I shake my head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just—”
“I know what you meant—what you think of me, and everyone else thinks of me.” She snatches her bag from the desk, sniffs her shirt, and shrugs. “But some advice: Maybe you shouldn’t judge people by their looks.”
“I don’t,” I tell her, feeling bad. “I’m sorry if you think I judged you.”
She collects her phone from the desk and tosses it into her bag, then heads for the door. “Listen, if some guy named Jesse comes by, can you pretend that you haven’t seen me all day?”
“Why?” I ask, sitting up.
“Because I don’t want him to know I’ve been here.” She opens the door and glances back over her shoulder. “God, you’ve been a little snippy lately. When I first met you, I thought you were like a doormat. But lately, you’ve been kind of cranky.”
“I know,” I say quietly, with my chin tucked down. “And I’m sorry. I’ve just been having a rough few weeks.”
She pauses in the doorway, eyeing me over. “Are you…” She shifts her weight, looking uncomfortable. Whatever she’s trying to say seems to be hard for her. “Are you okay?”
I nod and something crosses over her face, maybe pain, and for a second I wonder if Violet’s okay. But then she shrugs and walks out, slamming the door behind her. I release a loud breath and lie back down on the bed. The need to shove my finger down my throat and free the heavy, foul feelings in my stomach strangles me. Damn it. I need therapy. I reach for my phone without sitting up and dial my therapist’s number, aka Seth, and my best friend in the whole world.
“I love you to death, Callie,” Seth says as he answers after three rings. “But I think I’m about to get lucky so this better be important.”
I scrunch my nose as my cheeks heat. “It’s not… I just wanted to see what was up. But if you’re busy, I’ll let you go.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry, that came out a lot ruder than I planned.
If you really need me, I can totally talk. You know you’re my first priority.”
“Are you with Greyson?” I ask.
“Of course,” he replies with humor in his tone. “I’m not a man-whore skank.”
A giggle slips through my lips and I’m amazed how much better I feel just from talking to him. “I promise I’m fine. I’m just bored and was looking for an escape from my English book.” I shove the book off the bed and roll onto my stomach, propping myself up onto my elbows. “I’ll let you go.”
“Are you really, really sure?”
“I’m one hundred percent sure. Now go have fun.”
“Oh, trust me. I’m planning on it,” he replies and I laugh, but it hurts my stomach. I start to hang up when he adds, “Callie, if you need to hang out with someone, you could call Luke… You two are kind of going through the same thing. I mean, with missing Kayden and not really understanding.”
I bite at my fingernails. I’ve spent time with Luke, but I’m still uncomfortable being alone with guys, except for Seth. Besides, things are weird between Luke and me because we haven’t officially talked about what happened at Kayden’s. It’s the white elephant in the room, the massive, sad, heartbroken elephant. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good. And if you do, make sure to ask him about yesterday in Professor McGellon’s class.”
“Why? What happened?”
He giggles mischievously. “Just ask him.”
“Okay…” I say, unsure if I really want to. If Seth thinks it’s funny then there’s a good chance that whatever happened might embarrass me. “Have fun with Greyson.”
“You too, baby girl,” he says and hangs up.
I hit END and scroll through my contacts until I reach Luke’s number. My finger hovers over the DIAL button for an eternity and then I chicken out and drop the phone down onto the bed. I get up and slip on my Converses—the ones stained with the green paint—because they remind me of a happy time in life. I zip up my jacket, put my phone into the pocket, and collect my keycard and journal before heading outside.
It’s colder than a freezer, but I walk aimlessly through the vacant campus before finally taking a seat on one of the frosted benches. It’s snowing but the tree branches create a canopy above my head. I open my journal, pull the top of my jacket over my nose, and begin to scribble down my thoughts, pouring out my heart and soul to blank sheets of paper because it’s therapeutic.
I remember my sixteenth birthday like I remember how to add. It’s there locked away in my head whenever I need it, although I don’t use it often. It was the day I learned to drive. My mom had always been really weird about letting my brother and me anywhere near the wheel of a vehicle until we were old enough to drive. She said it was to protect us from ourselves and other drivers. I remember thinking how strange it was, her wanting to protect us, because there were so many things—huge, life-changing things—she’d never protected us from. Like the fact that my brother had been smoking pot since he was fourteen. Or the fact that Caleb raped me in my own room when I was twelve.
Deep down, I knew it wasn’t her fault, but the thought always crossed my mind: Why hadn’t she protected me?
So at sixteen, I finally got behind the driver’s seat for the very first time. I was terrified and my palms were sweating so badly I could barely hold onto the wheel. My dad had also had a lifted truck and I could barely see over the dash.
“Can’t we please just drive mom’s car?” I asked my dad as I turned the key in the ignition.
He buckled his seat belt and shook his head. “It’s better to learn on the big dog first, that way driving the car will be a piece of cake.”
I buckled my own seat belt and wiped my sweaty palms on the front of my jeans. “Yeah, but I can barely see over the wheel.”
He smiled and gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Callie, I know driving is scary, like life. But you’re perfectly capable of handling this; otherwise I wouldn’t let you.”
I almost broke down and told him what happened to me on my twelfth birthday. I almost told him that I couldn’t handle it. That I couldn’t handle anything. But fear owned me and I pressed on the gas and drove the truck forward.