PEAK: Come on, it’d be so fun.
BATS: Jayla hates me.
PEAK: She does not. She likes you.
BATS: Liar.
PEAK: Come onnnnnnn.
BATS: I miss you, but no.
PEAK: Please?
BATS: No.
PEAK: *pouts forever*
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Ridley
“I DON’T PAY you to not write the reports,” Dad says, dropping down into a seat at the kitchen table, where I’m slurping up Frosted Flakes. Technically, this is the first time we’ve had breakfast together. In my life, probably, but definitely since I got here.
I’d give anything to already be skating over to Peak’s house, but after her “family only” time last night, she’s spending the day at Jayla and Nikki’s away game, leaving me to fend for myself. I’m trying hard not to bother her, but trying not to text her just makes me want to text her more.
“Are you even listening to me?” he asks, the corner of his eye twitching.
I tug my hoodie lower over my head, shoveling in another bite of cereal. “There wasn’t anything to put in it this week.”
That’s technically true, only because I didn’t have the energy to make up any new lies to cover for the whole conservatory thing, so I just . . . didn’t. I know I have to keep it up. I know I gave Peak my word, but I’m so exhausted. I’ve been lying for so long now, and to so many different people, I’m starting to doubt I even know the truth anymore.
“You barely even pay me anyway,” I say, because I’m a masochist. Because I’m pouting. Because I just want to see Peak.
My father leans forward, jabbing his finger at me. “I pay for this house, I pay for this food, I pay for your ridiculous online classes. Everything you have, I pay for. And for what?”
“Cuz you’re my dad?”
He leans back in his chair, glaring at me. I chew the inside of my lip. My brain—hopelessly hopeful as it can sometimes be about this family—thinks for half a second that maybe those words meant something to him, that maybe he’s going to apologize and say it’s great having me around. Follow it up with a “hey, kid, let’s toss the ball around or get ice cream” or anything else those sitcom dads do.
He does not.
He’s abandoned even the slightest performance of fatherly pride lately. I think I’d take him misremembering everything about me like he did in the beginning over the cold indifference that’s settled back between us.
I stare down at my cereal until he slides his chair across the tile floor. “I should send you back to your mother.”
And then he’s gone.
I carry my bowl to the sink and pour the rest down the drain. I’m not hungry anymore.
* * *
? ? ?
I tried not to text her. I really did. I don’t want to mess up her life or pull her from her friends or get in the way, but everything hurts, and I just don’t want to be alone.
I should send you back.
I’ve been hyperventilating since he said that. I can’t go back. I won’t. I can’t go from all of this to sitting alone again in that giant fucking house. My father left with Allison for the weekend right after our argument. I called Gray first—but she’s on the West Coast with Mom—and then finally texted Peak. I’ve been pacing ever since.
I wasn’t even sure she would actually come, but here she is, smiling on my doorstep, holding two hot cocoas and a bag of what I can only assume is some kind of breakfast food. I look behind her and wave to Vera, who was nice enough to give her a ride. I smile when she waves back, trying to do my best impression of someone holding it together. Inside, I feel like broken glass. She backs out of the driveway with a little honk, and I usher Peak into the house.
“Are you safe?” Gray asked when I called her.
Yes. Now.