird noise because I literally have no words. I am awesome at romance. Two points. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. When he kisses me, I forget why I needed to talk or what I meant to say.
Half an hour later, I reluctantly make up the sofa for Shane and head for my room. It’s hard to leave him, but I’d die of humiliation if my aunt came out to use the bathroom and caught us rolling around. So I savor a final good-night kiss and go to bed on my own. I’m not expecting any problems—this was such a good day, but for the first time in weeks, I have the Dream. I wake with a scream strangling in my throat, sweat pooled on my back, and the sense that the scene has changed. My bio-mom was there, like always, and I’m left shivering, hands tucked inside my sleeves. With my fingertips, I count, inspecting the scars that won’t go away. When I first moved in, my aunt bought vanishing creams, but … they didn’t help. Anyway, the worst marks are those that don’t show up on my skin.