I jolt upright in bed when I hear a rapping on my door. So help me God, if it’s Jonah Sullivan, I am going to be pissed.
I throw my covers off and pull on my robe. I haven’t even had a chance to speak to Clara yet, so until I speak to her, I don’t want to even bother talking it out with Jonah. I rush through the house to get to the door before he wakes her.
I swing it open but take a step back when I see Mrs. Nettle standing on my patio with the screen door open.
“Just making sure you’re alive,” she says. “Guess you are.” She releases my screen door, and it slams shut against the frame. I speak through it.
“Why were you assuming I’d be dead?”
She keeps walking, limping away with her cane. “There’s a window screen on the ground over on the side of your house. Thought someone might have broken in and murdered you last night.”
I watch her until she makes it to her patio, ensuring she doesn’t fall. Then I close the door and lock it. Great. A broken window screen. Something else Chris would have taken care of if he were still alive.
I’m walking into my bedroom when I pause.
I was Clara’s age once. Window screens don’t just fall off on their own. Did she sneak out last night?
I spin and walk straight to her bedroom. I don’t even knock because she’s probably not even inside to answer me. I push at the door, but it’s locked. It’s just one of those hook locks that can easily be lifted and bypassed. I hate that I’m resorting to breaking into her room, but I need to see if she’s actually gone before I get dressed and go find her.
I grab a hanger from my closet, then slip the hanger up the crack in her door until it catches on the lock. When it releases, I push at the door, but it doesn’t open right away. Did she barricade herself in her room?
God, she might be angrier than I thought.
I shove my hip against the door, moving whatever it is she pushed against it. I get the door open a few inches, and I peek inside.
I release a huge sigh of relief. She’s still asleep. She didn’t sneak out. Or if she did, she’s home now, and that’s the most important thing.
I start to pull the door shut, but I pause when I see movement. An arm wraps over Clara’s stomach. An arm that isn’t hers.
I throw my whole body against the door to open it. Clara sits straight up in bed, startled. So does Miller.
“What the hell, Clara?”
Miller is standing now, scrambling to put on his shoes. He reaches to the nightstand and grabs condoms, shoving them in the pocket of his jeans like he’s trying to hide them before I see them, but I definitely saw them, and I’m angry, and I want him out of my damn house right now.
“You need to leave.”
Miller is nodding. He looks at Clara with eyes full of apology.
Clara covers her face. “Oh my God, this is so embarrassing.”
Miller starts to walk around the bed but then pauses and looks at Clara, then me, then Clara, then down at his bare chest. That’s when I realize Clara is wearing his shirt.
Does he expect her to give it back to him? Is he an idiot? He is. She’s dating an idiot. “Get out!”
“Wait, Miller,” Clara says. She snatches the shirt she was wearing yesterday off the floor and walks to her closet. She closes herself inside so she can change shirts. Miller looks like he doesn’t know if he should listen to her and wait for his shirt or run before I murder him. Lucky for him, it only takes Clara a few seconds to change.
She opens the door and hands him his shirt.
Miller pulls on the shirt, so I yell at him again, this time with more force. “Get out!” I look at Clara, wearing just a T-shirt that barely covers her ass. “Get dressed!”
Miller rushes to the window and starts to open it. He really is an idiot. “Just use the front door, Miller! Jesus!”
Clara is wrapped in her bedsheet now, sitting on her bed, full of rage and embarrassment. That makes two of us.
Miller slips past me nervously, looking back at Clara. “See you at school?” He whispers it, as if I’m unable to hear him. Clara