I watched his car go until its tail lights were eaten up by the night, trying to decide how I felt about Sawyer. By appearance’s sake, he was a shoo-in for the young man of the year award, but something else, something I couldn’t yet pinpoint, made the hair on the back of my neck stand a bit on end when he was around. It was nothing more than an instinct, but it was something I couldn’t ignore.

Wondering why I was standing in the middle of the driveway contemplating anything about Sawyer Diamond at midnight, I gave my head one good clearing shake and turned to go inside.

One light still burnt in the living room. A wince was in full plumage when I opened the front door. Of course it would be mom, hunched over her desk at her laptop. Her shoulders lifted when the screen door closed behind me.

“Hey, mom,” I said, because the quicker I got this started, the quicker it could be over.

Swiveling in her chair, she removed her glasses and looked at me. Really looked at me, like she hadn’t seen me in years and was trying to memorize every line and plane of the seventeen-year-old Lucy.

“Was that a different boy who just dropped you off than the one that picked you up?” There was no anger, no ice in her voice, just wonder.

I nodded, sliding out of my heels and kicking them to the side.

“And the reason for that is . . .?”

I didn’t have an answer. Not for her, not even for me, but she waited.

“I don’t think I even know why yet,” I answered, looking up the stairs. I wanted nothing more than to throw on some pajamas and drown this whole night away with some sleep.

Mom bit her lip, doing that debating something face. “Did he hurt you?” she spit out, looking almost as scared of the question as she was of my answer.

Again, no easy answer for this, but I knew what she meant exactly. “Of course not,” I replied, heading towards the stairs.

“Lucy,” she said, standing.

“Mom, I know I’m in huge trouble,” I said, resting my hand on the banister. “I know I’m grounded until the day I turn eighteen for lying to you and running out tonight, but right now I just want to go to bed and forget tonight ever happened. Okay?” For the third time tonight, I felt close to tears. That was unacceptable.

“Okay,” she said, sitting back down, “but I meant what I said, Lucy. You can talk to me if you need to.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” I said, shuffling up the stairs.

“And Lucy?” she called after me. “You’re grounded all right, but only until the end of the week.”

For the first time in a long time, I felt like my mom and I had just had a constructive conversation.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I dreaded stepping foot into Southpointe’s halls Monday morning—what rumors had flared over the weekend, what truths were confirmed, and what new reputation would await me.

That might be the reason I stayed locked in the Mazda after I pulled into my parking space. I convinced myself I wasn’t cowering, just enjoying the last few songs of my new CD, but the fact I’d stuffed my black cat-eye sunglasses on and stayed hunched down seemed to be cowering at its best.

I knew the first bell was going to ring soon because the parking lot was mostly full of cars and empty of students, but I still couldn’t pry myself from the safety of my car. I’d prepped myself an entire day for this moment, stepping out in front of everyone who’d know what happened Saturday night, head high and confidence higher, but it wasn’t working.

Again contemplating the pros of home schooling, I started the car up again, concluding today qualified as a sick day. I couldn’t think of a time I’d felt more under the weather.

Checking my rearview, I put the Mazda in reverse, finding myself hoping to catch a glimpse of someone I shouldn’t. Then something flashed in my peripheral vision as a knock on my window followed.

There stood Sawyer Diamond, smiling at me like it was any Monday morning, holding a bouquet of flowers. He waved. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I rolled down my window. “Anywhere but here.”

“Reason being?” he asked, handing the flowers to me through the window. It was a mixed bouquet wrapped up with butcher paper and twine purchased at one of those fancy boutiques no doubt. They were beautiful, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to accept flowers from Sawyer or what accepting those flowers would mean.

“I’m contemplating shooting for the stars and becoming a high school drop-out,” I said, staring at the school. “I hear there’s a great beauty school downtown.”

Sawyer chuckled, leaning into my door. “There is, actually, but that’s for girls who get knocked up or can’t tell the back from the front of their pre-algebra book.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said, gripping the steering wheel, trying to pretend a couple of girls rushing by us weren’t whispering to each other about me. It wasn’t easy given they threw at least four sideways glances my way before they were out of sight.

“Come on,” Sawyer said, leaning across my lap and snatching the keys right out of the ignition. “Time to get to class.”

“Give me those,” I ordered, trying to grab them out of his hands.

“You can have them back after sixth period,” he said calmly, pocketing them. From the gleam in his eyes, I couldn’t tell if he was more excited about the possibility of me reaching for them or about holding me hostage here all day.”

“Sawyer,” I groaned, calculating how long it would take me to walk home. “I don’t need this right now.”

“Yeah, you kind of do,” he said, swinging my door open. “I’ve watched one too many girls’ lives derail thanks to one upstanding citizen”—I glowered at him through my cat eyes—“who shall not be named,” he edited, holding out his hand. “I don’t want to watch another.”

“Everyone is going to be talking about me and staring at me and whispering through class about me. I need to be in a better mental state of mind to handle that kind of ridicule.”

He grabbed my hand in his and squeezed. “No, they won’t,” he vowed. “I won’t let them.”

“You won’t let them?” I repeated, looking down where his hand wrapped around mine. “What are you, the godfather of the Southpointe mafia?”

“My ancestors were like Mennonites or something, so we’re not big into the whole mafia thing,” he said, reaching across my lap and grabbing my bag. “But give me a little credit. I’ve built up a lot of clout at this school over the years.” Giving my hand a tug, he motioned towards the school.

“Let me guess, it’s your boyish good looks and smile,” I said, sliding out of my seat and slamming the door. I couldn’t believe I was being coerced into attending class by Sawyer.

He grinned over at me. “My family owns a nice place down by the lake and I’ve thrown some killer parties over the years.”

“Ah,” I said, as a few guys greeted Sawyer across the courtyard. He waved, continuing on. “Nothing like the lure of alcohol and no chaperones to make you a god in the world of teenagers.”

“Precisely,” he laughed, pulling the door open for me. After weaving through the metal detectors, Sawyer stayed right with me, turning down the hall. “I thought you had ASB first period,” I said, as a few more students passed by us, high-fiving Sawyer and barely taking note of me. It was like he was some personal cloaking device.

“I do.”

“So why are you coming with me to Literature?”

“Because I want to,” he said without pause.

It was a little odd, Sawyer sticking to me like glue, bringing me flowers, the whole bit, but I felt steadier with him by my side, more grounded. And I needed to feel grounded to get through a day like this.

“And Mr. Peters is going to be cool with you sauntering into class and hanging out like you own the place?” Sawyer had influence, but not that much.