Hot rollers shouldn’t make people cry. People, what a laugh. I’m the only person in the world that cries at the sight of hot rollers. All I have managed to do so far is plug them in. As soon as the little red indicator light turned on, I burst into tears. Worked more than they have been in maybe —thanks to Milo’s new training regimen—my muscles protest being curled up in a ball as I sit on top of the toilet. Tears splash down on my bare knees. My fingers fumble to grab my phone off the counter. Celia’s number flashes across the screen and it’s ringing a second later.
“Hey, Libby,” she answers happily.
“Celia, I can’t do this.”
Her sigh whispers across the line. After spending most of the week together, plus everything Milo has already told her about me, she doesn’t even have to ask what I’m talking about. “Yes, you can, Libby.”
“I’m sitting in my bathroom crying my eyes out. I can’t do it. I can’t curl my hair.”
“I think you’ll feel better once you just do it. Whatever it is that’s holding you back, it’s time to move on,” Celia says.
I shudder out a painful breath. Move on. I don’t know if that’s possible. “Celia, you just don’t understand,” I begin.
“Well, of course I don’t,” she interrupts, “because you won’t tell me!”
And I’m not going to. My silence reinforces that.
“Do you know where I am right now?” she asks.
“No.” I wish she and Milo were both here with me.
“I am sitting in a chair at the barber’s watching Milo get his shaggy mop cut off.”
My chest tightens with excitement and guilt. “He’s really doing it? How does it look?”
Celia snorts. “It’s looks terrible,” she says, “but that’s only because they just started.”
I can’t wait to see him with short hair. I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to imagine it.
“Libby,” Celia says softly, “I’ve begged him, and my parents have threatened him to cut his hair. He didn’t care. Nothing we said to him mattered. He’s doing this for you because you asked him to, and because he wants to see you overcome whatever this thing is with your hair. Nobody else could push him to change like you have. And that’s saying a lot since I’m here, too. We both know how much he loves me.”
I laugh at her blatant confidence in her brother’s love. Most girls her age are embarrassed by their families and do everything they can to pretend they don’t exist. Not Celia. She is happy to tell anyone who’ll listen how much Milo means to her.
“Libby, do you want to go to the dance with Milo tonight?”
“Yes,” I say quickly.
“Then you have to curl your hair.”
“I know.” Faced with the choice of holding onto my familiar pain a little longer, and hurting Milo and missing the dance, my resolves begins to sharpen.
“He bought a suit,” Celia adds, her singsong voice trying to entice me even more. “I saw him try it on last night. You’re going to like it. He hasn’t worn a suit in a long time, Libby.”
A suit. No more baggy clothes that hide his body.
“And if it makes you feel any better,” Celia says, “Milo isn’t having much fun either.” I can hear Milo growl in the background. Celia laughs. “I can’t decide whether he’s going to break the arms of the chair off with how tight he’s gripping them, or just throw up on the barber. I’m leaning toward breaking the chair, but it’s a close call.”
“Shut up, Celia,” Milo’s muffled voice rumbles.
We both laugh, though I can certainly sympathize with him.
“Libby, you can do this,” Celia says.
I close my eyes, and say, “I can do this.”
“Send me a pic when you’re ready. I promise not to show Milo.”
“Hey,” Milo argues.
“He’s delusional,” Celia says. “Good luck, Libby. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, Celia.”
I set the phone back down and flip open the lid of the hot rollers. The light has flicked off, letting me know they are hot enough to use now. It’s been more than five years. Five long years since I’ve seen my hair in any other style than plain and straight. I have missed the twisted bounce of dozens of ringlets tickling my neck. I have missed twirling the curls around my fingers. More than anything, I’ve missed twirling his curls around my fingers. A hiccup of wrenching pain escapes me. I yank a curler out of the box, burning my fingers, and spin it into my hair before I think better of it. One after another, I roll and pin each one in place. My fingertips sting and my eyes are bleary by the time I finish. But I do it.
When the tray is empty my head feels like it’s ten pounds heavier, but I’ve finally done it.
I brush my teeth and put on my makeup in a state of shocked disbelief. Somehow I remember everything Celia told me to do with the new makeup. The eye shadow is more sparkly than what I usually wear. It looks like I am dusting my lids with crushed diamonds. They almost seem to glow next to my dark eyebrows. I can barely see the blush when I put it on, but somehow it brightens my whole face. I apply the lip stain more carefully than I usually would, given that it won’t come off for hours once it’s on. I press my finger to my berry tinted lips experimentally and am surprised to find out Celia was right about it not smearing off.
Remembering her reason for choosing the lipstick deepens the blush in my cheeks. She wouldn’t mind seeing a few lipstick prints on her brother, but she knew that if her parents saw them, they’d start asking questions. My whole face flushes as I try not to think about all the places I would like to leave lipstick on Milo’s skin.
Done with my makeup, I take a deep breath and slip my dress off the hanger. Its silky grey color is a perfect match for Milo’s eyes. It glides on like a rain cloud, brushing its cool wisps against my skin and making me shiver. The neckline plunges down more deeply than my usual t-shirts, but not low enough to show too much. The back, however, leaves my skin bare most of the way down my spine. The fabric presses against me tightly from my chest to my hips, where it loosens and drifts down to my toes like a hovering mist. My strappy black heels complete the look.
Now all I have left to do is take out the curlers.
Panic bites at me, but I refuse to let it take over again. The click of my heels against the tiled bathroom floor is the only sound in the room. My fingers fumble the first curler and it goes spinning out of my hair and clattering to the floor. I leave it. My eyes are glued to the loose ringlet quivering against my face. I watch it until it settles, as if it might spring into life and strangle me at any moment. A full minute passes before I can touch the next curler and gently remove it. The process takes twice as long as putting them in, but the results are worth the wait. A halo of curls frames my face, and I gasp.
I have to blink rapidly to keep a fresh batch of tears from ruining my makeup. My dad would love it if he could see me tonight. He would crinkle his nose and tell me to shake my head until my curls were as wild as his. I would laugh and giggle and throw myself into his arms. He would love it.
I think Milo will too.
A while later, his knock sounds at the door. It seems to take forever to walk across the small room to the door. Never was I this nervous to open the door for Lance. I was always excited, sure, but I am positively trembling now. Although if it were Lance on the other side of the door tonight, I don’t know that I could even open it. He knows why I refused to curl my hair—well, some of it. He would know exactly how big of a deal this was for me.
My hand touches the door knob, and I have to pause and take a deep breath. It doesn’t work. Taking a different approach, I tap my Naturalism and calm my quivering body. The butterflies banging around in my stomach don’t lessen in the least, but my hand does stop shaking. I turn the handle and pull the door open slowly.
And…oh my.
His hair is the first thing I notice. Cropped short on the sides so I can see his ears—they’re adorable—but still long
enough on top to be swept up in a loose riot. I guess he couldn’t part with all the shagginess. I would be a fool to want him to. He looks amazing. Forcing my eyes away from his hair, I’m eager to take in this new suit of his. Celia was right. I think Milo should have to wear suits every day. His midnight blue shirt is actually fitted. For the first time I can really see his waistline. The black suit and grey tie he’s wearing set off his newly revealed physique even more. Shoulders, Milo actually has shoulders. My eyes travel down the length of him and back up.
I should say something, stop staring at him like a mackerel, but all that comes out is a strangled, “Wow.”
Milo’s hand moves up to his head self-consciously. “That’s what my parents said, too.”
“Well,” I say, “you look incredible.”
“You think so? I feel really weird. My hair’s gone, my clothes feel too tight. I feel like everyone is looking at me even when there’s no one around,” he says.
My hands glide around his waist and pull him close to me. “I hate to break it to you, Milo, but everyone is definitely going to be looking at you tonight.”
He shakes his head. “No, they won’t. Not with you there. I’m just background compared to you. You look beautiful, Libby.” He pushes me back just far enough so he can see my dress. “I’ll have to tell Celia she was wrong about the dress, though.”
“What did she say?” I ask.
“That you looked hot in it,” he says with all sincerity.
I don’t take him serious for a minute. “And you don’t agree?” My tone is teasing, and wins me a devilish grin from him.
“No, I don’t. You don’t look hot, you look gorgeous.”
I smile and pull back against him. “Thanks.”
“And, Libby?” he says as his hands stray to my hair. “I love your curls. They’re even better than the dress.”
If I speak I might start crying again, so I just hug him even more tightly. We stay locked in each other’s arms for several minutes before Milo pulls back. “We better go if we want to make our reservations.”
For a moment, I honestly have to consider whether or not I actually want to make our dinner reservations. Staying here with Milo, alone, that sounds a lot more appetizing. I can only see his chest so well with his suit coat on. And I’d love to run my fingers through his hair. My eyes drift up to his curls. I catch Milo staring at me, the same expression I’m sure I have on my own face playing on his. I blush and wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am.
“Yeah,” he says, “we better go. Now.”
“Good idea.”
Dinner rushes by without stopping. It’s over before I can even catch my breath. I’m sure the food was delicious, but my mind was too captivated with watching Milo that I barely even tasted anything. I think he might have been having the same problem. The only thing I really notice is that we’re the only high school aged couple in the restaurant. Odd, given the occasion, but then I realize that Milo must have picked this place specifically to avoid having to eat around the people neither one of us really want to see.
We hardly talk at all as we drive to the school. The parking lot is filled when we arrive, with a few straggling news vans parked outside the gates. We slip by unnoticed and pull into the parking lot. By the looks of it, the entire school has shown up. I spot Lance’s car halfway down the first aisle. Great. Isn’t there a football game or something he should be at? If Milo notices, he doesn’t give any indication of it. Not that it matters. We’ll run into him soon enough, I’m sure.
And we still have one more week before Christmas break starts. If this blows up in my face, I’ll have to suffer through everyone’s horrified stares for a whole week before getting to hide from them. Suddenly this whole endeavor seems like a really bad idea, especially when I spot a reporter climbing out of his news van. Waiting, I’m sure, to pounce on me despite Principal Andrew’s stringent ban on media at the school. It’s about the only helpful thing she’s done for me since my Inquest.
Milo pulls into an empty space, and asks, “Ready?”
“No.”
I’d appreciate it if he would look even a little nervous, but he has switched back into an emotionless fog. His face is completely relaxed, as he says, “Come on, let’s go.”
He’s out of the car before I can object. When he opens my door and offers me his hand, I can’t seem to tell him no. He helps me out, and we walk across the parking lot with the faint sound of the band floating on the air around us. As we reach the doors, we both stop. This was all Milo’s idea from the start, but he hesitates at the door. My hope rises that maybe he’ll just take me home. It crashes down to my toes a second later when he pulls the door open.
Music blares around us. People are swarming around the room, dancing, eating, and talking—well, screaming—over the music, and in general paying no attention to us at all. Okay, maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought. I spot Guardians ringing the room a second later and feel my heart try to jump out of my body.
“There are too many witnesses for them to try something,” Milo reminds me. “They’re probably here to protect everyone from you, anyway.”
“Thanks,” I say drily.
Milo ignores my sarcasm and pulls me in close behind him so we can squeeze between people. We start making his way through the crowd toward the tables, but I keep my eye on the Guardians. Their eyes follow me as well, but none of them make a move toward me. I try to put them out of my mind for the time being and keep a hold on Milo.
I can almost see a break in the sea of teenagers when I hear his voice.
“Milo? What the hell are you doing here?” Lance demands.
The sound of his voice ratchets up my paranoia again. Will the Guardians do anything if Lance comes after me again?
I would have been happy staying behind Milo’s back for this, but he moves to the side so everyone can see me, and says, “I’m here with my date. What do you care?”
Something incredibly rude and childish should have popped out of Lance’s mouth after what Milo just said, but he only blinks. At me.
“Libby?” he asks.
I hate him. I detest him. That’s what I tell myself, but the anguish in his face and voice strikes me deeply. I don’t understand why he’s so upset about seeing me with Milo. We pretty much spend every spare minute together at school where everyone can see us. He takes a step forward, but Milo blocks him. I’m fine with that until Lance gestures at my hair. And then I understand. This doesn’t have anything to do with Guardian plots.
My death grip on Milo loosens. He looks down at me in concern. I squeeze his hand lightly before letting go and stepping closer to Lance.
“You curled your hair,” Lance says, his voice grating and sad.
I nod.
“But you never curl your hair. You said you’d never curl it again,” he says. “Why?”
“Because he asked me to,” I say.
Lance frowns and grabs my hand. He pulls me closer so only I can hear his words. I’m too shocked to pull back like I should. Even with his grip being tight and angry, Lance holding my hand feels so familiar it makes my heart ache. I have a hard time meeting his eyes. When I do, the frustration in them startles me.
“I asked you. I asked you dozens of times to curl you hair. Why did you do it for him and not me? You’ve only known Milo for a couple months. I love you, Libby. Why didn’t you ever do this for me?”
I love you, Libby. His words echo around in my head. I want to believe him so badly. Long before Lance was my boyfriend, he was my best friend. We have loved each other our whole lives in one way or another. He couldn’t really have forgotten that so easily, could he? I know I haven’t no matter how much I wish I could.
I feel my feet take a step closer to him. Maybe if we actually sat down and talked about what happened, I could figure out what has been real and what hasn’t with him. The force of Milo’s anger bursting out of his careful shield makes me hesitat
e.
Testing Lance’s reaction, I say, “You loved me, Lance. Past tense. And before…I’m not even sure about that anymore.”
Lance’s eyes widen. “You’re doubting that I ever loved you?”
How can I not? “If you really loved me before my Inquest, you wouldn’t have turned on me afterward. Maybe I knew deep down what you would do all along. Maybe that’s why I’m willing to break my own rules for Milo when I wasn’t for you.”
“You know that’s not true,” he says. The pleading in his voice kills me. “I never…”
When he doesn’t continue, I can’t stop myself from asking. “You never what?”
Lance’s eyes dart around to his friends who are all now watching him with great interest. Under their gazes, his stance hardens. Frustration ten times worse than before saturates the air around him. “I never wanted things to happen the way they did.”
That wasn’t what he was going to say a second ago. I know him too well not to see that he’s hedging. The people surrounding him are the reason for it. He won’t be honest with me because too many influential eyes are watching him. I can feel my anger being renewed despite the begging expression he’s wearing. I pull my hand out of his grip and shake my head at him.
“If you didn’t want everything to happen like it has, then you shouldn’t have let it. You’re the biggest reason the whole school hates me. If not for you, they would have forgotten about me after the initial Guardian blow-up.”
“That’s not fair, Libby. I can’t help how things are now,” Lance argues.
My hand finds the pucker of scarred flesh on my neck. He knows what I feel. His eyes darken and cringe. “Don’t talk to me about fair, Lance,” I say in anger.
I turn away in disgust. Lance grabs my arm, his Strength making it impossible to get away from him without ruining all my hard work. I can feel Milo bristle next to me. He’s seconds away from punching Lance in the face regardless of the consequences. Coming here wasn't just a bad idea, it was a disastrous one.
“Lance,” I say through my teeth, “get your hand off of me, right now.”
“You can’t just walk away from me like this, Libby,” he says.
I frown, feeling hot tears building behind my eyelids. “You walked away from me, remember? Right after you tried to slit my throat.”
His hand slips from my arm as his guilt forces him back a step. Milo takes me under his arm and leads me away. I don’t let myself look back. Nobody else is brave enough to speak to us before we reach the dance floor. They leave a pretty wide circle around us, actually. As always, Milo knows exactly what to do to make me feel better. He presses me up against his chest, and we start swaying to the music.
Every ounce of my focus goes to quelling the tears I refuse to let fall. How could I think even for a moment of forgiving Lance? The answer that pops up inside my head scares me. I considered it because I want to forgive Lance. I miss him. I miss my best friend. But how can I ever trust him again when he won’t be honest with me just because a few jocks with powerful daddies are listening in? I wanted him so badly to say, I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.
“Are you okay?” Milo asks.
“I hate him.”
His chest rumbles against mine as he laughs. “Good for you,” he says.
I look back up at him. “Really?”
“What?” he asks. “Did you expect me to tell you that you should forgive him? He’s your ex-boyfriend, Libby. I don’t want to see you get back together with him. In fact, I was kind of hoping…”
A crash from across the room cuts through the music. Everyone on the dance floor turns toward the sound. Nobody’s dancing anymore. My feet refuse to keep moving as well. Several chairs lay overturned at Lance and Angus’s feet. I have no idea what started their argument, but the hideous expressions on their faces are steeped in barely controlled rage. As everyone else sees the cause of the disturbance their glares fasten on me as they take several steps in whatever direction will get them further away from me. The Guardians visibly tense, but for once I’m not the focus of their attention.
With a frustrated snap of my head, I turn away from gawkers and Guardians alike and look back at Lance and Angus. Whatever happened between them, it isn’t over yet. It’s just getting started.
I can only hear bits and pieces of their yelling match over the music, but I’m sure I hear my name several times. So does everyone else. I start to worry that someone other than the Guardians might take a stab at me. Virtually helpless because of my deal with Howe, I press against Milo more tightly.
Angus points an accusing finger at Lance during an exceptionally nasty remark, which Lance promptly slaps away. Lance has always been the strongest. Angus’s arm flies backward, wrenching his arm painfully. Grimacing, but refusing to let his pain show, Angus grabs Lance’s shirt and yanks him close to his face. To everyone else, Lance looks outwardly calm, like his so-called friend’s harassment doesn’t bother him in the least.
I know better. Lance’s expressionless mask is a defense mechanism. He only ever pulls it out when he’s close to his breaking point. Maybe I should do something, since I’m almost sure this fight has something to do with me, but all I can do is stand there and stare.
Faint whispers float by my ears. People are wondering if this has something to do with Guardians choosing sides. Some say Lance is with Howe, others say Lazaro because of what he did to me. It’s pretty much unanimous that Angus is on Lazaro’s side, which provokes more whispers, guesses about why two Lazaro followers would be fighting. More than once I hear someone ask if the Guardians in the room are going to put a stop to this. I wonder, too. Maybe they are waiting to see if I do anything before they step in.
I know I’m stronger than Angus, better than him in pretty much every way, but when his furious gaze suddenly shifts from Lance to me, I shiver. The area around me suddenly gets even emptier. Angus stares at me with hatred in his eyes. It is pure and about to boil over. The faint idea that he might come after me flitters around in my head but disappears suddenly when he thrusts Lance back from him and walks away. Lance isn’t so lucky. He stumbles over a fallen chair hard, and rolls unceremoniously to the ground. He’s back up a second later, but not without a trickle of blood running down his chin. His eyes fall on me as well, glaring and hard.
Destroyer or not, I press my back into Milo and will his warmth to surround me. It doesn’t work. Finally, Lance breaks eye contact with me and stalks out of the gym. All eyes turn to glare at me accusingly. I don’t feel like dancing anymore. Milo seems to read my mind.
“Do you want to leave?”
I nod, not trusting my voice right now. Milo wraps his arm around my shoulder and guides me from the dance floor. We reach the doors to the parking lot without anyone coming within ten feet of us. They all know I was the source of the disturbance a few minutes ago. No one wants to get tangled up with that. Fine by me. Milo pulls open the door and we’re greeted by a blast of snow. Startled, I jump out of the freezing wind in surprise.
“Wow, it’s really coming down out there,” Milo says. He looks over at me with my arms wrapped around my body as they try to keep the cold away. “Wait here. I’ll go get the car.”
“Thanks.”
He almost leaves before reconsidering. “What about the Guardians? I don’t want to leave you alone. Maybe you should just come with me.”
I shake my head. We parked at the back of the parking lot. I’d rather take my chances with the Guardians after the night I’ve had than risk turning into an icicle. Trashing a few Guardians could be exactly what I need right now. “No witnesses can be a good thing, Milo. No one will know what happened to them if they just disappear.”
A grin that’s almost scary lights Milo’s features. We’ve been training a lot. After the Guardian at the mall, I made sure I knew how to get rid of a body should I ever need to go that far. Threats won’t work on everyone.
“
I’ll be right back. Two minutes tops,” Milo says.
He dashes out into the storm and disappears behind a wall of snow. Normally I would be captivated by the treat of a real snowstorm, but not tonight.
A noise from behind makes spins me around. I’m shocked to find Lance emerging from a dark hall. He stops several feet away and watches me. I knew coming here tonight was a bad idea. I don’t think I’m up for another confusing confrontation with him right now.
“What do you want?” I ask. If he’s going to try to kill me again, it isn’t going to end well for him. I could never actually kill Lance, but I’d definitely make him sorry for the attempt. I search his emotions and thoughts, relived when I find no malice, but I’m still not thrilled to see him again.
“Why are you hanging out with Milo?”
The question surprises me. I was expecting something harsher. Another wave of confusion threatens to give me a migraine. “That’s none of your business,” I say. “What I do is none of your concern anymore, so leave me alone.”
Lance’s jaw tightens visibly. “There’s something not right about him, Libby. You should get away from him before he hurts you.”
“Oh, now you’re warning me? That’s just great, Lance. You’re the last person in the world who should be giving me advice about friends right now, since you turned all of mine against me and you’re obviously too afraid of what yours think to say what’s really on your mind. Is that what you and Angus were arguing about? What you were really going to say to me? Or were you just yelling like lunatics about my social life” I ask sarcastically. “I’d think you had better things to do.”
“I don’t give a damn about what Angus thinks, not anymore, but I’m serious about Milo.”
“What do you mean, not anymore?” I ask, honestly curious. Did that fight change something?
Hanging his head, Lance leans against the wall. “If you could name my worst quality, what would it be?”
“You care too much about what other people think of you,” I say without having to think too hard. Since we were kids his pride has always been his biggest fault. It’s gotten him into more fights than I can remember, and made him make a stupid choice more than once.
“You’ve told me that before, but I never agreed with you until tonight.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Shaking his head, Lance says, “It doesn’t matter. You won’t believe me anyway.”
“You won’t even give me the chance?” Can’t he see that I want to believe he hasn’t become this horrible monster I’m forced to hate? I want him to tell me this has all been a big misunderstanding.
“It’s obviously too late,” Lance says, gesturing at my hair. The sight of my curls sets him on edge again. “Hate me if you have too, Libby, but you have to listen to me about Milo. You shouldn’t be hanging around with him. He’s dangerous.”
“What are you talking about?”
Lance opens his mouth but closes it again right away. His internal struggle rages through his features, but finally he says, “I can’t explain it, Libby, but something about him isn’t right. You have to trust me on this.”
Trust him? Maybe if he trusted me enough to explain I could.
I yank the door open regardless of the snow. The cold scours me, focuses me enough to think before I do something stupid like giving in to the desperation pouring off him. Before stepping out into the storm, I look over my shoulder, and say, “Your word about Milo being dangerous would have been enough once, but not anymore. Not if you aren’t willing to trust me back.”
Lance’s frown tightens, but he doesn’t argue with me.
“Besides,” I say, “he can’t be any more dangerous of a friend than you turned out to be.”
Chapter 18
Irrational