Confusion swirls in her eyes. “For what?”

“For reacting the way I did in the forest,” I explain. “I think you misunderstood my silence. I want to talk to you about what happened and about other stuff, too. About—”

“Hey, shit face.” Logan appears by my side. “Piper’s looking for you. She needs to talk to you, like, right now.”

“That’s fucking fantastic,” I say through gritted teeth, “but I’m talking to Luna right now.”

A malicious look flashes across his face before he puts all of his attention on Luna. “Oh, hey, Luna, I didn’t see you there,” he says, scrutinizing her clothes. “I don’t know how I missed you, though, with that godawful outfit you’re wearing. Tell me, is it like a split personality thing?”

“Is what a split personality thing?” Luna asks with a guarded expression.

“The whole dressing like a freak one second and dressing like a cock tease the next.” When Luna blinks at him in shock, his grin broadens. “I saw you at that party, the one the cops broke up. You were wearing that slutty, black dress that barely covered your ass.” He reaches toward her like he’s going to grab her ass.

I smack his hand away and slam my hands against him, jostling him back. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

“Or what?” Logan crosses his arms with a stupid smirk on his face. “Tell me, what’re you going to do if I put my hands on Luna? Yell at me? Hurt me? Get jealous?”

“I’ll beat your ass,” I warn. “Which we both know I can do.”

His smile falters, more than likely remembering the drunken fight we got into at the beginning of the summer when I gave him a black eye and almost broke his nose.

“Dude, why are you being such a dick? Luna knows I was just messing with her.” He turns to Luna. “Right?”

She rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

“She’s only saying that because she’s nice,” I say to Logan in an icy tone. “She knows you’re being a jerk.”

“It’s fine,” Luna says to me as she backs away. “I have to get to class. I’ll see you later, maybe.”

Before I can work up a protest, she whirls around and runs for the school, putting her headphones in. Logan laughs at her, muttering something about going to change into her alter ego. I start to chew him out, but Piper saunters up to me with three of her friends.

“You look hot today,” she says, hauling me in for a kiss.

I hate when she does this—puts on a show for everyone.

When she steps back, she runs her finger along her lips, fixing her lipstick. “I have to go paint some banners for the pep rally on Friday, but I need to talk to you later. Maybe, after school, we can hang out.”

“I have some stuff to do after school,” I tell her, and two of her friends trade a look before narrowing their eyes at me. “Can’t you just tell me now?”

“Look, I know you’ve been super stressed ever since your dad died.” Piper skates her hands up my chest, loops them around my neck, and stands on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “But I think it might be time to move on, you know. I’ve been trying to ignore how much you’ve been ignoring me, but it’s starting to get old, and I’m not sure how much longer I can put up with this shit. You blow me off all the time, and it’s getting old. And you refuse to get a new phone, so I can never even text you, which is so goddamn annoying.”

“This isn’t about being stressed,” I growl through clenched teeth. “I really do have shit to do after school.”

“Then take me to lunch.” She presses her tits against my chest and grazes her teeth along my earlobe. “I just want to talk about the dance. I promise it’ll be worth it, though.” She steps back and puts on a phony grin. “I’ll meet you at your truck.” She blows me a kiss, and then she and her friends walk away.

“Guess you haven’t told her you don’t have your truck anymore,” Logan comments with a grin.

I stare at Piper over by the benches, laughing with her friends about something. The dance? When did I agree to go to the dance?

It doesn’t matter. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend these shallow, meaningless conversations are enough, can’t pretend I don’t want more. It’s time to end things with her. Yeah, shit may hit the fan, but I’ll deal with that if I have to because I can’t do this anymore.

I turn my back on Logan and leave.

“Eventually, people are going to get tired of your shit, Grey,” he yells after me. “And then what are you going to do?”

I don’t know. I really don’t.

I guess I’ll find out soon, though.

I’m fidgety, restless, nervous. At least, that’s how I feel whenever I’m at home. All I want to do is go to the nearest store and rid the anxiety smothering my chest, but my parents are always watching me.

When I’m at school, I’m not as anxious, even though Logan has made it his mission to torment me. It’s like sophomore year all over again; only, this time Grey isn’t joining in with him. He’s actually trying to get him to stop, but Logan’s having no part of it.

“Nice sweater,” he says the moment I step foot into the busy hallway. “Did you used to be fat or something? Is that why all your clothes are too big?”

I ignore him, shove in my headphones, and hurry to Wynter’s locker to get some clothes from her. But the same thing happens every morning for the next three days. Only, Logan becomes crueler.

“That’s why you dress like this, isn’t it? Because you’re a closet slut,” he accuses one day when I’m wearing a dress. “I’m surprised I can’t see the nasty scars, though.”

Piper busts up laughing from beside her locker, and her group of friends join in. “Logan, don’t tell me you’re thinking about touching that.”

Logan’s eyes darken as his gaze drinks me in from head to toe. “I don’t know. It might be interesting to see what she’s got hiding under there.” He reaches for the bottom of my dress.

I slap his hand away. “Don’t ever touch me.” I sidestep around him and dash down the hallway with the sound of their laughter hitting my back.

I don’t get it at all. My dress isn’t even short, but it’s like he wants me to feel ashamed of myself. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I think maybe my mom and dad are right, that I shouldn’t be dressing like this. But then I look in the mirror, and for the briefest moment, I recognize myself.

Grey has tried to talk to me a couple of times, but I’ve been standoffish. I feel bad for my behavior, but I’m worried he’ll ask me more about my confession in the forest. And I’ll have no choice except to lie to him or tell him about the messed up inner workings of my mind, tell him I have no control over myself. If I don’t steal stuff, I feel like an addict jonesing for their next fix.

I stir in that guilt every time I see Grey, every time I walk into class, and he attempts to catch my eye. I sit down as far away from him as I can, though mostly to avoid Logan.

And during the therapy sessions we attend, my parents make sure to drop me off right on time and pick me up the second it’s over, so that only leaves time for hellos and good-byes. I don’t see him at lunch throughout the week at all, either.

On Thursday, my avoiding-the-truth routine takes an unexpected turn when I show up to class before Grey does.

When he runs in right as the bell rings, he drops in the desk beside mine. “Hey,” he says, a little out of breath. “How are things going? I haven’t really gotten to talk to you much since the other day.”

I dare a glance across the room at Logan and find him watching the two of us like hawks.

“I’ve been really busy. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it.” He sweeps strands of his brown hair out of his eyes as he leans across the aisle and whispers, “How are things at home?”

I anxiously peer around the classroom, noticing how many people are watching us.

“You know what, never mind,” he says, reclining back in his chair.