even Arwen walks around singing his shit all the time.
Come on. You can do better.
You said ONE thing. That’s it.
But you cheated.
I did no such thing.
It’s not my fault you weren’t
clearer about what you wanted.
It doesn’t have to be anything
revealing. It can be something
most people don’t know about
you.
I can’t.
My muscles tense. There’s that damn word again.
Can’t or won’t?
She avoided this question last night; told me it didn’t matter. But there’s a very big difference in not being willing to do something and not being able to.
Can’t.
Her answer makes my stomach drop. Could there be something or someone controlling things behind the scenes? It isn’t an impossible notion. There are plenty of people in Westbrook who’d enjoy nothing more than to hurt me. They may not have known about my relationship with Gwen, but everyone knew of my affection for her. It would make sense for someone to use my biggest weakness against me. But what could they possibly have over her to make her do it? And why wouldn’t she tell me what was going on?
What happens when I figure it out?
The truth doesn’t always set us free.
Maybe not. But fear will always
make you a prisoner.
Chapter Thirteen
11 years old
COLE
“You want to gently crack the eggs on the side of the bowl,” Momma explains. “If you do it too hard, it’s sure to make a mess. And you don’t want someone eating little pieces of shell with their meal.”
I nod in understanding, tapping the first egg on the side of the bowl exactly how she showed me. She’s let me help her cook a few things before. Mostly just stirring and mixing. This is the first time I’ve ever tried to make something on my own.
It’s nothing complicated. Only French toast. But it happens to be Gwen’s favorite thing to eat for breakfast. I wanted to do something special for her, something to make her day a little better.
After the princess found out she didn’t get into her mom’s ballet school, she spent the entire night crying in her room. Her mom owns the school; I don’t understand why she even had to try out in the first place. But Nina told her it wouldn’t be fair to the other girls if she showed favoritism.
If you ask me, ballet is lame anyway. Gwen is too much of a free spirit for all that. She’s too good for that stupid stuck-up school.
“It’s so sweet you want to do this for her,” Momma coos. “She’s so lucky to have a friend like you.”
I sigh at the way her voice fluctuated when she said friend. She’s asked me several times over the last five years if my feelings for Gwen were something more, always reminding me why that would be a bad idea.
To be honest, I have a huge crush on Gwen. Not that I’d ever admit as much. As far as Gwen and everyone else is concerned, she’s like a sister to me. It isn’t easy to ignore the flutter she causes in my chest, though. Especially when she looks at me with hearts in her eyes.
“We’re lucky to have each other,” I reply.
Despite my crush, Gwen is my best friend. Things haven’t improved much at school. I’m still picked on daily for being too thin and poor. But I’ve found that acting like a fool helps. They don’t laugh at me if they’re too busy laughing with me. And I made a new friend the other day, after I saved him from Shane’s torment.
Thatcher is a bit of a stick in the mud, but he’s all right. He just needs to have a little fun is all, to stop worrying about following the rules and stand up to the kids that constantly mess with him. His older sister isn’t much help. She’s usually the one who starts it. From what he’s told me about his home life, his parents aren’t any better. I get the feeling not all of those bruises on his body are from the bullies at school.
Gwen comes shuffling into the kitchen as soon as I start putting the first batch of toast on a plate for her. Her hair is a mess, her face puffy, the rims of her eyes red from crying. And she’s still the prettiest girl in Westbrook.
“Good morning, Princess.”
Her forehead creases as she studies me; I’m holding a spatula in one hand and a plate in the other. “Did you cook breakfast?” she asks.
“Yep,” I chirp, offering her the plate.
“By yourself?” She looks over