TMI (9 page)

The day finally ended. Meg boarded the bus without waiting for Bailey for the first time in years and folded herself into a seat all the way in the back. She drew her hood up and tried not to sob when the tears came. Someone took the seat beside her and she sighed.
I'm always alone except when I need to be alone.

“Here.” A cafeteria napkin appeared in front of her face, clutched in Chase's hand. His eyes sparkled like gems in her blurry vision. “It's clean, I swear.”

“Chase, I—”

“Don't talk, Megan. For once, just don't talk and let me help, okay?”

Jeez, if I want to talk, I'm damn well going to talk.
Besides, she was only going to say—oh, hell. When all the color bled out of her anger, Meg nodded and slid further down her seat, propping her feet on the seat in front of her.

“Aw, what's the matter, Meg? Lose your best friend?” Somebody mocked from across the aisle, and the rear of the bus exploded in laughter.

Chase stood up and the laughter abruptly stopped. When he sat down again, Meg squeezed his hand briefly. He sucked in a sharp breath of air, so she tried to move her hand, but he only tightened his grip. For a moment, Meg looked at their clasped hands and finally looked up at him. “Chase—”

“Megan.” He smiled.

“Why are you on the bus? Don't you have practice?”

He shook his head. “Canceled. The coach is sick. Probably has what I had last week. Besides, I thought you could use a friend.”

A friend. She bit her lip. “Why do you keep doing this? You know how I feel.” She almost rolled her eyes. Expecting him to know how she felt when she wasn't sure was pretty damn ludicrous. She felt like throwing herself into his arms and running away at the same time. But she didn't have to spell it out for him. Didn't have to elaborate. Because he didn't bother to deny it.

“You're right. I
do
know how you feel.” He leaned over with a grin that was almost wicked and whispered in her ear. “Because I feel the same way.”

No. Meg tugged her hand back, and again, he tightened his grip, still grinning wide.

“Megan, I won't hurt you. I swear. Not the way your dad hurt you and your mom.” He was completely serious now.

Her entire body clenched and she snatched her hand away. Meg never talked about her father. Ever. No one knew what had really happened. She'd never told anybody about her parents, except—

“Bailey. She—oh, God. She told you.”
Damn
it.
No. No, it wasn't possible. She swore she'd never tell.

Chase frowned. “Told me what? It doesn't take a genius to see you're pissed at your dad.”

Meg turned her head away and breathed a sigh of relief. Her anger was a weird thing. It was like someone had poured mad over her entire field of vision, tinting it a murky red. It was like trying to see through Alizarin Crimson. She should have known better. Bailey would never tell.

Then again, she didn't think Bailey would stand her up for some guy either.

“I never understood why you guys are friends,” he murmured.

Meg whipped her head back, eyebrows raised in question.

“You're both such different people. Bailey's all fun, and you're—”

“Not.”

He rolled his vibrant eyes. “I was gonna say serious. She's all fashionable, and you're—”

“Not.”

This time, he blew out a frustrated sigh. “Will you stop that? I was gonna say you always look great, even though you're not all tied up in knots trying to look that way. I guess I just wonder what you guys talk about.”

Meg blinked. “We talk about anything. Everything. I don't have to be special for
her
.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You don't have to be special for me either, but you won't let us be friends like that. I just wish I understood why.”

Meg looked down at her feet and tried to find a good excuse. “Too scary.”

He laughed. “You really are afraid of me?”

Meg burrowed deeper into her hoodie. “Not
of
you, just…uh, afraid in general.”

He frowned and shook his head. “Okay, that cleared it up.”

The bus reached Meg's stop. “Bye. Oh, um…thanks for…you know, just thanks.”

Chase stood up to let her by. She walked down the steps, jumped to the curb, and drew in a breath of the cool spring air, wondering if she'd ever feel warm again.

“Chase, this isn't your street.” Meg reminded him when he fell into step beside her. Chase's house was around the block. Meg could see his bedroom window from hers and often lay in bed at night, refusing to shut her eyes until his window went dark.

“I know where I live, Megan.”

They walked beside the freshly cut lawns, the crocuses, and tulips bursting from sleep and around the corner to Meg's tiny house.

“So why aren't you going there?” she finally asked him.

“I'm walking you home. And then you're going to invite me inside so I can make you hot cocoa.”

Meg arched an eyebrow, tried not to let her galloping heart escape from her chest. “Again, why?”

“Because you're upset. Because you need to know Bailey's not the only friend you have.”

Bailey. Just the sound of her name had Meg's vision going Alizarin crimson again. She shouldn't do this, not with Chase, but damn it, better he was with her than with Bailey. Besides, she knew more tears waited behind her eyes, and as soon as she was alone, they'd drown her. “Faience Blue,” she murmured.

“What?” he asked on a laugh.

“Never mind,” she said and sighed. “Come on then.”

They sat in the kitchen, an open bag of stale marshmallows between them on the old oak table with the scarred top. Meg sat with her legs curled under her, looking around the room her mom loved so much. It was big and sunny. Pauline had an herb garden growing in one window and one of Meg's early paintings hung on the wall over the table.

“Your mom's not here?”

Meg shook her head. “No, she won't get home until after six.” And then she'd head right back out.

“What do you do all by yourself until then?”

Meg's eyes tracked the gentle rise of vapor from her cup. “I'm not usually alone. Usually, I have Bailey to keep me company.”

“So what would you and Bailey be doing right now?”

“Homework. Giving each other advice on stuff.”

The corner of Chase's mouth twitched.

“Maybe we'd make a few snacks or watch a movie. We'd shop. Read. And we'd talk. We talked a lot. I've been trying to convince Bailey to get a computer science degree.”

Chase nodded. “Yeah, she told me about the video game. She never showed me any of it though. We just talked. It sounds really complicated.”

Meg's mouth tightened. The night Bailey had told Chase about the video game had been the night he'd hugged her. She squirmed in her chair.

“You okay?”

“Um…yeah.” She felt her face flame.

Inspiration struck. Maybe there was a way to beat Bailey at her own game.

Ha.

Meg tugged Chase's hand, leading him upstairs. “Come on. You have to check this out.”

She led him into her room, cluttered with half-finished sketches, brushes and paints, canvases, and clothes that didn't look good on her, but she didn't care about the mess.

“You gonna show me your sketches, Megan?” Chase waggled his eyebrows.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Shut up and come over here.” She searched the bookcase over her desk for the binder she and Bailey had filled with ideas, outlines, character sketches, and plot threads. “Here. Look at this. I sketch these out for her when I have time.” Meg handed the pad to Chase, who was busy looking around the canvases hung or propped on every wall like he'd fallen into another dimension.

Meg's heart dropped a few inches when his gaze settled on her easel, which she'd forgotten to cover.

“Chase?”

“Oh. Sorry.” He came back to his senses and leafed through the binder for what felt like hours. “These are good. I mean, like,
really
good.”

“I know, right?” Meg took the binder back and leafed to a page she knew by heart. “This all started with a bad grade on a history test. I told her she should think of history like a video game with various levels, and next thing I know, she's got all these worlds designed around our history lessons.”

“I like this.” Chase pointed to one of the plot arcs circled in the margin. “It's like a
Da Vinci
Code
thing.”

Meg smiled and shook her head. “No, it's more than that. She knew the only way I'd ever play the game was if it had something to do with art. I told her she should use famous works from each period and add in the artists as backstory, but she said no. That was too much like
Assassin's Creed
. So we kept adding stuff, tweaking ideas until it covered all of tenth-grade history. She has the whole thing worked out in her head.”

“I know. She told me.” He laughed. “When she said it was a little like
Dance
Party
Central
, I nearly lost it.”

Meg's excitement faded. Every time she remembered their hug that night, that flare of envy tinted her vision. “Right. I forgot. Now
you're
building it for her.”

He looked at Meg sharply and his voice dropped a few degrees. “‘For her?' You don't think she can do it herself, do you?”

Meg gasped, insulted. “No,
she
doesn't think she can, so she doesn't bother. Her biggest goal right now is to marry rich so she can afford to pay somebody to code this for her.” Abruptly mad, Meg tossed the book back on her desk. “That's what got the whole Simon thing started in the first place. She figured he'd build it for her.” Meg ran fingers through her hair, the tug on her scalp easing the pain in her heart when she thought about Bailey. When Chase didn't reply, she glanced at him and saw his fairy eyes cloud with annoyance.

“What?”

Chase shook his head and waved a hand. “I'm sorry.”

Meg's eyebrows shot up. “For what?”

“For what I was just thinking about you.” He shrugged. “You look out for her.” He smiled. “It's…um, cool. It really is.”

Cool. Meg blew out a loud breath and carefully tucked the binder back on her shelf. “I try. She doesn't make it easy.”

“Well, maybe you could cut her a small break—you know, forgive her because she wasn't ready to share this guy with you yet?”

Meg's brows drew together and her face got hot. Chase hit a nerve, but she wasn't quite ready to admit that yet, so she quickly changed the subject. “Let me ask you something. Do you think she's pretty?”

Chase stared at Meg, agape. “Um…yeah,” he finally admitted. “Why?”

She ignored the knot in her belly, the little flare of jealousy. “She…well, she's really insecure, Chase. Every time she meets a new guy, she…she just loses herself in him. Everything she's ever been into, it's because she wanted to impress a guy. Rock climbing. Heavy metal. Acting. Working out.” She ticked the hobbies off on her fingers. “I can't even remember who got her started on gaming.”

“Yeah, well, she's still into it, so that's got to mean something,” he pointed out.

“True.” Meg lifted a shoulder. “But it's more than just picking up a guy's hobbies. She believes anything they tell her, Chase. Whatever they say, she believes it, and it really annoys me.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because.” Meg flung out her hands in frustration. “She doesn't see herself! For every guy that gives her the time of day, she falls hard and then totally changes herself for him. Simon thought she was sexy, so she started talking about getting a boob job.”

He snorted, and when Meg turned to face him, he was looking at her sideways. “That's a girl thing. You all do that.”

“I have never and will never consider a boob job.”

His eyes flicked down and immediately back to hers. “Um…good. That's good. But that's not what I meant. I mean, girls are always trying to change themselves. Even you.”

“I do not!” Before he could argue, Meg stated her case. “I would never change myself for some guy. That's exactly why I—” Abruptly, she snapped her teeth together.

Chase angled his head, an unspoken acknowledgment of what she didn't say. “No. You're right about that. But I was talking about not being happy with your looks.”

“I know exactly what I look like.” She waved a hand at the mirror over her dresser. “I'll never get any modeling contracts, but I'm not hideous. I have nice eyes, even though they're brown, and my skin looks good. I'm too skinny and my hair needs an intervention. None of that matters all that much to me or I'd do something about it.”