Tell Me Pretty Lies Page 3

  “I was just worried. Being your first day back and all.”

  Right. “It was fine. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t care,” I lie.

  She narrows her eyes, not believing me.

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “I can’t believe you’re turning eighteen soon,” she says, pinching my chin between her thumb and finger. “You get more beautiful every day.”

  I give an uncomfortable laugh and try to pull out of her grasp, but she holds me in place.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful.” Her eyes are red and weary, and for the first time in my life, my mother looks…tired. She’s still beautiful with her blonde hair and heart-shaped face that will probably always make her look younger than she is—both traits I inherited from her—but the spark has faded from her eyes. There’s no denying that I am my mother’s child. The only thing I didn’t get are her chestnut eyes. My father, whoever he is, must be responsible for my blue ones.

  “What could possibly happen—”

  “Not just with your safety,” she clarifies. “With your heart.”

  That heart she’s referring to starts to work overtime in my chest. Does she know about Thayer and me? I swallow hard, then shake off the thought. There’s no way. We were careful. Mostly. Toward the end, I couldn’t hide my heartbreak if I tried, but everyone assumed that I was grieving. And I was. In more ways than one.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” I assure her.

  “Shayne?”

  My head pops up when I hear the teacher’s voice to find her standing at the front of the class, holding a slip of paper in her hand.

  “You’re needed in the guidance center.”

  Flipping my binder shut, I don’t waste any time pushing out of my seat. I might be more nervous about what I’m walking into if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m just grateful for the excuse to get out of this class and away from Holden’s scrutiny. I make my way down the aisle, between the desks, and stop short when a beige closed-toe wedge with a dainty ankle strap shoots out in front of my path in an attempt to trip me. Really? I arch a brow and Taylor Sanders simply pouts, shrugging a shoulder. Images of her dropping to her knees in Thayer’s room pop into my mind, and I have the sudden urge to rip her hair out.

  “Oops.”

  I roll my eyes, forcing myself to not react. It’s not worth it, it’s not worth it, it’s not worth it. Without a word, I step over her foot, ignoring the snickers coming from Alexis and the rest of Taylor’s cronies. When I get to the end of the aisle, I catch Holden’s gaze. I expected him to be laughing along with them, but instead, he seems...bored out of his mind. I break his stare and head out the door, into the hall.

  The halls are quiet, my shoes squeaking against the vinyl floor the only sound. I’m torn between dragging my feet or getting it over with, because I know what this is about. I’m surprised it took this long, to be honest. Deciding to rip the Band-Aid off, I go with the latter.

  “Come in,” Ms. Thomas says, standing from her desk in a fitted Guns N’ Roses tee, and I’m thrown off when she pulls me in for a hug. She smells like vanilla lotion and coffee, and her soft, black curls tickle my cheek. “Sorry.” She clears her throat, pulling away from my stiff form, keeping her hands on my upper arms.

  “It’s okay,” I say, letting her off the hook. Ms. Thomas isn’t your typical guidance counselor. She can’t be older than twenty-five. She’s dry and sarcastic and kind of a hard ass. Suffice it to say, hugs are out of character for her.

  “Have a seat,” she instructs, moving back behind her desk.

  I do as she says, sitting in the chair in front of her. She folds her hands together, elbows braced on the desktop.

  I clear my throat, uncomfortable under her attention.

  “So,” she starts. “How was your summer?”

  I roll my eyes. “Come on, Ms. Thomas. Cut the crap. We both know you didn’t call me in here to make small talk.”

  She mashes her lips together to hide her smirk. “No, I didn’t,” she agrees. “I do want to know about your summer, but if you’d rather we cut the pleasantries—”

  “Please do.”

  “Okay, then.” She sits back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I called you in here to see how you were settling back in.”

  “Fine?” I say with a shrug, but it comes out sounding more like a question. She lifts a brow. “Nothing I wasn’t expecting,” I amend, giving her a slightly more honest answer.

  Ms. Thomas nods knowingly. “I can imagine. Your situation is certainly…unique.”

  I snort. That’s putting it lightly.

  “Have you talked to anyone?”

  I cut my eyes at her. “You mean, like a therapist?”

  She nods again.

  “No.”

  “Is that something you’re open to?”

  “Not especially. Why am I here?”

  She frowns, not understanding what it is that I’m asking.

  “I’m not the one who should be here,” I clarify. I highly doubt Holden or Christian has to meet with a counselor.

  “You know I’m not allowed to discuss other students with you,” she starts, choosing her words carefully. “You’ve been gone a while. I just want to make sure you’re adjusting well.”

  “Well, like I said, I’m fine.” I can’t keep the defensiveness out of my tone.

  “Hmm.” She cocks her head to the side, considering something. I avert my eyes, focusing on the collage of cheesy, inspirational quotes pinned to her wall instead and bouncing my knee.

  “Those came with the office.” She motions to the signage behind her.

  “Right.” Makes sense. She’s not exactly Oprah.

  “What about a diary?”

  My foot stops its incessant bouncing. “A diary,” I repeat, skepticism lacing my tone.

  “Diary, journal, whatever you want to call it.” She waves a hand through the air.

  I shake my head, dismissing the idea. “I don’t see how that would accomplish anything.”

  It’s her turn to shrug. “It’s therapeutic, sometimes, to get it all out. Even if no one will ever see it. It will also push you to be…introspective.”

  I can practically hear the unspoken second half of that statement. Instead of pretending like nothing happened.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say to pacify her, then stand to leave.

  “I’ll be frank with you,” she says, stopping me in my tracks. I pause, waiting for her to continue. “I’m supposed to meet with you on a weekly basis—”

  My mouth drops open. Did my mom put her up to this? “That’s a little excessive,” I say, cutting her off.

  “I agree.” She surprises me by saying. “So how about a compromise?”

  I cross my arms, unhappy with where this is going. “Such as?”

  She leans over to open a desk drawer, pulling out a black composition notebook, then holds it out in offering. “Instead of dragging you in here every week, you write in this instead. You’ll check back in with me every other week. I won’t read a word you write,” she promises. “As long as I can see that you are writing, that’s good enough for me.”

  “That’s it?” I ask, waiting for the catch.

  “You don’t have to talk before you’re ready, and I don’t have to waste my lunch break trying to make you. Fair trade, I’d say.”

  You are the worst guidance counselor, ever. And I’m thankful for it.

  I hesitate, weighing my options. Be forced into baring my soul to an unqualified high school guidance counselor, or scribble in a notebook every once in a while? It’s a no-brainer.

  She lifts a brow, extending the notebook further, prompting me to take it. My shoulders deflate, and she smiles, knowing she’s won.

  “Fine.”

  “Come back and see me in two days. Then, every other week from there on out.”

  I mumble a thanks, then turn for the door when her voice stops me again.

  “
And Shayne?”

  I pause, looking at her over my shoulder. She leans in, lowering her voice. “I was a student here once, too. I know better than anyone how brutal these entitled assholes can be.”

  My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline and I almost crack a smile. I did not see that coming.

  “So if you ever need to talk…” She leaves the invitation hanging and I give her a grateful nod before closing the door. Stepping out into the now-busy hall, I fish my phone out of my back pocket to text Valen, but she beats me to it.

  Valen: Eating on campus. Meet me in the cafeteria.

  I groan, internally debating on ditching school for the first time. To my right are the double doors that lead to the cafeteria. To the left is the exit. My phone vibrates in my hand, interrupting my thoughts.

  Valen: Don’t even think about bailing.

  I groan, stuffing my phone back into my pocket, and reluctantly make my way toward the cafeteria. Apprehension settles in, growing with each step, but I shove it down and square my shoulders. It’s not that I can’t handle it—I’m more than used to being a spectacle. Being the new girl in a small town is bad enough, but living with the Ames brothers was another thing entirely. Everyone either hated me because they were jealous or they wanted to befriend me in an attempt to weasel their way into the brothers’ inner circle. And their pants. Everyone, that is, except Valen.

  So, no. It’s not the whispers and jokes and stares I’m worried about. It’s the unknown that unsettles me, and this is just another giant question mark in my life. Without Thayer, Holden, and Danny, where do I belong? Best-case scenario—the masses will no longer perceive me as a threat nor an in, and I’ll become invisible. Worst-case? The gloves will come off, now that I’m not in their good graces.

  Taking a deep breath, I school my features, slipping my mask into place, and pull the door open. Showing weakness isn’t an option. The minute I seem intimidated, they’ll pounce. Head held high, I scan the crowded tables and lunch lines for Valen. I spot her near one of the counters and head her way. Instantly, I feel eyes on me, but I keep my eyes straight ahead, not stopping until I reach Valen.

  “I hate you,” I say, leaning in close so only she can hear.

  “You love me,” she argues. “Besides, you had to get it over with sooner or later.” The girl in front of us turns to leave after paying for her food, and we move up to the register. “Chicken salad and a Diet Coke, please.”

  “And a turkey sandwich,” I say with a pointed look at Valen. If she’s going to force me to spend extra time with these assholes, I’m at least getting something out of the deal. Valen rolls her eyes, nodding her permission to the lunch lady.

  Cling-wrapped sandwich and container of salad in hand, we make our way over to one of the few empty tables. The minute we sit, my eyes find my old table and, sure enough, Holden and his crew are there. He straddles the bench sideways with Taylor Sanders between his spread knees, her back to his front. It shouldn’t surprise me to see her with Holden after she hooked up with Thayer, but for some reason, it does. I guess it doesn’t matter which one it is, as long as they’re an Ames.

  Holden slides a finger down the top of her shirt to get a good look at her chest and she giggles, slapping his hand away, even though she’s loving the attention. Clearly, some things never change. The kid across from them laughs, and my eyes snap up to his face.

  “Who’s he?” I ask, nodding my chin in his direction.

  Valen glances over her shoulder. “That,” she laughs, pointing her fork at him, “is Chris Baker.”

  My jaw drops and I squint my eyes, trying to find the resemblance. “No way. Since when did Chris Baker start hanging out with Holden?”

  “Weird, right? And it’s just Baker now,” she says in a mocking tone.

  “Beyond weird. Wonder how that happened.”

  Chris Baker was the last person I’d expect to join the ranks of the pretty and the popular. They’re not exactly a welcoming bunch. I had a couple of classes with him, and he was always kind of a loner. Shy—or maybe just quiet—but nice on the few occasions we did speak. He was usually cloaked in all black, had chin-length, dark hair, and I don’t think I ever saw him without his headphones and a camera. Now, he’s sporting a close-cropped haircut, fitted jeans as opposed to his usual baggy ones, and a plain white V-neck stretched across his chest.

  “Damn,” I say appreciatively. “He looks good.”

  “It was out of nowhere. He sat at our table during lunch one day last year and just…never left.”

  I unwrap my sandwich and pinch a piece of the corner off before popping it into my mouth. The rest of lunch goes by uneventfully, and Valen catches me up on the rest of the Sawyer Point drama that I missed. I still catch a few people staring, but I think for the most part, the masses got bored once they realized there wasn’t going to be any action.

  When the bell rings, I stand, and Valen’s eyes lock onto something behind me. I know it’s Holden before I even turn around. He towers over me, leaving only centimeters between us. I fight the urge to back away. I know Holden, and I know this is nothing but an intimidation tactic.

  “Hey, little sister,” he says, peering down at me with a Cheshire smile—a stark contrast to the way he reacted the last time he saw me.

  “What do you want?”

  “For you to fuck off back to Shadow Ridge, but apparently, you didn’t get the memo.”

  “Working on it,” I quip. As soon as I graduate, I’m leaving Sawyer Point. And with any luck, I’ll stay gone this time.

  “Good.”

  Shayne

  “I really don’t think this is a good idea,” I say, watching Valen primp in the mirror of her vanity.

  “I disagree. Hiding isn’t going to make things any easier.”

  “I’m not hiding,” I argue. I didn’t come back to Sawyer Point to go to parties and football games. If it were up to me, I would have opted for getting my GED or finishing my senior year online.

  “The sooner you show them that you’re not an easy target, they’ll move on to someone who is.”

  I sigh, leaning against the edge of her bed that’s fit for a princess. “Don’t you ever get sick of this?” I ask. After Danny died, my whole life changed, and now everything that used to matter seems so…trivial. Between my daddy issues and the fact that I was thrown into a school where everyone is richer and more beautiful, I became a professional at overcompensating. I used to strive for perfection. Maybe if I had the right clothes, the best hair, the best grades, I’d be good enough.

  Admitting that even to myself makes me cringe. That girl was weak. Seeking validation in all the wrong places and from all the wrong people.

  Valen secures her dark, silky hair into a tight, high ponytail before turning around to face me. “It’s senior year—”

  “How could I forget when you remind me every thirty seconds?” I tease, interrupting her. She twists her glossy lips and stands, walking toward me, gripping my shoulders.

  “You might not realize it now, but you’re going to miss this one day. Don’t let Holden and a couple of jealous assholes ruin it for you. Or me. I finally got my best friend back and I want to have some fun.”

  She’s right. I know she is. And how bad could it be? It’s not like Thayer’s around anymore, and he’s the one I should be worried about.

  “Fine,” I concede.

  A devilish smile spreads across her face.

  “What?” I ask, suspicious.

  “Aiden will be there tonight,” she hedges, watching me for a reaction.

  “Okay.” It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement. Aiden’s one of Thayer and Holden’s closest friends. He’s gorgeous and one of the more bearable guys to be around in this town, but we’ve never hung out one-on-one.

  “He’s single now.”

  “Cool.” I scrunch my nose.

  Valen shoots me a look. “You’re a lost cause. You’re lucky you’re so pretty.” She pinches my cheeks, speak
ing in a voice reserved only for talking to babies and animals, then gives me a once-over.

  I look down at my cut-off jean shorts, white Converse, and a tight, white, long-sleeved shirt. “What?” I ask defensively.

  She tilts her head to the side, assessing. “One minor improvement,” she says, pulling my hair out of the messy bun on top of my head. My long blonde hair falls to the middle of my back, a slight wave to it since I didn’t bother to blow-dry it after my shower. Valen ushers me to sit in the chair at her vanity and I watch in the mirror as she uses her still-hot flat iron to straighten only the ends. She pumps something into the palm of her hands before rubbing it into my hair, making it shine, then finishes it off by spraying my roots with something that gives it much more volume than I have naturally.

  “Voila,” she announces, using both hands to ruffle my hair. “Instant Victoria’s Secret Angel hair.”

  I nod, impressed. “You have a gift.”

  She curtsies, dipping her head. “Thank you. Now let’s go.”

  Twenty minutes later, we’re walking along the rocky beach toward the blazing bonfires a few feet away. Music blares from somewhere, and there are clusters of people scattered everywhere, spread out from the beach to the cliff above us. There’s no way all of these people go to Sawyer Point. I don’t recognize half of them.

  Valen’s boyfriend, Liam, is surrounded by a gaggle of college girls by the looks of it, and a couple guy friends when he spots us and breaks away.

  “Hey, baby,” he says before promptly shoving his tongue down her throat with a hand on her ass. Liam’s at Northeastern, but you’d think he’s been on the other side of the world by the way he greets her.

  Valen pulls back, breathless. “Hi.”

  “Well, look who’s back from the dead,” Liam says as he wraps his arms around Valen from behind, just now noticing my presence. Valen elbows him in the ribs, sending him a disapproving glare for his poor word choice. “Shit, my bad. Welcome home, Shayne.”

  “Much better,” Valen praises.

  I roll my eyes, hating that she thinks people should walk on eggshells around me now. I’m not some fragile little flower. “Hey, Liam.”