Renegade (23 page)

“This is your home, Sam. You’ll always be welcome here.”

Her words meant more to me than she’d probably ever know. My own parents didn’t want me around after they found out about the hellhound. They acted ashamed and afraid of me. A real home was something I hadn’t had for years now, something I didn’t really know I would have again until I met Heven.

When I didn’t say anything else, she went to leave the room but stopped and turned back. “You know, I don’t think Logan would mind sharing his room with you.”

My mouth titled up. “No?”

“In fact, being in here might make you feel closer to him.”

She disappeared around the corner and I stood there for a moment longer staring at the bed. Maybe she was right. Maybe I needed to stop thinking about this as Logan’s room but as mine instead.

Chapter Twelve

Heven

I used to love driving to school with Kimber. Sometimes we’d turn the radio up loud and sing along with our favorite songs. Others I would hold a fashion magazine in my lap and we’d decide if the upcoming trends were hits or misses. We always had a good time. It wasn’t anything deep or profound, but it was fun. Two best friends enjoying life and being girls.

And then everything changed.

I got scarred. I got scared. Kimber’s jealousy of me seemed to take on a life of its own and then everything spiraled out of control. I don’t know where my best friend went or where I could find her again. Sometimes I wondered if she even existed anymore under the expensive clothes and styled hair.

Kimber had changed. So had I… yet I still felt like I was
me
. Kimber felt irrevocably different since she came back from hell. Yes, she was still obsessed with her hair and shoes, but she was more reserved and sometimes I wondered what exactly went on inside her head.

Our drive today was fairly quiet. She was doing something on her iPhone and just stared out the window, watching the scenery go by. We were almost to school when she said, “So I’m telling the girls the party at my place on Halloween is also a belated birthday party for you.”

I glanced away from the road to look at her. “Why?”

“Because it’s your birthday.”

“I don’t really want to celebrate this year.” And I wasn’t sure which day I wanted to use as my birthday—the actual day or the one I’ve been celebrating my entire life.

She made a sound in her throat. “Seriously? You finally can go to one of my Halloween parties and you don’t want to?”

The way she said it made me wonder if she was only making it partly for me so I would come. “I’m surprised you want me there.”

“Cole will want to see his sister on her birthday.”

“So this is about Cole?”

She sighed. “Forget it.”

“I don’t want to forget it,” I said as I pulled into the back of the parking lot. She grabbed up her bag off the floor, but I grabbed her arm.

“Everyone thinks we’re still friends,” she said in a rush.

“So?”

“So I can’t not celebrate my BFF’s birthday.”

“So you’re only doing this for appearances.”

She didn’t say anything and looked away.

“Okay, I’ll come.” I released her arm and climbed out of the car. When I straightened, she was watching from the rear end.

“So are we?” she asked, her voice not holding any of her usual Kimber flair.

“Are we what?”

“Friends.”

“I thought you hated me now because of everything that happened with Cole.”

“I thought you hated me because I took the scroll from you.” Then she rolled her eyes. “I agreed to move in with you. I wouldn’t have done that if I hated you.”

“Well, I asked you to move in.”

“Yeah, to keep me away from Cole.”

“I just want him to be happy.”
And that isn’t with you.

“So do I,” she countered and we stood there staring at each other, the banter between frenemies over.

Then we both started laughing.

“You’re such a bitch sometimes.”

“You’re no picnic either,” I responded as we began walking into the school.

“You’re too skinny. You make me look fat.”

“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes.

We walked into the front office and the receptionist looked up. “Girls, do you have a tardy slip?”

Kimber sighed a pathetic sigh. “Oh, Mrs. Schuster, it was horrible,” she began, dropping her bag on the floor and leaning on the counter. “We could have been killed!”

“Oh my! What happened? Tell me all about it,” she cooed and patted Kimber on the shoulder.

I had no idea what Kimber was pulling, but I did my best to look pathetic, too. I might be use to battling a witch and evil Prince from hell, but my chemistry teacher was scary and I need a note.

“I stayed up late studying last night for my history test this morning and then got up extra early so I could be here on time,” she said and then whimpered. I knew she was lying and even I felt bad for her. “And then on my way to school, my car
caught on fire
!”
She ended dramatically and dropped her forehead onto the countertop.

She got the desired reaction. I suppressed the urge to laugh. Kimber never stayed up late studying. In fact, she probably didn’t even know her history teacher’s name.

“Goodness! That is horrible. You could have been seriously injured! What did you do?”

“I pulled to the side of the road. The flames were so close to me I could feel the heat! But before I got out of my pretty red car I made sure to grab all my books. And then I stood on the side of the road while my entire engine burned!”

“Oh, what you’ve been through,” the receptionist cooed and then looked at me.

Of course Kimber saw. I was beginning to think she had eyes in the back of her head. “My parents are out of town,
again.
And so I called Heven. She came and waited with me while the fire department came and put out my car. It’s ruined!”

“There now.” Mrs. Schuster patted her on the back and then reached for her pen and scribbled off two excuses, handing one to Kimber and one to me. “Here,” she said. “After everything you girls have been through, I think you deserve an excused tardy.”

Kimber smiled brilliantly, her eyes still watery.

I swear she should be an actress. Only Kimber could turn the fact that I torched her car into something that would benefit her.

“Oh, thank you,” she wailed and threw her arms around the blond woman who smiled.

“You’re welcome. Now get to class.”

Out in the hallway, I looked at Kimber. “Thanks for the note.”

She grinned.

At the end of the hallway, she stopped walking and looked at me. “Truce?”

I nodded. “Truce.”

We parted ways, me going to chemistry and her going to history, and as I walked I thought maybe even after everything, Kimber and I might still be friends.

*     *     *

Before walking into class I took a deep breath and braced myself. Yes, I had a note, but Mrs. Engles would probably still torture me for being late. I was late once before and my punishment was to stand at the front of the room, beaker in hand, and try to mix the longest, most complicated element equation problem known to man.

It ended with me dumping the wrong thing into the wrong bottle and a volcano of blue foam erupting all over the table and oozing down onto the teacher’s shoe.

I still had nightmares about that foam.

I reminded myself that my chemistry teacher wasn’t the worst of my problems and pulled open the door and walked inside. The buzz of voices and laughter caught me off guard because usually the room was quiet as a tomb. When people noted someone entered the room, a hush fell over the group and everyone looked up from their desks, staring at me. I waited to hear the teacher call out my name.
Heven! What’s your excuse this time?

Except she didn’t say a word.

I did a double take at her desk that was perched at the front of the room like a throne overseeing its court and saw she wasn’t there.

Odd. She always sat at her desk.

I looked around the room, searching for her disapproving stare but still coming up empty.

“She isn’t here,” someone in the front row said.

“We don’t have a teacher today?” I asked.

The kid shrugged and turned back to his lab partner to continue his conversation. I debated on leaving the tardy slip on Mrs. Engles’s desk, but I decided against it. Why tell her I was late at all if I didn’t have to? I shoved the slip into my bag as I took my seat at the table in the center of the room.

“Is there a substitute?” I asked Alexis, my partner at the table.

“Haven’t seen one. We’ve been sitting in here alone all period.”

Just then the door to the room flung open and Mrs. Engles walked in. She was dressed as she usually was, in a black pencil skirt and a blouse, but her clothes didn’t look as neat as usual. Her blouse was half untucked, her skirt was wrinkled, and her shoes didn’t match (I’m sorry, but brown shoes do not go with a black skirt). Her dark hair, which was usually pulled into a sleek bun, had strands falling around her face and neck.

She didn’t address the class as she walked to her desk, briefcase in hand, dropping it on the floor by her chair. But she did stumble in the heels that she wore and I swear I heard her utter a cuss word under her breath.

Alexis looked at me and widened her eyes.

I shrugged.

Everyone had fallen quiet because 1) if you talked in her class you got detention and 2) she was acting weird.

To further her weirdness, she shuffled around the neatly stacked papers on the desk, picking up a few here and there to skim over them. Then she dropped the one in her hand and I watched it flutter back down to land on the new mess. “As you can see, I’m running late today,” she began, stepping to the first lab table and picking up a clear glass beaker to examine. As she finished her sentence, she set it back down. “So today will have to be a free period.”