I Have Lived and I Have Loved - Willow Winters Page 0,62

doorbell, and make her as uncomfortable as she’s made my family hell.” Which would be a lot.

I didn’t need Willow to call me out. I was projecting everything onto this mistress, and I knew it.

I didn’t care.

My dad was grieving. He was supposed to go to my mom for that.

Pot meet kettle.

Okay. I heard Willow there. Our family sucked all around at comforting each other, except that my mom had actually decided to be a mother. She went above and beyond. I got a text saying the visit to Robbie had been postponed and she knew I’d talked to my father. She promised to speak to me later because she knew I would have questions. And if all that wasn’t enough, she’d called Ryan’s mom.

I was supposed to stay at the Jensens’ for the rest of the week and weekend, but not in Ryan’s bed. I was to go home after school, pack a bag, and Ryan would drive me to his house.

I rolled my eyes when I read that last text. Such a silly (or delusional) mother, acting like I was in third grade and she’d arranged a weeklong sleepover. I’d go over to Ryan’s, but probably not in time for after-school snacks. I’d go when I wanted to go. Sometimes she forgot I’d actually turned eighteen.

I rolled my eyes and clicked on the mad icon under one of Mallory’s posts.

Cora leaned forward and laughed under her breath. “You’re in your sister’s Facebook account. That’s creepy and hilarious at the same time.”

I felt Willow’s pride and shrugged. “She’d think it was awesome.”

Cora looked at me, her gaze lingering, but I ignored it. I kept scrolling through more of Mallory’s posts to put the mad icon on all of them.

“She’ll know it’s you. You know that, right?”

She would, and I grinned. “She can prove it.”

Cora shifted back. “Dude. You look evil right now.”

If she only knew what went on in your head.

I ignored Willow and clicked the mad icon under another post.

“That’s a Pinterest meme on DIY Halloween decorations.”

I kept scrolling. “My dad hates Halloween. She should know that.”

Cora laughed again, but the sound was becoming less amused and more cautious.

I couldn’t be bothered with any of it. I was a madwoman on a mission. If my mom wasn’t going to rage about this whole situation, I was. Willow would’ve been going nuts. She would’ve screamed, demanding answers. She would’ve been on the phone, calling the mistress and our mom at the same time.

She would’ve burned our house down—figuratively . . . I think?

I waited to see if Willow had anything to say, but she was quiet. Come to think of it, she’d been quiet more and more lately.

I’m taking on her personality.

That was why. Willow was living through me, so she didn’t need to—and the bell rang.

Thank the gods. That stopped me from having a whole conversation in my head about why my dead sister wasn’t talking to me anymore . . . in my head.

Cora grabbed her bag and stood. She hugged it against her chest as I clicked out of everything on my computer. “Everyone is going to Patty’s for lunch. Are you going too?”

I grabbed my bag and began walking out of the library. “Who’s everyone?” I asked as we got to the door.

She ducked out behind me. “The guys. Ryan, I think. Erin. Her group.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. The popular people.”

Ah. Popularity.

The stuff normal teenagers cared about.

I glanced over at her, but she wasn’t looking at me. “I’m not popular.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Trust me. You are, even if you don’t know it. You’re with Ryan, and the other girls are scared of you.”

They should be. There were two of me, and one of us could haunt their asses. I snickered at that but didn’t reply. I wasn’t popular, and I didn’t care. I hadn’t cared in Arizona, and that hadn’t changed. Ryan was the only benefit of moving.

I stopped in the middle of the hallway. Some students protested behind us. I ignored them.

Cora had taken a step forward, but she stopped and looked back.

“Is that why you wanted to be with him?” I asked.

Her eyes enlarged, and her mouth made a popping sound. “Uh, what?” She adjusted the bag in front of her, hugging it tighter.

“You want to be popular?” I shook my head. “But aren’t you? You’re friends with those guys. Shouldn’t that make you popular too?”

A strangled squeak left her throat. “This is