She nods. “Yeah, the end of freshman year,” she tells me. “You complained about Olivia constantly being late to class, because she was waiting for everyone else to finish bathing before her and something about her not showering at all sometimes and just dowsing herself in perfume and deodorant. People were being mean to her, making fun of her… I took that as a hint that you felt bad for her. You kind of just spit out that separate stalls would make your lives so much easier.”

I pause, the vague memory playing out in my head. Right. I do remember that. I hated seeing her waiting around in her towel all alone.

“So you’re just fine with it?” I sputter. “Seriously?”

“I am now,” she replies.

I cock an eyebrow. Now?

“Well, at first,” she says, “part of me kind of hoped it wasn’t true.”

Why?

“I’m sorry to admit that.” She frowns. “But I want us to be honest with each other. It was my initial reaction. ‘Oh my God, did I do something wrong? Is this my fault?’” She shakes her head. “I can’t help where my mind went, but that’s not where it is anymore, Clay. I’m glad I had time to prepare myself, because I would’ve been ashamed to have had that reaction in front of you.”

Does she still feel that way, even a little?

“No one wants their kid’s life to be harder,” she goes on, “and then when we lost Henry, I thought I was losing control of everything. I’m glad I had time to figure myself out.”

“And now?” I ask, waiting for the hard truth. “Do you still think you did something wrong?”

She smiles softly, her eyes pooling. “There’s no feeling in the world like being in love,” she says. “Are you in love?”

It doesn’t take a moment for me to nod. “I think about her all the time,” I tell her, my voice thick with all sorts of feelings. “I want to be with her all the time. Everything feels good when she looks at me and kisses me and breathes on my neck and…”

“Okay, okay...” She laughs under her breath. “You’re still my child.”

I lean my head on her shoulder as she reaches around and touches my cheek.

After a moment, she leans in too. “I would never want you to not feel that,” she finally whispers. “Henry will never feel that.”

Needles prickle in my throat, the constant reminder that this life is our only shot behind the closed door of a little kid’s room down the hall.

“I will always love you.” She kisses my forehead. “No matter what.”

I want to go to my room right now and check my phone, and if she hasn’t called, then I want to, but I’m dreading it too. I’m afraid she’ll hang up on me. Or worse, scream and growl. Hearing her hatred would hurt worse.

“I’m starving.” My mom sighs. “I’ve been hungry for twenty years, and I’m sick of it.”

I laugh. “Popcorn and Milk Duds?”

Years ago, we’d pig out and watch Burlesque with Cher and Christina Aguilera—my favorite film—every few months, but we hadn’t done that in a long time.

“You get the food,” she tells me. “I’ll load the movie.”

“YOU’RE NOT ACTUALLY dating Trace Jaeger, are you?” Amy says to Krisjen somewhere off to my right.

Calculus fills up, students pouring through the doors, and I feel Clay somewhere behind me, but I don’t turn to look.

“Of course not,” Krisjen replies. “That would involve talking. And talking is the one thing we don’t do.”

I smile to myself. I like Krisjen, simply because most Saints wouldn’t admit to the world that they sleep at my house. Or any house in the swamp.

She’s proof that Clay’s a fucking wimp.

My phone buzzes with another text, but I keep it face down, underneath my palm on my desk. I don’t care how much she wants me. I don’t care if she ‘took the first step’ and told her mom about us, or how many times she’s called in the last forty-eight hours.

And it’s fine if she can’t march her ass over here right now in front of everyone and pull me into her arms.

I just won’t trust her again for anything less.

My chest aches, still feeling how much I’d wanted to sink into a hole forever when Macon picked me up the other night. I deserve better than her.

“Hey.” Chloe smiles at me as she hugs her books and walks to the seat behind me.

“Hey.”

My phone vibrates underneath my hand, and I press the power button, turning it off completely.

“I’m trying this on.” And I feel my leather jacket that hangs on the back of my chair slide out from behind me. “It’s the best jacket,” Chloe says. “I want one. Can you buy them aged like this?”

I force a little laugh, like I’ve done all week, so Clay knows she didn’t beat me. “Yeah, that one was brought to maturation in charred oak barrels.”

She goes wide-eyed.

“I’m kidding.”

I guess I’m the only one here who knows how to make bourbon, thanks to Army.

“It’s actually just years of wear and tear,” I tell her. “Gotta put in the work.”

She hops up, standing next to me as she slips her arms into my jacket, and I don’t even mind that she doesn’t ask permission. I want Clay to see me have as many interactions that don’t include her as possible.

I look up at Chloe, her blonde hair just grazing the shoulders as she grips both sides of the zipper and models the distressed leather. Her skirt flares as she spins, and she could almost be Clay.

“It suits,” I say.

“Definitely hot,” Curtis Harbor coos to my left. “Even hotter if you didn’t have anything on underneath.”

“Ugh,” Chloe gags.

But then her eyes turn on me, and something passes behind her eyes, almost like she’s wondering herself if I’d like how that would look.

But I picture Clay, instead. Lying in my bed as I peel the jacket open and kiss her body underneath.

I clench my thighs.

“All right, point me to your supplier,” Chloe tells me, slipping out of the jacket. “I’m getting one.”

But I stop her. “Wear it,” I say, hoping Clay hears every damn word, and I don’t care how childish I seem. “You can wear it today, if you want.”

I hear a crunch, a gasp, and then Amy’s yelp, “Clay!”

“Shit,” someone growls, and I can’t hide my smile, recognizing Clay’s voice.

Oops. Someone just spilled their Starbucks.

“Are you sure?” Chloe asks me.

“It looks good.”

She puts the jacket back on and takes her seat, and it’s funny that I was jealous of Clay talking to her, and now I’m using her to make Clay jealous.

I hate it. I hate acting like this.

It’s over with Clay. Why do I want to make her suffer? Why does it feel so good for her to know that I could hook up with anyone today like she doesn’t matter?

But as Ms. Kirkpatrick starts class and the hour goes on, I can’t seem to forget she’s in the room. Behind me.

I have no doubt she’s been completely honest. I know her heart is mine.