He laughs. "Um. The library?"

And that's where I find her, in between racks of books. Sitting on the floor and reading. "Lucy?"

Her eyes lift from between the pages and a smile appears—like she has absolutely no idea what she caused this morning. "You found me." She scoots over so I can sit next to her. I take the spot, but I keep my distance. I haven't stopped thinking about the way she was when Logan showed. The dropping of my hand, the refusal to look at me, the way she just walked away.

I think of the right words to use... to spare her feelings. But then I realize, fuck it—I'm the one who's hurt. "So you like Logan?"

She snorts. But her cheeks redden and she looks away. My heart hammers loudly in my ears. There's a burning in the pit of my stomach and I don't know what it is. "Just say it, Lucy. Say you're into him."

She turns to me now, her nose scrunched. "I mean, he's cute, but it's not like I have feelings for him or whatever."

"And what about me? Do you have feelings for me?"

She rears back and looks around us. "What's this about?"

Her non-answer is all I can take. I stand up—just so I can glare down at her. "That's why you won't hang out with me? That's why you don't want me kissing you and shit? It's all fine and good when we're alone, but not in public? Because you'd rather be with him?"

I watch her face change, like she's about to cry, but then a different emotion takes over. She throws her books in her backpack, swings it over her shoulder and stands up. She shoves past me just as I grab her arm to stop her. She can't walk away from this. Not anymore. "Say it, Lucy. Admit it. Tell me you're into him."

She flattens her palms against my chest. The movement's slow and gentle—almost intimate. But then her eyes narrow and her lips purse.

And then she pushes me.

Hard enough that it causes me to fall back and crash into the bookshelf behind me.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't look sorry. She looks pissed. "I don't do that shit at school because people talk, Cameron. You haven't heard the rumors because you run in your perfect little upper-circle with all your jock buddies and no one dares talk shit about you. But me—I'm a nobody. Or at least I was. Now though? Now I'm the girl with the dead mom and the alcoholic crazy dad, and you were the one to save me. Now, I'm staying at your house, sleeping in your bed. And no—you can't just be doing it out of the kindness of your heart. Of course not. Of course I'm putting out. Spreading my legs. Whoring myself to you for your generosity. I'm a whore, Cam. Didn't you know?"

I suck in a shaky breath, struggling to let her words sink in. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

"So no, Cameron. I'm not hiding from you because I have feelings for your jackass friend. I'm doing it because I have enough shit to deal with as it is. My mom, my dad, my brothers, my entire fucking life! I don't need the petty dramas of high school to make it worse. And if anyone should understand that..." Her shoulders slump with her sigh. She stands there, her head tilted back, looking up at me. A frown pulls on her lips, but its impact has nothing compared to the disappointment in her eyes. Seconds feel like hours as I watch her eyes fill with tears. "I thought we were friends," she whispers. "Maybe someday, we could have been more."

I don't call her name. I don't stop her from walking away. I just drop to the floor and bury my head in my hands, and wonder what the hell I'm going to do to keep my promise to make it stop. To make it better. To make it right.

I should have been her right.

***

Her hands barely touch me. Normally when we ride her arms wrap around my shoulders, and she leans in so close I can feel her breath on my cheek. Sometimes we talk. Most of the time it's just me talking, trying to make her laugh. Trying to gift my ears with the sound that makes my world stop.

She runs upstairs and into my room. She hasn't spoken a word since school let out. I throw myself onto the couch, cover my eyes with my arm, and drown in an abundance of shame and self-pity. "I'm an asshole," I whisper to myself.

"What did you do?" Mom stands over me with her arms crossed and a concerned look on her face. Before I get to answer her, the front door opens.

Lucy.

And her bags.

I stand up and get to her so fast my head spins. "What are you doing?"

She stares down at the floor. "Going home."

"No, you're not." I try to pull the bags from her hands. My voice comes out desperate and needy. Because I am. I'm a desperate, needy brat and she's my toy. And I don't want to let her go.

"What's going on?" Mom says from behind me.

Lucy's gaze lifts now. "Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home," she says, her voice breaking. "I left some money on the counter for the food and stuff. It's not much—"

"Honey." Mom steps around me. "You don't need to do that, it was a pleasure having you here." She lifts her keys off the hook next to the door. "I'll drive you home."

"MOM!" My name's Cameron and I'm four years old.

"I'll wait out front," Lucy says.

Mom waits until Lucy's out of earshot. "She needs to go home, Cam. It's time."

-LUCY-

There's a random woman standing in my kitchen and I want to punch her. "Who are you?"