Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

THE BOARDERS: 38

Lo

"Lo, you okay?" Jared takes me by the shoulders, looking me over. "What are you doing up here?'

I shake my head, feeling like an idiot. Which I should. I'm acting like an idiot. I've been acting like an idiot for three weeks.

"No?" Jared face scrunches in concern.

"Sorry, I mean yeah, I'm okay." I straighten, wiping the hurt from my face. "I think I'm just going to take a quick breather."

He doesn't look convinced.

"I'm fine. I promise. I'll be back in a sec."

Jared looks like he wants to say something but he thinks better of it, squeezing my hand and letting me go.

The cool air helps. I take deep gulps of it from the patio, edging out of the light from the French doors of the living room and leaning against a dark patch of Aaron's house.

My brain careens around corners, dissecting this year, the kind of person I've proven myself to be in the aftermath of my dad's death. But it started so much earlier, didn't it? I told Brandon about my mom and his dad in front of all his friends; I willingly got in the car with them; I stayed in California, even after everything between them broke down. Maybe I'm not the person I've always thought myself to be. My behavior in the time I've been back in Salisbury highlights that I have issues now, but I don't know, the more I live it, that I can really consider them an anomaly.

I dig my fingers into my hair, gazing at the sky and wishing for answers. What do I do to fix this? Can I even fix this? Is it too late?

"There you are. I've been looking for you everywhere." The teasing voice comes from a few yards behind me. I whirl toward it, startled. Brandon is standing on the patio, maybe ten feet away. I tense, trying to ignore the shivers that break over my skin.

"What do you want?"

"Figured once I saw Weaver that you'd be somewhere in this house—he's too wasted to have gotten himself here—but then you were missing and I thought maybe you and Evans had hidden yourselves away upstairs." He pauses, gloating. "But then I saw him and Molly together. And here you are." He looks so damn pleased with himself. Every bit of almost-logic from a moment ago slips from my brain.

"What do you want, Brandon?" I repeat.

"Calm your tits. I just want to talk. Been wanting to talk to you for a while now. Like, four years." Brandon's drawl is lazy and even in shadow, I see the flash of white as he grins. "You really didn't give me much of an opportunity when you announced our parents were having a kid together."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Brandon takes a casual step in my direction, "You basically blew up my life and then just fucked off, and I have some outstanding questions."

"About?" But I know. Brandon's looking for details about the weeks following that day.

"Let's start with the pregnancy."

I tense, but don't grace him with an answer. He moves closer.

"Are you gonna tell me that you and I share a kid sister or some shit?"

I snort. "No." My mother lost the baby somewhere around Ohio. I'd never been happy about her pregnancy (the shocking irresponsibility of it was crushing) but seeing her curled in the fetal position on the floor of the hotel bathroom had softened me a little.

"You lied about the pregnancy test?"

"No."

Brandon's directly in front of me now, that manic grin still on his face. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"So...?"

Realizing our position, I edge sideways, hoping to get myself between Brandon and the door. The party rages on inside, but the relief of isolation I felt earlier has shifted to nervousness in Brandon's presence. It doesn't feel safe to be out here, alone, with him.

"All right, fine," Brandon puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping my progress. I swallow a shiver of discomfort. "You lied or you didn't. Either way, there's no baby. What about my dad?"

"What about him?"

Brandon grunts a laugh, looking at the sky as if begging it for strength. "He's obviously not with your mom

anymore."

I stay silent. This is news to me, that Brandon doesn't know where his dad is. After the miscarriage and the weeks that followed—all spent on the road with Mr. Ott and my mom alternately arguing or sitting in sullen silence—they'd gone their separate ways. We hadn't even made it to the California border. I have no idea what Mr. Ott had done after that, but I'd never heard my mom mention him again. Two months into our new life in LA, my own dad showed up, having sold the house and saying he didn't care what happened in Salisbury, he wanted to be with his girls again. I didn't understand until too late the kind of sacrifice that was for him.

"Yeah," Brandon shakes his head, taking my silence as confirmation. "No way she'd be able to keep her legs closed long enough to make that relationship work." He barks a laugh. "I see you're taking after her nicely. She must be so proud."

There it is. The oh-so-Brandon poison, and always about the same thing. My hands fold into fists at my sides, and I brace myself on the patio as Brandon opens his mouth. There's more—there's always more—and I'm not so sure I won't take a swing if he continues to berate. I'm on the very edge tonight.

"Come on, Ho-gan," he goads, jutting his chin the direction of my clenched fists. I realize my nails are digging into my palms. "Let's see what you got."

I think about it. It would feel so good to hit Brandon, just one time. But seeing him, grinning manically at me in the dark, I suddenly realize: that's what he wants, what he's always wanted. All the teasing, the lies and the rumors...it's never been enough for him to destroy my life and friendships with words. He wants to hurt me. He wants me to hurt like him.

"You're not worth the energy." I stretch my fingers away from my palms. "Besides, you and I both know it takes two to tango." I laugh drily at the phrase. "Sorry, did I say tango? I meant fuck. It takes two to fuck. So why don't you remind me where your father was that day?" My voice is steady with anger.

A tic sets in Brandon's jaw and a flood of satisfaction rises. It's still his tell, the sign that he's on the verge of losing his goddamn mind or bursting into tears. Granted, once we turned thirteen, it's only showed up for the former, but no matter. He dug the knife in first. My turn, with a twist.

I take a step closer to Brandon, baiting him. "Oh my god," I taunt. "Are you going to cry, Brandon?"

His glare is lit up in fury, his eyes flashing hatred. I know I have crossed a line I'll regret. He reaches toward me, grabbing at my throat. I take a nimble step back, holding in my yelp of surprise and dodging out of his grip.

"Does it seem like I'm about to cry, you stupid bitch?" His voice is venom.

"Hey, now."

Brandon and I both spin to see Jared stepping onto the porch.