“Oh! Here.” Zoey shoved aside some books on the couch to make room for me. “I’m not exactly sure. It says on his syllabus, but...” She shook her head and sighed. “It’s all Greek to me.”
I held out my hand for the sheet, and she readily handed it over. When I scanned over her first assignment, I pointed. “Actually, this is Latin...not Greek.”
The dry look she sent me told me just how much she wasn’t impressed by my nerd knowledge. “Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Bad joke.”
She rolled her eyes and fluttered a hand. “No. Go ahead and rub it in. I suck at biology and you rule. I got it.”
I smiled out a silent laugh as I motioned to the syllabus again. “Looks like you’ll be starting with human anatomy.”
“Really?” She leaned in to read over my arm, which stirred up more of that wild cherry and orchid smell. “Why didn’t he just say human anatomy, then?”
“Because Gilcrest only knows science jargon. But I think I wrote pretty common terms in my notes, so hopefully that’ll help you.”
Zoey pulled the notes into her lap. I found her biology book next to my hip, and we spent a few minutes going through the text, syllabus, and notes.
I know I got a little too involved in some of the things I explained. But it was so nice to know what I was talking about, I got a little carried away...and possibly a little off topic. Zoey didn’t seem to mind though. She kept nodding and transferring her attention from my notes, to her book, to my face as I went on. Sometimes, she’d even write down something I said.
“And did you know ancient Greek doctors thought there was a vein in this finger,” I tugged at the fourth digit on my left hand, “that led right to the heart? It’s not true, of course. But they called it the vena amoris, which means—”
“Vein of love,” she said.
My gaze shot to hers. “Oh, you know the story already.”
She shrugged and smiled apologetically. “I knew that was why that was the wedding ring finger, but I didn’t know it wasn’t true.” Disappointment filled her eyes. “So that finger doesn’t really have a vein that leads directly to the heart? That’s kind of depressing.”
“I know. Sorry.” I shook my head, feeling crappy for destroying a perfectly sweet theory. “I always liked that story of why couples wore their wedding rings on that particular finger, too. But, no, the vein structure in all the fingers is pretty similar.”
“Yeah. That’s too bad.”
I opened my mouth to tell her I hated nothing more than being misled with lies like that, but then I also wanted to restore her faith in romance, except yeah, my mind was blank with something eternally romantic.
Cora saved me from having to come up with a response when she called from her room. “Hey, is Quinn here yet?”
“Yes,” I answered for Zoey. “I’ve been polluting Zoey with more episodes of Pysch.”
Cora grumbled something that sounded vaguely like “Be out in a minute,” and slammed her bedroom door shut. Zoey and I shared a smile. But we both seemed to realize our time together was about up. Setting my notes aside, she smoothed her hands down her legs and let out a breath. “Well, thanks for taking the time to explain all that to me. It makes a lot more sense, now.”
I straightened in surprise. “Really?”
Zoey blushed and ducked her face. “Yeah, I...yeah.”
I was sure I’d only been confusing her more, but if she said it helped, then...cool. I bumped my shoulder into hers. “Actually I was glad for the distraction after practice today.”
She glanced up, her green eyes wide with concern. “Did you get in trouble from your coach for that fight you were in?”
I frowned in confusion. “Fight?”
“You know...” She flailed out a hand. “With that guy you pushed against the wall at the party where—”
“Oh! Right.” I’d forgotten all about that. “No.” I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. “Nothing like that. I’m just worried about Noel. He’s having a hard time, wondering who had that picture of his girlfriend. He’s really ticked at Ten and me for refusing to tell him whose phone it was on. But if we told him—”
“He’d beat up Belcher,” Zoey surmised with a knowing nod.
I glanced at her sharply, stunned. “You know whose phone it was on?”
“Oh! I...” She flushed and stammered a moment. “I hear things.”
Of course she did. She was like me, a watcher and a listener. I nodded slowly. “Right.”
“So...Noel would definitely go after Belcher if he knew?”
“Definitely.” I blew out a breath. “He wanted to storm the entire baseball team today and start taking names. I don’t know what to do for him. I don’t blame him for being upset, but if he did anything to get himself kicked off the team, everything he’s fought so hard to protect would be over.”
Zoey cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean? What has he fought for?”
“I guess you realized at the pizza parlor that Aspen was his—”
“Teacher,” she said with a nod. “Yeah. I caught that part.”
I smiled. “Well, when this one girl who had a thing for Noel found out about their secret relationship, she took some...pictures of them and turned them in to Aspen’s boss.”
Zoey’s eyes widened. “Wow. I’d heard most of that at the pizza parlor, but not the part about the girl who turned them in. Was it really just about revenge, because she wanted Noel and couldn’t get him?”
I nodded, and sympathy filled her gaze.
“Poor Noel. Poor Aspen.”
“I know. But what’s worse, when Noel went to Aspen’s boss and tried to talk him into getting her job back, he ended up making things worse and ticking the professor off until the professor threatened Noel. Now, if Noel does anything to put his football position at risk and lose us the championship this year, they’re going to make Aspen’s termination public and turn her and Noel into a national scandal.”
Zoey shook her head. “That’s so awful. Why would they do that to her?”
“I don’t know. I’ve stopped trying to figure out why some people do cruel things years ago.”
Hugging herself, she began to run her hands up and down her arms. “I can only imagine what Noel’s going through right now, needing to protect his girlfriend by being calm and level-headed, but also wanting to defend her honor. He must be so torn up.”
“He is.” I studied her a moment, charmed by the level of compassion in her eyes as she worried about my friend’s situation. I felt this urge to just reach out and squeeze her hand because I understood exactly what she was feeling.
“Ready, baby?” Cora asked, making me jump to my feet and spin toward her. Wearing her usual short skirt, skimpy top and high heels, she strolled into the living room with a dazzling smile, all jazzed up and ready to go.
The smile on her face always meant she was ready to have fun, and I usually ended those nights a very lucky guy.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t going to have a completely awful time at the frat party after all. Remembering some of the things she’d done with me at other parties, I stepped toward her and took her hand, just wanting to fast-forward to those parts.
“Yep,” I answered her.
“Great.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and glanced behind me as I started us toward the door. “Have a good night, Zo. Unless...do you want to come?”
I froze mid-step, and it took me a moment to glance around to catch Zoey’s response. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath for her answer until she shook her head. “No, thanks. But thank you for the offer.”
A hiss of oxygen rushed from my lungs. The bad part was, I wasn’t sure if I’d been hopeful for her to say yes or to say no.
“Three to six months?” Cora squawked incredulously. “But you just told us she’s a match. Her tissue type and blood group match mine perfectly. I thought you said that’s all we needed for a transplant.”
Sitting next to Cora at the d
octor’s office, I reached for her hand to give it a supportive squeeze, but she jerked her fingers away and kept glaring at her doctor.
He sent her a stern look over the tops of his bifocals before letting out a sigh. “No, I said blood and tissue had to match before we could even get started. Miss Blakeland will still need to go through a series of tests to ensure her physical and mental health.”
Cora snorted as if that idea were absurd. “Like what?”
All the while I was gulping. But mental? What the heck did they mean by mental tests? Were they going to sic a psychologist on me? What if I ended up confessing about my childhood? Oh no, what if they didn’t think I was of sound enough mind to help Cora?
I started to sweat. My heart pounded as the doctor began to explain. “We’ll need her full medical history and to perform an extensive medical examination. She’ll probably have a few sessions with a psychologist.”
Oh God.
“What the hell for?” Cora cut in.
“There are many psychological impacts that affect donors. He’ll need to establish her motivation and—”
“Motivation?” Cora shook her head. “She’s my best friend. She loves me. What else do you need to know?”
The doctor nodded with her as if he agreed that it was silly, but he said, “It’s policy.” Glancing at me, he softly added, “There should only be a few of those sessions.”
I nodded, but inside I was ice-frozen scared. What if they uncovered how envious I sometimes felt of Cora? What if they decided I was a whack job and unfit to give her anything? She needed this kidney; I didn’t want to do anything wrong to keep it from her.
Fingers cramping as they wrapped around the arm of my chair, I kept listening to the doctor list all the things they’d have to test me for. “There will be a number of blood tests to make sure you’re not carrying any diseases: hepatitis, HIV, any infection that could be passed on. We’ll need to see how well your blood clots. We’ll have to monitor your blood pressure routinely. We’ll have to check how well both your kidneys are functioning as well as your liver and some other organs. There will be numerous urine tests, and scans like ultrasounds and MRIs. Then you’ll need to take an EKG, X-rays, Pap smear...”
Wow, they really were going to check me from top to bottom, inside and out. No wonder it took so long to get to the actual transplant part.
“After you pass all the tests, we can set you up with a consultation with the surgeon, who’ll go over the operation with you, get you a date for operation and have you sign the consent form.”
He smiled kindly, but Cora didn’t smile back. “And it really takes three to six months to get all that done?”
Lips pinching thin, the doctor answered, “Sometimes longer if any abnormalities in her test delay things.”
“Oh, mother,” Cora muttered, glancing acerbically at me. “We’re screwed.”
I just stared at her, unable to believe she’d just basically called me abnormal.
By Friday, I felt more than abnormal. I felt stupid and deluded.
Six months ago, I’d been expecting to live my entire life under the strong thumb of my father. I’d pre-enrolled at the college he wanted me to attend and even set my degree as teaching, when the thought of getting up in front of a class scared the bejesus out of me. But Ernest Blakeland honestly scared me more. I’d always, always done what he’d wanted me to. I’d never broken one of his rules, snuck out of the house when he wasn’t looking, or cheated on the amount of soap he wanted me to use when I washed the dishes. I’d followed each and every one of his rules like the good, obedient girl I had hoped to be.
It wasn’t until Cora had called me with her dilemma that I’d even considered trying to break free from him. Because breaking free meant severing all ties completely. He never would’ve allowed me any kind of freedom. He liked total control. So if I was going to help my friend, I had to do it without his knowledge and without his permission.
The scariest decision of my life, and I’d made it so effortlessly without an ounce of regret. Yet now that I was here, risking the wrath of a man I knew would take pains to hurt me for retribution, I started to reevaluate the source of my reasons for coming.
Cora wasn’t at all as I remembered her. I wasn’t sure if I’d just built her up to be so amazing in my head because she’d been there in my life when I’d needed her the most or what. She’d been the one person who was nice to me when I’d felt alone. Maybe I’d blinded myself to her flaws.
Or maybe she’d just changed that much.
She’d been sitting on a bench outside the office the first day I attended public school as if waiting for me to come out with my class schedule and locker assignment.
“Hey, you’re that new girl. Zoey, right?”
Startled to hear my name, I paused and sent her a nod. “Yeah.”
With a smile, she scooted down and patted the open spot of bench beside her. “I’m Cora.”
When I sat gingerly, she studied me for the longest time. No one had ever paid that kind of attention to me before, except my father when he was upset with something I’d done. It made me blush and duck my face.
Then she asked me a couple questions, to which I think I gave mumbled, one-word answers. After that, she told me about herself. She liked to talk about herself, and I liked having someone talk to me, so it seemed to work for both of us. We never shared any classes, so I didn’t get to see her much during school, only those few minutes every day before the first bell rang on that very bench where we met.
After a couple months, she invited me over to her house for dinner. My father only agreed when he realized who her parents were. Mr. Wilder had apparently founded the country club with him where they were both members. In fact, before I’d been born, back when my mother had still been alive, Mr. Wilder and his wife had been close friends with my parents...which reminded my father of another reason he hated me. After I’d killed my mother in childbirth, my father had fallen out of touch with one of his closest friends.
But he’d reluctantly allowed me to occasionally visit Cora.
Her mother was so charming and nice. It boggled my mind when Cora would get irritated with her for asking too many questions about her day. I would’ve loved to have a mother who wanted to know what was happening in my life.
Mr. Wilder had acted shocked the first time he’d met me. I guess Cora never brought friends home with her, or something. I don’t know. But he quickly got over it and when I told him who my parents were, he remembered them, telling me I looked like my mother. I loved hearing that because my father had gotten rid of most of her pictures.
I envied Cora for her parents, wishing they could’ve been mine, even though they’d been as strict with her as mine had been with me. Many times I’d called over to talk to her, her mom had told me Cora wasn’t home. When Cora told me the next day that she’d really been home but she hadn’t been allowed phone privileges, I’d wondered briefly if her father was just as abusive as mine.
I’d grabbed her hand and clutched it hard. “Do your parents hit you too?”
She’d wrenched back in surprise and blinked at me as if I was insane. “No. Why? Does your dad hit you?” She sounded so intrigued by the idea, I lowered my face in shame and buried my hands into my lap.
“No.”
But she knew I was lying. She made me look her in the eye before she quietly asked, “Zoey. Does your dad hit you?”
“Sometimes,” I whispered. “But only when I’m bad.”
After that, she questioned every little bruise I had, and yes, most of them came from his brutal touch. The abuse became easier to take after Cora found out about it, though. I don’t know why; maybe just sharing it with someone took off some of the stress.
She was loyal and never told anyone about it because I begged her not to. And she never made me feel bad about what happened to me.
I know those times I sat with her before school, and the fewer times I’d talked to her on the phone or visited her
house, probably wouldn’t seem like much of a friendship to someone else. But it was all I’d ever had, so it was everything to me. Enough to get me here.
But here I was, and now...now the friend I’d once known was gone.
Maybe the transplant would bring her back. I don’t know. Or maybe I was still deluding myself.
I was probably being selfish for wanting her time and attention, but she hadn’t stuck around the apartment a single night since I’d moved in. She was either out, visiting friends or with Quinn. I knew I didn’t have to stay home alone—I was free now—but I didn’t know what else to do. Homework and television kept me company most nights. Or sometimes I’d wander the apartment and try to acclimate myself to my new living space.
School kept me busy during the days, but the evenings still left me lonely.
By Friday of the second school week, I was debating whether I had the courage to take myself to a movie that evening when I entered art class. Cora would probably let me tag along with her if I asked, but I’d seen the kind of parties she preferred, and they were so not my thing.
“Morning, Zoey,” Reese greeted as I found a seat next to her. She was sipping from a Starbucks cup and flipping through another bridal magazine.
I smiled as I dug into my bag for my notebook and pen. This hour every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday was the highlight of my week. I loved sitting with Reese, Caroline, Quinn, and Ten. They never failed to entertain me. And they made me feel included.
And not-at-all lonely.
“I thought you’d found a dress last week,” I asked, noticing which advertisements she examined as she slowly flipped through pages.
“Oh, I have,” she said, sliding me a wink. “But my cousin just got engaged yesterday, so I’m looking for her now.”
“How exciting.” She talked about Eva quite a bit, so I felt as if I already knew her cousin without having even met her. “Tell her congratulations for me.”
“Sure. She’s anxious to meet you, you know.”
That caught me off guard. “What?”
Reese paused in her page flipping and looked up. “Eva. Yeah. I’ve told her all about you, and she can’t wait to meet you for herself.”