“WREN.” Fig stops directly beside my desk, and I glance up at him. “A word?”
Not waiting for my response, he heads to his desk and I follow after him, not daring to look back at Crew. I’m sure I know what I’d see on his face.
Anger. Frustration. Annoyance.
It’s the Wednesday after my life changed in a variety of ways and I’m just trying to cope, day by day. My father has called me every evening, his tone soothing as he asks endless questions about my day. I give him minimal responses, not sure how to talk to him, or what to say.
He’s worried about me after the divorce news. I suppose I should find that sweet, but there’s something about it that makes me feel like he’s only trying to cover his butt. Mother sent me a text Monday checking up on me, but otherwise, I haven’t heard from her.
Typical.
And then there’s Crew.
I can’t stop thinking about him, even though I tell myself it’ll lead nowhere. I relive the way he kissed me in the back seat of the car every night before I go to bed. Can’t help but wonder where things could go between us if I kept seeing him. He was so sweet at the gallery, and when we went to lunch. It felt like a date with a boy who might actually like me.
My parents ruined everything. The divorce announcement kind of soured me on the idea of a possible relationship with Crew—with anyone. The dinner that night at the Von Weller’s was a complete bust. Larsen kept trying to talk to me, flirt with me, and I was so cold, I froze him out. Which is not my usual style. I kept thinking about Crew and his warning about Larsen. And how my parents are trying to set me up with him for my future.
Unbelievable.
After Crew kissed me so passionately in that empty classroom Monday, he hasn’t tried anything inappropriate since, and I can’t help but feel…
Disappointed.
I know I’m the one who said I wanted to keep it as friends-only between us, and I still feel that way because the last thing I need is a potential relationship messing with my head. I don’t think I have the emotional capacity to handle something so overwhelming right now.
And the way Crew Lancaster makes me feel is very, very overwhelming.
I still wish he’d kiss me though. Or hold my hand. Hug me. It’s comforting, being in his arms. He’s warm and solid, and he smells like heaven.
“Wren?” Fig is already sitting at his desk while I’m stalled out in front of the classroom, looking like an idiot, I’m sure.
I scurry over to his desk, clamping my lips together to ensure I don’t apologize.
I over-apologize for unnecessary things. Why would I have to say sorry right now? Because I always do? That’s not a good enough reason anymore.
I really need to start standing up for myself.
“Is everything okay?” I ask Fig, once I’m standing beside his desk.
“I was just going to ask you the same question.” He rests his clutched hands on top of his desk, lowering his voice. “I can tell something is bothering you.”
He is far too perceptive. It’s dangerous. Like he can hone in on girls when they’re feeling extra vulnerable and takes advantage of them. “I’m all right. Really.”
“Is someone bothering you?” His gaze shifts over to where Crew sits. His new spot, directly behind me. I quickly glance over my shoulder to see Crew glowering at the two of us, never looking away. Like he doesn’t care that he got caught staring. “I can talk to him if you want me to.”
I shake my head. “Crew isn’t bothering me.” I’m not hiding that I know who he’s talking about.
“Are you sure about that? I know he can be intimidating. He has a reputation around campus for bullying girls, on occasion.”
I’m not surprised. Crew tried to intimidate me many times over the years, though I mostly ignored him, which probably frustrated him even more. “He doesn’t bully me. Crew is my friend.”
Figueroa’s eyebrows shoot up. “Your friend? Oh, Wren. Please tell me you don’t actually believe that.”
“What do you mean?” I’m hurt by his remark. As if I’m a little girl who’s too naïve to know better.
Been there, done that. Still struggling with the aftermath.
“If Crew claims to be your friend, it’s merely code for something more.”
“Code for what?” I decide to play stupid. Of course I know what he’s referring to, but everyone thinks I’m an innocent virgin, so why not play the part.
“He’ll—take advantage of you. That’s how boys like him operate.”
I stare at Fig, hating the way his words make me feel. Hating more that he’s just like the very boy he’s describing. He takes advantage of his female students, preying on the weakest ones.
Is that how he saw me only a few weeks ago? Weak and unassuming? Too trusting and easy to manipulate?
Well, too late, sir. I’m on to your games.
“I know exactly how boys like him operate.” It’s my turn to lower my voice. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want him to do, hmm? Did you ever think of that?”
He struggles to keep his expression neutral, though I can tell I shocked him. “Very well. I just—wanted to warn you.”
“Thanks, Fig. Appreciate it.” Oh, where did that come from? I sound like I’ve got attitude.
I kind of like it.
I turn away from Fig’s desk so fast, my skirt flares out, flashing a bit of leg. I catch Crew’s gaze dropping to my thighs, and my skin warms as I walk back to my desk.
Why am I keeping him at arm’s length again?
I fall into my seat, glancing over at Crew to see he’s already watching me. “What the hell did he want?” His simmering gaze shifts to Figueroa.
“He asked if I was okay.” I shrug, trying to play it off, but Crew won’t let me.
“Trying to make a move on you?” “Never.”
He clenches his jaw. “I’ll kick his ass if he says something inappropriate to you, Wren. I mean it.”
My entire body erupts in goosebumps at the ferocity in his voice. How protective he is, how he said my actual name. “I blew him off.”
“He can pick up on girls who are going through shit,” Crew continues. “I know. I figured that out.”
Crew’s gaze finds mine, the anger slowly dissipating. “You’ve got this handled, don’t you?”
I nod. “I do. I’m going to be okay. But thank you for watching out for me.” “Anytime,” he murmurs, just as Figueroa starts lecturing again.
I turn and face the front of the classroom, thrilled that Crew actually trusts that I can take care of myself.
Something no one ever gives me credit for.
The rest of the day passes just as the last two did, though I decide to switch it up at lunch. I go in search of Maggie, who I find sitting with Lara and Brooke. They all stare up at me as I stop at their table, murmuring uninterested greetings before they return their attention to their phones.
“Can I sit here?” I ask no one in particular, pulling out a chair and settling in right next to Maggie. “How are you?”
She shrugs, staring down at her uneaten sandwich. “Okay.”
“Hey.” I reach out and settle my hand on top of hers, which startles her. She turns her head, frowning at me. “I wanted to apologize to you.”
“For what?”
“Judging you. Lecturing you. Whatever other dumb—crap I’ve done to you over the last three years or so,” I admit. “I don’t have any right to look down upon you like I have. I just—I got a little too high and mighty with my morals, and I shouldn’t have. I hope you can forgive me.”
Maggie stares, no doubt shocked by my apology. While I think I say sorry for way too many things, this one is warranted. I need to apologize to a few more people, even Lara and Brooke, but I’m taking this one step at a time.
“I accept your apology,” she finally says, her voice soft. “Can we still be friends?” I ask hopefully.
She nods, and I pull her in for a hug, squeezing her tight. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I’ll listen to you. And I won’t pass judgment either. I promise.”
Maggie clings to me, her cheek pressed to mine. “Thank you, Wren.”
“What’s up with the hugfest?” Brooke asks, interrupting us. “You hoping some of her purity rubs off on you, Mags?”
I glare at Brooke, hating how easily she tossed that insult at her supposed friend. “As if you have any room to talk,” I say.
“Oh, my bad. Sorry, didn’t mean to insult Miss Perfect.”
“Shut up, Brooke,” Maggie says wearily. “You’re so exhausting sometimes.”
Lara giggles. Brooke glares, just before she pushes away from the table and takes off. Lara soon follows, running after her.
“Why do I hang out with those two again?” Maggie asks me, just before she starts to laugh.
“I don’t know. I hang around them too sometimes, but they’re sort of awful.”
“They’re actually terrible.” Maggie shakes her head and sighs, pushing her tray away from her. “I can’t eat.”
“Why not?”
“So much going on.” Her smile is rueful. “I’d tell you all about it, but we’d need at least five hours.”
“I’ve got nothing but time,” I tell her, reaching out to pat her hand. “Are you and Franklin still broken up?”
“Yeah. He found out about Fig.” And with that one sentence she confirms my suspicions. “He wasn’t too happy about it. He even wanted to tell Headmaster Matthews about it.”
Oh wow. “Did he?”
Maggie shakes her head. “I convinced him not to, at least for now. I don’t know how much longer I can put him off.”
“Why don’t you let him tell? Then at least you have nothing to do with it.” “Because I’m in love with him, Wren,” she admits.
“Franklin?”
“No. With Fig.” She sighs. “And there’s more.” God, what more could there be?
“You’ll freak out though,” Maggie continues. “Just tell me,” I say, needing to know.
Her gaze meets mine, and I can see a myriad of emotions swirling in her eyes. Fear and worry and just the tiniest bit of happiness too. “I’m pregnant,” she whispers.
My mouth falls open as I struggle to respond. “With Fig’s baby.”
