"I don't understand why you have four bruised fingers," Dad growls at me over chili the next evening.

Taryn was busy after school yesterday doing whatever she does. Probably studying to take the SAT since she fell sick last year when the rest of us took it. I was lucky and received a decent score, but she'll easily outdo me. I ended up driving around aimlessly until eight o'clock just to find that Dad wasn't even home.

"It was an accident. Someone hit my locker door and it swung shut on my hand," I recite the lie for the millionth time.

I don't tell him about ditching classes after lunch to hang out in the library. Or the fact that I skipped all classes today to read in the library loft. I finally finished The Deal and started The Mistake.

"And it's made it impossible for you to make a decent meal for dinner."

"You love chili."

"I love homemade chili. Not that you make it all that well anyway."

"I know," I shovel another bite into my mouth.

"You should take a cooking course or something like that to learn how to cook real meals. I'm tired of living off frozen dinners and pizza."

"Pizza?"

"I order them when you're grounded and confined to your bedroom," he informs me.

Explains the marinara smell in the house when I came home sometimes in the summer.

"I know how to make good pizza crust. I can make some homemade pizza when my hand is better." I want to keep him from getting angry.

"It's only good with homemade marinara and if it is anything like your spaghetti sauce, I can already tell you that it's shit, Maxine," Dad loosens his tie and tugs it over his head.

"What would you like me to make?" It doesn't matter what I do, he is never happy with my cooking.

"Die and let your mom come back and cook for me. She knew what the fuck she was doing."

My throat constricts at his cruel words, but this isn't a new request. He tells me all the time that he wishes I died in the car, so Mom could still be here with him. He used to be a good dad when she was with us. We were a great little family, but that car wreck took her life. Even though I wasn't driving, it's my fault. Dad will never forgive me.

"I follow her recipes, but she was a natural," I concede, knowing better than to claim I can follow Mom's recipes just fine.

"That she was," his voice becomes relaxed as he disappears in a thought about Mom, "she was a damn queen, your mother."

"I know. She treated you like a king."

"You were her little princess."

It's hard to talk about Mom with him, especially when he's fishing. He wants me to slip up and say something to piss him off. He's hurting and would really like a reason to swat my face. I keep my mouth shut and nod. The best I can do is agree with him and let him decide what to do with it. He can accuse me all he wants, but I know it's not true.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself. Lately, it feels like everything is my fault.

💀

After Dad leaves early the next morning to his private practice, I crawl out of bed and collect my things for a shower. Usually, I leave before he ever gets up, but last night he said he has to leave early. He won't know that I'm not up and headed for school right behind him.

I rush through a shower, and rinse out my hair before drying off. Only two more days and this first dreadful week of school will be over. I'm no closer to figuring out how to get off Cassie's radar or how to avoid Bailey. He shows up whenever he wants and it's always when I least expect it.

The only thing I can do is to continue missing classes and lunch, and hide out in the library. I'm not too worried. I never planned to graduate high school anyway.

The one reason I keep going is to have somewhere to disappear when I can't be here. Sometimes it's a nice break from my home life. It used to be a sort of haven.

I can handle all the names whispered in the hallways and the stupid little pranks. However, Cassie has stepped up the torment a notch this year simply because she thinks I want to get between her and Bailey. He seems to want to fuel that fire and doesn't care the impact it causes to me.

Sliding into a pair of denim shorts, I sit on the bed and tug my brace into place. I love being able to take it off at night and give my leg a chance to circulate blood like normal. Unfortunately, every morning it throbs and aches from not being held properly in place. By now, the pills have sort of kicked in and as I fasten it around my knee, the dull ache dwindles.

That's better.

I can breathe again.

Sifting through the closet, I dig out a plain blue camisole and my favorite blue plaid button up. I roll the sleeves up to my elbows and fix the buttons down the front. It's still pretty warm outside, but I don't care.

After lacing up black DC Chelsea tennis shoes, I brush out my copper blond hair. It runs all the way to my waist and lately has been something for everyone to latch onto to keep hold of me. I almost want to chop it off, but Mom loved my long hair. My eyes tear up at the thought of cutting the length. It's a nice thought considering my bullies at school, but it makes my heart hurt.

Don't do it.

I grab a blue scrunchie and pull it high on my head, fastening it into place. It trails down between my shoulder blades in perfectly straight tendrils, gleaming like I take the time to put shine product in it. My hair is just naturally healthy and beautiful. I can thank Mom for that. I could have ended up with Dad's frizzy fire red hair.

Makeup isn't my thing. I spritz some perfume and go downstairs.

It's not much of a surprise to find the fridge and all the cupboards locked. Dad doesn't like me rummaging through them unless he is home. He tracks what we eat, so he knows I'm not binging. I was never a big eater before, but he's convinced that I eat too much, even if I am ten pounds under weight.

I unhook my keys at the door, and stuff my iPhone in my back pocket. No one tries to reach me on it. Not even Taryn bothers to text or call much. If she does, it's usually about homework, or to respond to one of my few and far between messages. I get in trouble if I use it too much even though it doesn't cost extra.

Never takes long to get to school. I really need to find a long way, so I can be even later. I steer into my spot just as the bell rings to end homeroom. Some students filter out the front doors to walk over to shop or the gym. I sit in my car watching and waiting. I don't want anyone to see me in the hallways. I want to get through unnoticed. I made it through yesterday without drawing attention and plan to have another day just like that.

The tardy bell rings and I pop out of my car. I stuff keys in my front pocket and shuffle up to the doors. A teacher on her free period sees me, but doesn't want to waste time reprimanding me. They all know it's pointless to tell me what a mess I am making of my future. I'll just continue doing what I do with no regards for what happens after high school.

There's no such thing as after high school for me.

💀

When sixth period hits, my stomach rumbles hungrily. I didn't bother to leave the loft for lunch. I tuck Elle Kennedy's The Score away, almost finished with it. It is definitely my favorite book in the series. I hobble down the little winding metal staircase and listen for any students that might be in the back lofts below. Nothing. The steep steps make it difficult to move down, so it always takes a while.

"Well, well, well," Riette swivels in front of me, holding a cigarette between his fingers, and takes a long drag, "look who I found. Bailey will love to hear about this."

"God dammit," I cross my arms and glare at him, "you don't have to tell him shit, Riette."

Riette chuckles quietly, finishing off the cigarette and putting it out on a bookshelf, "you're certainly a lot more spirited than I expected. No wonder Bailey is so taken with you."

"He's not taken with me."

"How would you know? You're not his best friend."

"He doesn't like me."

"I didn't say he likes you. I said he's taken with you. There's a difference, Sawyer."

"It's Max."

"Perhaps we can start calling you Maxi Pad again," he teases in a low growl, "I don't think Bailey will be against it."

"What does he care anyway?"

"He doesn't care, Sawyer. That's my point."

"I'm just going to get something to eat from a vending machine," I try to maneuver around him.

Riette catches my elbow and digs out his phone, typing furiously, "you should use the one near the front doors. They have the best chips and trail mixes. Plus, it's the only place to get a yellow Gatorade."

"You know, on second thought..." It doesn't matter where I go, Bailey will find me, "I'm just going to head home. There's no reason for me to be here."

"I wonder why that is," Riette slides the hand up to my shoulder, squeezing it and steering me along the shelves, "you don't attend classes, but you hang out here. I always wondered why you weren't out causing mayhem with the rest of us outcasts."

"You're not an outcast. You're a Ghost Rider."

"If I wasn't a Ghost Rider, I'd be an outcast and we both know it. You and I would be running the same crowd."

"We wouldn't. I may be an outcast by standards of this school, but outside these walls I'm an average person." I point out, "I live in the nice part of town. I may not be rich, but I don't live in a trashy trailer."

"Are you calling me trailer trash?"

"No..." Does he live in the trailer park? "I don't even know where you live. I just meant most outcasts live in the trailer park."

"I think you talk too much," Riette's grip on my shoulder tightens as we walk past the tables and the librarian behind the counter.

Ms. Nesbit doesn't even lift her head to acknowledge us. She knows we both skip classes all the time and there's no point in scolding or giving us detention. It won't do either of us any good.

Riette directs a route to the front doors and stops in front of the vending machines. He gestures me toward them, but I don't actually have any money. All my money is in the car, and I only have a few dollars. I'd rather save it for this weekend in case Taryn and I hang out at the mall.

"I'm not hungry anymore," I lie just as my stomach rumbles obnoxiously.

"I think your stomach disagrees," he fishes out his wallet, "what would you like, Sawyer?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

What is with him?

He's being so cryptic one minute and then nice enough to buy a snack the next.

"Where have you been?" Bailey is suddenly on my other side and Riette's hand disappears.

I clear my throat and shift away, "not in class."

"No shit," he growls in annoyance, "stop stating the obvious. Were you even here yesterday?"

"Yes."

"I found her hiding place," Riette informs Bailey and sticks in a dollar, opting for two Paydays, "she was up in the loft in the library."

"What were you doing up there?"

"Reading."

"Shit, I didn't know you could read," Bailey teases, but it doesn't sound as cruel as when he has an audience.

"Just because I don't attend class doesn't make me a dumbass."

"You're dumb for not attending classes enough to graduate," Riette reaches in for the candy bars, shoving one in his pocket with his wallet and tearing open the other, "even I go enough so I can graduate with our class, Sawyer."

"What do you care if I graduate or not?"

"Don't you want to go to college or get a good job? You'll need a high school diploma if you want to get out of the food industry at some point," Bailey drapes an arm around my shoulders, "is that your stomach growling, Max? It's awfully loud."

"It's upset. I'm allergic to dicks."

"You like pussy?" Riette chortles.

"I mean assholes," I fail to correct.

Bailey chuckles, his breath fanning over my face, "I don't like sticking it up the ass anyway. There are other places I can put it." He trails a finger down the side of my face, "your pretty little mouth, for instance."

"You're a pig," I swat at his hand.

He snatches my hand, but doesn't squeeze my already bruised fingers. Bailey studies the bruising that hasn't faded. I don't have to keep them wrapped now that I ice them every night.

"I'm gonna go find my play toy," Riette eyes us, "I think I saw her headed toward the music department for seventh. Later, Bay."

"See ya, Ry."

"You all just have a girl you're screwing with then?" I watch him rub a thumb gingerly over my purple knuckles.

"That's not exactly what we're doing," he finally releases my hand.

"You must have a bet," I roll my eyes.

"We aren't like that," Bailey squeezes me into his side, "come on. You sound like you're starving. I don't have anything for lacrosse today. I can take you for some food."

He doesn't give me a chance to respond before tugging me out the front doors and sauntering to the blue Cheyenne. Bailey lives next door to Taryn in the shitty part of town. Her family does alright on funds, but I don't want him to buy me anything. I don't know what his family financial situation is like and I can't imagine paying for all the lacrosse athletic gear is easy financially.

"You don't have to spend money on me. I really would rather you didn't," I fail to wrangle free of his hold.

He unlocks the passenger door and supports my right arm as I shift into the seat. Bailey doesn't say anything, laughing quietly, waits for me to get comfortable and snaps the door shut. I swivel in the seat to scan the windows spanning the school.

I don't know what classrooms are there or where Cassie is. With my luck, she either saw this happen or she'll hear about it. Bailey will probably be the one to tell her.

He gets into the driver's seat and starts the loud engine. Lacking indecision, he peels out of the parking lot, knowing exactly where he wants to go. He drives to the edge of town in the creepy part I avoid at all costs. It's worse than where he and Taryn live. He parks in front of a dinky diner and hurries around to help me down.

"Uh, thanks..." I am stunned he holds my hips so my knee won't jar when I land on the pavement, "why are you being nice?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He locks up the pickup.

"Well, you've never been nice before."

Bailey smirks and leads us to a booth toward the back. The place smells of grease and too much salt. It's wonderful. I just want a big plate of fries with lots of ketchup now. He hands a menu to me from next to the window, and flips through another.

"I've never been here," I eye his face for a reaction.

Bailey flips to the back, "they have really good milkshakes and their fry sauce is bomb."

"I've never had fry sauce."

"Damn, Max, you live in Idaho. Hell, you were born and raised here. You have to try it."

"What's so great about it?"

"You'll figure that out when you try it, but once you have their fry sauce no other place will measure up."

I wish I was fast enough to make a sexual innuendo, but I settle for biting my bottom lip. Bailey's eyes zero in on my expression and his smirk turns into a full-on smile. Briefly, his eyes take in my mouth, but quickly return to his menu.

Shit.

I'm so confused.