Breakable Page 27

  “This happened to you too…” I breathed.

  Tears welled in her eyes. She dashed them away with an impatient knuckle. But then she laughed through the tears. “Yes,” was all she said.

  I swallowed. Awed. Angered. What else had I missed? But there was no time.

  “The p-painting. If I use it…”

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  “Can I do it?” My voice was barely more than a whisper.

  “Yes,” she said vehemently. “Absolutely. You can.” She swallowed. “Right now.”

  “But–”

  “Now, Stacy. Don’t think. You know this will work. And…and it’s the way it has to be.”

  I stared, but no matter what else had happened, I knew she was right. I nodded and scrambled to my feet, holding onto the closet door until I felt like I wasn’t going to fall over anymore. Then I turned for the painting, but stopped myself. Turned back.

  Older Me still knelt on the ground, a world of pain and determination on her face.

  “Older Me–”

  She shook her head. “I’m okay, Stacy. I’ve already been through this, okay? I know how it will end. Trust me.”

  An overwhelming urge to hug her took hold. But that was impossible. And besides, if I was really going to do this, there wasn’t time. The deadline was today. Mrs. Callaghan had to approve our submissions after school.

  Ignoring the tightness in my chest that was at complete odds with the sense of emptiness in my stomach, I grabbed the painting and my bag and hustled through the house, dodging furniture and walls with the still-wet painting.

  There was only one option left. Only one chance. It meant I’d have to face my monsters. But there was no other choice.

  I had to get to New York.

  Anger kept me moving until I reached campus. Then the heat sputtered out and fear returned.

  Classes were still in. Chances were, people would see me crossing the quad. Someone who hated me would hear that I was here.

  But there was no other choice.

  My hands shook and I stumbled twice jogging across the quad, head down, skin crawling because of the eyes I could feel on my back.

  I had to get to the art room. I had to get my portfolio together. I had to get out of this town.

  So I ran.

  And when I reached the outside entrance to the art room, I didn’t slow down. I didn’t flinch. I just opened the door and stepped inside.

  Empty.

  Shaking with relief, I started across the room, then yelped as I ran into Mrs. C. rushing out of the storage cupboard.

  “Stacy!” she panted, hand on her ample bosom. “I didn’t know you were here…”

  She trailed off as her eyes fell on the painting in my hand. Her jaw dropped slightly.

  I was about to speak. To forestall her. I couldn’t talk about it.

  But when her gaze cut back up to meet mine, her face was soft. She swallowed. “Are you here to work?”

  I nodded, gratitude and relief bringing tears to my eyes. Cursing, I wiped my face on my sleeve, ready to tell her I didn’t need to talk. I needed to draw.

  But if there was one thing Mrs. C. didn’t question, it was the creative outlet as therapy. She stared at me a second, then pushed her lips together and nodded.

  “The easel room still has the mirror in it,” she said quietly. “I’ll leave the back door unlocked until the bell. But I have to make a decision then, Stacy. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I know. Thank you.”

  She stared again and I thought she might say something nice. I didn’t want her to because I didn’t want to start crying again. But she must have seen the fear in my eyes because she nodded again and turned back to the cupboard.

  Grabbing my paints and brushes, I ducked into the easel room.

  I took the top easel from the stack with shaking hands. At first I headed for my usual corner, but something tugged at me. Halfway across the room I stopped and, leaving my back to the door, I set the easel up facing the light from the window, like Mark always did. I pulled the mirror along the wall until it loomed just a couple feet to my left.

  Ignoring my thumping heart, I picked up a random paintbrush so I had something to do with my hands and stared at the awful painting, trying to see it as someone else might.

  But all I could see was that I had I put myself out there for the world to see and got a penis drawn on my face.

  I sighed. Now that I was over the shock, there was a strange kind of relief in looking at the painting and knowing the letter was out. Horrific as the fall out would be, they’d done their worst.

  I was alone now. But I wasn’t giving up. There was still one door I could walk through. One worthwhile version of my future still waiting for me.

  With a deep breath, I picked up a different brush.

  And there, in the middle of the dark, yawning hole inside me, a tiny ball of hope sprang to life.

  The clock said two-thirty-two. Still another half hour until the bell. Mrs. Callaghan would come back. I had to get my painting on the boards so I could show it as part of the bigger work.

  I stacked the three big portfolio boards on easels next to each other, then took my still-drying painting and gently tacked it onto the space I’d left on the middle board.

  When I stepped back to look at the overall effect, two things hit me. First, there was still a big hole where the Mark picture was supposed to go on the left. Secondly, my eyes were sucked to the self-portrait, just like I’d wanted. It stood out, stark against the black and demanded attention. It screamed.

  Since Finn had taken his poison to it, I’d only changed three things: My portrait’s eyes now looked down and away, trying not to see the words and pictures Finn scrawled. I’d cleaned up the edges on all the letters. The unpracticed eye wouldn’t notice, but there was the tiniest black outline to give them crispness. They and the… er… other addition appeared to cut through the rest of the picture and jump off the canvas.

  It was deeply satisfying and deeply painful. I suddenly felt very vulnerable and sure the judges wouldn’t get it at all.

  But what choice did I have? It was use the painting, or nothing. Mrs. C. had to approve my submission today.

  I couldn’t think about it or I’d give up.

  Instead, I turned my focus to the black hole on the left-hand panel.

  I had no idea what had happened to the pieces of the Mark picture I’d torn off the canvas. I rummaged through my cubby until I found my workbook.

  Sure enough, a large brown envelope fell out, all the pieces of the Mark sketches jumbled inside it. I’d have to remember to thank Mrs. C. Again.

  I turned it upside down on the floor and knelt to sort the pictures out.

  Three were smudged, the forehead had been torn almost in half, and the waxy acrylic on one cheek had a long scrape through it – had I done that?

  They weren’t salvageable, but at least I could copy them. That would make the re-do much quicker.

  So I grabbed another canvas board from the resource room and tacked it to the panel where Mark should have been, and got busy placing the pieces as I would when they were clean and complete.

  Even though it wouldn’t have the same impact, at least Mrs. C. could see how it came together.

  The clock said two-forty-five. My hands still shook, but I set myself at the picture with a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt… well, ever. Deep down, I knew this day was the turning point. The moment I’d look back on and say “That’s when my life changed.” I needed to forget about how it came about and just use it to my advantage. Use Older Me’s betrayal as fuel to keep going. Use Finn’s spite to headline my success.

  He’d hate that.

  Ten minutes later I had both of Mark’s eyes, his head and hair, one cheekbone, the jaw and nose in place. There were still two ears and a mouth to sort out when the door jiggled then clicked open. Damn. She was back early!

  My breath picked up to match the rush of nerves and I rushed to get
the mouth in place before Mrs. C. walked in and saw it.

  The only warning I had was the squeak of a shoe on the shiny floor.

  Expecting Mrs. C., and cursing her timing, I turned. But the words died on my lips.

  Finn stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. His jaw was tight, but for once he wasn’t sneering. He scanned the room, then looked at me.

  “What are you doing here?” I snapped.

  He swallowed. “They said you’d come back. I didn’t believe them.”

  “And? So?”

  His expression didn’t change, but he took a couple steps inside the door and his chin came forward. “I thought about what happened and I felt like… well, maybe it had gone a little too…” His eyes dropped to something beside me and his voice trailed off.

  I followed his gaze, curious what had caught his attention. My eyes fell on Older Me first, in the mirror, face gaunt and haggard – this was taking it’s toll on her too. But then I remembered Finn couldn’t see her. My eyes tripped to the boards and landed on the portraits I’d done… him with his hard, angular features all cut and smudged in black, his poison lips an acidic blend of red and purple. Karyn, shiny and silvered with her auger eyes.

  Oh, crap.

  He stared, first at them, then at me, back at them. Then, like a faucet turning on, the uncertainty in his face disappeared. The poison started in his eyes and slowly spread down.

  Why had I ever thought he hated me before? This was hate. This was black venom. It drained into his shoulders, then his arms – which banked and curled toward me. I flinched, but instead of the shove I’d expected, it was just a pointed finger.

  I made myself stand up straight and meet his eye, set my jaw with the same determination as his. Like I was proud of myself and not at all scared of him.

  If Older Me could lie like a champion, then I could too.

  “Stacy?” Her voice – cracked, like she was crying – rose from the mirror behind me. But I ignored her.

  Finn sneered at me, his shoulders rising and falling in time with his labored breath. He stepped closer, pointed finger swinging towards the easel. “You think that’s me?” he said.

  “It’s how I feel when I look at you.”

  He shoved a breath out through his nose and stepped across the floor toward me, the finger leveled at my panting chest.

  “Everyone knows about you now. They all know how pathetic and mental you are. They all read your little love letter, your confession and they laughed.” He got right up in my face. I leaned back, but refused to step away.

  I’d forgotten how big he was. He used to be so skinny and lanky. He was still smaller than Mark, still skinnier than Dex. But he wasn’t a twig anymore. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to–

  “Everyone knows about Friday,” he whispered, smiling. “Everyone knows you’re psycho and a slut.”

  “I’m not a slut!” I hissed. “You know that! What is your problem?”

  “You’re my problem!” His fingers splayed on my chest as he pushed me back a step. “Ever since we were twelve years old you’ve been yapping at me like a stupid dog. Why won’t you just shut the hell up and die so I never have to look at you again?”

  “I told you I was sorry, Finn. I tried to make them believe the truth. But they didn’t want to! And besides, we were twelve years old. Don’t you think it’s time to let it go?”

  “No! I still get girls accusing me of being a cheater because of your lies.”

  “You are a cheater! It isn’t my fault if people know the truth! Haven’t you returned the favor enough? People don’t just tease me, Finn. They hate me!”

  His eyes lit up. Slowly, he stood straight, grinning. When he spoke, his voice was back to normal. “You don’t get it, do you, C?” He leaned in. I tried to step back, but my leg ran into something. I was forced to let him close. Let him whisper in my ear. “I don’t make them hate you. I don’t have to. You do that part all on your own.”

  I shoved him, but he barely moved. “Liar! You tell them all kinds of crap about me!”

  He smirked. “How did you put it? It isn’t my fault if people know the truth...” He glanced at the mirror over my shoulder. It was reflex to move, to block his view of Older Me. But he pushed forward at the same moment I moved.

  I stumbled back, coming up hard to catch myself on a stack of stools next to the mirror. They rocked, but didn’t give way.

  Finn glared down at me, one side of his lip curled up in a derisive sneer. He grabbed the front of my blouse to pull me forward, his lips twisting. But I twisted too, tried to get free of his grip.

  Pop, pop, pop. The buttons on my blouse went one at a time.

  I gasped and clutched at the material to keep it closed. But the light in Finn’s eyes flared. “Never stop trying to catch me, do you, C?” He stared at my chest with gleeful delight.

  I tried to twist around, to cover myself. But Finn kept struggling with me until I slid to the floor with a thump, my tailbone taking the full impact. Tears sprang to my eyes.

  Then I flinched, curled up to protect myself. Because he shoved the stools out of the way and crouched down in front of me.

  “Stacy, oh no. Stacy, are you okay?” Older Me gasped from behind me.

  Finn stared at my chest, eyes wide and a sick smile on his face. “Maybe I should take a picture of this, send it out to our friends,” he said softly. Too softly.

  I pushed against his chest and screamed. “Leave me alone!”

  “Oh, no. This is too good an opportunity to miss.”

  He’s going to hurt me. He’s really going to hurt me this time.

  “Leave me alone!” I hated sounding so panicked. “Mrs. Callaghan will be here in a minute. She… she’ll have you suspended.”

  Finn laughed. “Assembly day, C. Did you forget?”

  Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Assembly. Everyone in the main auditorium. Even the teachers. No roll taken. No one would know I wasn’t there. No one would know Finn wasn’t there.

  No one knew he was with me.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Finn’s cologne was sharp in my nostrils. But his smile was sharper.

  Behind me, Older Me sobbed. I almost screamed at her to get herself together. But even if I’d wanted too, I couldn’t take my eyes off Finn. He was starting to scare me.

  He loomed over me, one finger drawing a line from my throat, down my chest, following the line where my shirt would fall open if I let it go. “You scared yet?”

  I nodded and the tears came. “Yes, yes. Please. I’m sorry, Finn.”

  He sneered again and pushed himself off me with a curse. Then he turned away and for a second I thought he would leave. I took a deep shuddering breath, then froze again when he whirled around and braced in front of me, pulling me to my feet and around to face the mirror.

  “What do you see?” he said. “How many people are there, Stacy? Are you prettier in there? Thinner?”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “You know you’re totally nuts?”

  I opened my mouth to deny it, but what was the point?

  Finn leaned into my ear. “What? I couldn’t understand your bark, can you repeat that?”

  He’d pinned my arms behind me. But the way he leaned, my hands were positioned low…

  “I said, leave me alone!” I closed my eyes and grabbed, squeezing as hard as I could.

  All the air left him in a huff. He bent at the waist like he’d been snapped in the middle and released me. His face turned puce. I watched his eyes and clenched my teeth into a smile because no matter what he did now, I’d hurt him. He knew it. And I knew it.

  Finn’s eyes watered. “Stupid. Worthless–” His hand whipped up, taking me in the chest and shoving me back against the wall so hard my head cracked against it.

  I heard my brain bounce – boink! – like a basketball hitting the pavement. That made me think of Mark. I wished he knew what kind of guy he was friends with. Because surely, if he knew, he wouldn’t hate me
so much for the letter.

  I dropped to the floor, holding my head, wondering if I would faint. Everything in my head shrieked, so I wasn’t sure whether I heard a voice say “What the–?!”, or if it was my words coming out on their own.

  “Oh, no!” Older Me sounded frightened. “It’s happening. It’s happening.”

  What was happening?

  “What is going on?”

  Because his voice was quiet, it took me a minute to realize Mark had arrived.

  Over Finn’s hunched shoulder I saw Mark in the doorway, a severe frown on his face, hands clenched to fists at his side.

  I panicked. All I could think about was making sure he knew the truth before he started listening to Finn.

  “Mark, I’m sorry about the letter but you have to believe me: Karyn really is cheating with Finn–”

  Finn tried to catch my arm, but was too slow. “You think he’s going to listen to your lies about his best friend and his girlfriend?”

  “I’m his best friend!” I spat.

  “Not anymore,” Finn said, and smiled.

  “Maybe that’s my call,” Mark said quietly, glaring at Finn’s back.

  “She balled me, man. She’s mental,” Finn groaned.

  “No.” Full of fear and anger and desperate to tell Mark that wasn’t how it was, I stumbled to my feet. But I couldn’t get my eyes to focus right. The room kept tipping and I couldn’t stay in one place. “No, he hit me…”

  Mark’s eyes tripped past Finn to me and his expression went from anger to aghast.

  He stared at my chest. It seemed weird he’d look at my boobs at a time like this, so I tried to cover them so he’d listen to me and help. But the sides of my blouse wouldn’t stay together.

  I kept sliding sideways. Then Mark yelled and tackled Finn.

  At first they just wrestled, scuffled. I screamed at Mark to stop, but I don’t think he heard me. And I couldn’t make my feet move in the right direction to pull him off.

  “Coward!” Mark’s arm came back, then plowed forward with a sickening smack.

  Finn grunted and grabbed Mark’s head, twisting it sideways and down. They became a whirl of arms and twisting bodies, and grunts.