Get Even (Don’t Get Mad)

MARGOT’S DAD GLANCED UP FROM HIS TABLET. “WHERE ARE you going again?”

“The Ledge,” Margot said, praying they had no idea what she was talking about. “It’s a social event for school. Part of the production of Twelfth Night.”

“You joined drama class?” A look of concern passed over her mom’s face. “Do you have time for another elective?”

“It’s not a class, it’s an extracurricular activity,” Margot corrected. Then she launched into the speech she’d been practicing for days. “My counselor suggested at least three extracurricular activities for any Ivy League application. Since I have community service and academic outreach already, she suggested I look for one that focused on the arts.”

“Margot, this is unacceptable,” her dad said, his voice stern. “Your mother and I haven’t corroborated the legitimacy of this production, or verified if your work there would even count toward an extracurricular.”

“The production is being cosponsored by the Oregon Shakespeare Festival,” Margot said. “After careful research and consideration, I thought the affiliation with such a historic organization would stand out on my college applications.”

“Perhaps.” He sounded less than impressed.

“I don’t like this,” her mom fretted. “That boy at your school was murdered and the police have no one in custody.”

There was an edge of panic in her mom’s voice, as if letting Margot out of the house for a social outing was going to end with her daughter in a body bag. If she’d known exactly how involved Margot was in that murder, her mom would have yanked her out of DuMaine, locked her in an attic, and homeschooled her until she was eighteen.

But Margot wasn’t about to give up. Unsolved murder or not, Logan would be waiting for her at the Coffee Clash.

“Dr. Tournay has suggested several times that I need to engage socially with my peers, as part of my recovery.”

“I’m uncomfortable that this is the first we’ve heard of tonight’s event,” her dad said.

“The opportunity to be a prompter came up last minute,” Margot reminded him.

Her dad sighed and glanced over at her mom. Margot hadn’t been this adamant about anything since, well, ever. And clearly her repeated logical arguments in favor of being let off her leash had impressed her parents.

“Curfew is ten o’clock,” her dad said with a nod. “And we’ll expect a full rundown in the morning, as well as a list of the students involved in the production. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Margot was out the door before they could change their minds.

A powerful horn blared from the street in front of Olivia’s apartment. Peanut’s BMW. Olivia took one last look in the mirror: dress, shoes, hair, makeup. Perfect.

“Where you going?” her mom slurred from the love seat as Olivia dashed through the living room.

There was one empty bottle of red wine on the kitchen counter, one open bottle on the coffee table. Her mom must have found out she wasn’t cast in yet another role.

“There’s a concert at the Ledge,” Olivia said. “The band that’s in our production of Twelfth Night. I told you about it.”

“Twelff Nigh?” Her mom pushed herself up to a sitting position. “O, sssir,” she began with a dramatic sweep of her arm. Drunk or sober, Olivia’s speech from act 2 was her favorite scene. “I will not be so hard-hearted.” She slapped the cushion next to her twice to accentuate her hard-heartedness. “I will give out diverschedules of my . . .” The words morphed into an elongated yawn. “Beauty,” she finished.

“Right.” Olivia grabbed a sweater from the coat closet and headed for the door. “I’ll be home late. Drink some water, Mom.”

“You get drink some water,” Olivia heard her mom say as she closed the front door behind her. Monday was not going to be pretty.

“You look fierce,” Peanut said as Olivia stepped into the car. “Every guy in a twenty-mile radius will be jonesing for you.” She glanced down at her own outfit with disdain, as if suddenly realizing she’d worn a muumuu instead of adorable cropped pants and a sparkly one-shoulder top.

“Stop it,” Olivia said. “You look amazing. No one else could pull off those harem pants. Not even Amber.”

Peanut’s face lit up. “You mean it?”

“Of course.” Peanut may have been a blind minion most of the time, but when you got her away from Amber, she was cool. Too bad she wasn’t confident enough to stay that way. Olivia smiled wryly as Peanut screeched away from the curb. “Now let’s go see if we can land Kyle for you, shall we?”

The Coffee Clash was hopping when Margot pulled her mom’s car into the mini-mall parking lot, a mix of high school and college students crowded into every available table, counter, or floor space. She spotted Logan’s blond hair right away at a table outside on the veranda. He was reading, head bowed over the table.

She parked at the far end of the lot, shielded by an SUV the size of an urban assault vehicle, and pulled down the visor to check her face in the mirror. Time to do this.

Margot dumped the contents of a plastic shopping bag onto the passenger seat, the spoils of a quick stop at the drugstore: a tube of lip gloss, highlighter, and a round tin of face powder with its matching brush. The same combination Olivia had used on her in the dressing room. She applied each as best she could remember. Then with her fingers, she swept her hair back into a low ponytail, loosening a few curls around her face, and secured it with a hair band.

She turned her chin from side to side, examining her handiwork. Her face was brighter, more alive, and even without a smile on her face, she looked happier somehow, as if the excitement bubbling within was seeping through her pores.

Last up, her outfit. She’d been careful to leave the house in one of her oversize sweaters, but instead of the usual boxy T-shirt underneath it, Margot had found a long-sleeved scoop-neck shirt in the bottom of a drawer, a remnant of the days before she’d gotten fat in junior high. Like most of the clothes that she’d outgrown, it had been shoved out of sight into the depths of her wardrobe. But much to Margot’s surprise, when she shimmied into the body-hugging shirt, it fit almost perfectly. A little tight across the chest where her boobs had come in, but instead of looking like an overstuffed sausage, Margot noticed that her curves were softer, her waist more defined.

She lifted the sweater off over her head, careful not to disrupt the controlled chaos of her hair, and pulled the sleeves of the shirt down past her wrists. They were just long enough to hide her scars. She wasn’t ready to tell Logan about that. Not yet.

With a fluttering in her chest that was either adrenaline or cardiac arrest, Margot stepped out of the car.

Bree rolled her dad’s new Lexus to a halt in front of John’s apartment building and hit Send on her pretyped text.

Your chariot awaits.

Ten seconds later, she saw the blinds in John’s bedroom window separate as he peeked through, followed immediately by a reply.

I didn’t ask for a ride.

Her answer was short and sweet.

Get your ass out here.

She was going to force them back into friendship if it killed her.

Bree waited a lifetime for a reply, and was starting to worry that John wouldn’t come down. She picked up her phone and began typing another text when out of the corner of her eye, she saw the metal security gate in front of the building swing open. A figure emerged, dressed all in black—jeans, boots, and a low tank under a vintage pin-striped suit vest. He wore a matching pin-striped fedora cocked to one side, which cast a shadow across his face. Bree looked up, heart racing. She didn’t know Shane was going to be at John’s tonight. There was something sexy about the way he walked, a cocky swagger with a Fender case slung over his shoulder. . . .

Bree’s eyes grew wide as the figure approached her car. Not just any Fender case.

John’s Fender case.

Donté beamed at Kitty as she climbed into his car. “You look great.”

Kitty smiled. “Thank you.” It was amazing what a denim skirt and some low heels could do when everyone was used to seeing you in workout clothes.

He placed his hand on hers and his eyebrows shot up. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Of course,” Kitty lied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your hand is shaking.”

Stupid nerves. Kitty couldn’t believe her lack of self-control. She could lead her volleyball team to the state championship, she could serve with the whole season on the line, she could shake hands with her idol Kerry Walsh. She could do all that without so much as a flutter of anxiety. But outing her relationship with Donté to the whole school? That gave her heart palpitations.

“Olivia and I are history,” he said, reading her mind. “She knows that, and I know that. We even had a conversation about it the other day.”

“You did?”

“Absolutely. I made it clear that there’s someone special in my life right now.”

“Did you mention who?”

“No.” He leaned his face close to hers. “But after tonight, everyone will know.”

Kitty smiled weakly. That’s what she was afraid of.

The other members of Bangers and Mosh were already gathered in the broom closet that served as a dressing room at the Ledge when John and Bree slipped in through the stage door.

“Bagsie!” Shane grabbed John’s fist bro-style and bumped his chest. “You nervous?”

“A little,” John said. Bree could hear the excited tremor in his voice.

She stood quietly in the doorway while the other members greeted John in turn. Devil Dan, the drummer, wearing his old-fashioned bowler hat and his short dark brown beard with lightning bolts shaved into each cheek. Sitting cross-legged on the table behind him was Grizzly, the lead guitarist. Anything but a Grizzly Bear, he was a short, scrawny junior-college student with horn-rimmed glasses as thick as Coke bottles and a military buzz cut that made him look more like a lab technician than a musician.

And then there was Shane. He had ditched his conservative school digs for a blue bowling shirt—unbuttoned, exposing his tattoo-covered torso—with the name “Tito” stitched on the front pocket. His arms were also bare, and Bree could see that he’d gotten new ink on the inside of his right forearm—a flaming sword in hues of black and blue, stretching from the crook of his elbow to his wrist. Shane’s hair was spiked up into a faux mohawk, and he wore skinny jeans tucked into lace-up knee boots.

Total rock star.

“Bree!” Shane said.

Bree jumped. Shit. Had Shane caught her staring at his tatted-up chest in a pervy way?

But he was all smiles. “You can come in, you know. Don’t have to stand in the door.” He walked over and gave her a friendly hug. “You’re practically part of the band.”

Bree’s stomach tightened, and she felt like her intestines were playing Twister. He released her, but held on to her left wrist, then whipped a neon green wristband from his pocket. “VIP access,” he said with a smile. “I’m so glad you and Bagsie got back together. Band members’ girlfriends are always welcome backstage.”

Girlfriend? Got back together? “I’m not John’s girlfriend,” Bree said automatically.

“Wait,” Shane said, leaning into her. He smelled like cigarettes and perspiration. It was intoxicating. “You guys aren’t a couple?”

Bree shook her head.

“Are you serious?”

“John and I are friends. Period.”

Even as the words came out of her mouth, she could feel something shift within her. They felt hollow and, for the first time in her life, not entirely true.

“Dude,” Grizzly said, stealing Shane’s attention. “Can we go over the set again?”

“Same as we rehearsed,” Shane said. “Open with ‘Bangin’ Love,’ hit the two B-sides from the EP, then the new songs for the play. And I want to do the cover song Bagsie brought to rehearsal the other night.” He nodded to John. “You cool with that?”

John cast a fleeting glance in Bree’s direction. “Yeah, man. Totally.”

“Sweet,” Shane said. “Then we’ll close with ‘Bang It Out.’ Kosher?”

Everyone nodded.

“Thirty minutes to showtime,” Shane said with a smile. “Let’s blow it up.”

Shane, Grizzly, and Devil Dan headed to the stage to do an amp and mic check, but John lingered. He laid his case on a table, opened it, and stared at the shiny red-and-white bass.

“Are you okay?” Bree asked.

John continued to gaze at his Fender. “No reward is worth this.”

“No Star Wars,” Bree said. “Be serious.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Bree laughed. “You’re the only one, then.” She stood by his side, her eyes involuntarily tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. “Anyone who’s ever seen you play knew it was only a matter of time before you got a chance like this.”

John turned his head and gazed down at her. Bree was surprised to see sadness in his eyes. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

John took a step closer to her. “Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything at all?”

Bree searched his face and saw worry, confusion. What did he want her to say?

“I don’t think so.”

John took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Everything’s about to change, Bree. After tonight, nothing will be the same.”

Bree cocked her head. The combination of the distress in his face and the gravity in his voice worried her. “What do you mean?”

John was so close she could feel his breath on her face. She wanted to repeat her question, ask him again what he meant when he said everything was about to change, but as she looked up into his eyes, the words died on her tongue. John leaned closer and for a heart-stopping moment, Bree thought he was going to kiss her.

Then he stopped himself, grabbed his bass, and slipped out the door without another word.

She slouched against the table, out of breath. Why was her heart racing? Why did her skin feel cold and clammy?

Bree closed her eyes and replayed that last moment. Lips parted, his eyes half-closed as he leaned down toward her upturned face. Bree started, her eyes flew open. John had almost kissed her. Of that she was absolutely freaking positive.

Even more disturbing? Bree had wanted him to.