My eyes darted to my backpack. The formula. I remembered drinking some . . .
Sweat trickling down my back, I tore off the outfit and fumbled to check the labels, sucking in my breath when I saw the designer names. I glanced at my chest. And the bra . . . It was pushing my breasts together so my A-cups looked like they belonged in Maxim.
Had I stolen all this stuff? I couldn’t remember . . .
My pulse raced and my head thumped. What else had I done? Where had I gone looking like that? Had anybody seen me?
I jammed the clothes into the back of my closet and hurried to the shower, where I scrubbed my skin until it was raw, like I could erase what I might have done. Then I put on my usual clothes and stole out of the house early, before I could see my mom.
Had I run into her last night? Talked to her? Was I in trouble?
And what would happen at school? Had I seen kids from school? Maybe . . .
I walked in the sunlight, gulping deep breaths of cold, fresh November air, trying to figure out what I would say if anybody mentioned seeing me. I also tried not to think about how I had felt wearing those clothes or wonder why I’d shoved them in my closet instead of the trash can at the back of our yard.
Chapter 62
Jill
I WAS IN ART CLASS clipping my junior year photo to the edge of my canvas so I could begin adjusting the eyes on my self-portrait for what seemed like the millionth time when a strange, uneasy hush fell over the room. In seconds all of the chatter that always went on while we set up our easels simply stopped.
Without even looking, I knew that Tristen had joined us, uninvited.
My hand fell to my side, and I turned to see that Tristen was indeed standing in the doorway staring straight at me while everybody else gawked at him.
I shook my head, trying to tell him to leave, but he came toward me, ignoring my teacher’s disapproving look.
“Tristen,” Miss Lampley said but without much authority. I think, like everybody else, she was leery of the gash on his face, the crude bandage, and his tired, hunted, but determined expression. “I don’t think you should be here.”
I shot her a dismayed look. Did she really think that halfhearted attempt would stop Tristen Hyde from doing anything?
“This will just take a minute.” Tristen overrode her, continuing to cross the room, stepping around students who watched his progress with wary interest, moving aside if he came too close.
“Tristen, go, please,” I hissed when he reached me.
He didn’t listen to me, either, and tried to take my arm. “Jill—”
I pulled away, warning, “Don’t touch me.”
“Fine,” he agreed, crossing his arms. “As you wish.”
“Why are you here?” I asked, focusing on my canvas, where the innocent girl I’d been the previous year was smiling her not-quite-right smile. “What do you want?”
“The contest,” he said.
I actually laughed a little. “There’s no contest. That’s over, Tristen.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Miss Lampley had stepped closer, monitoring him. I also saw Tristen turn slightly to face her for a second.
She took a step back, and Tristen turned back to me.
“No matter how you feel about me,” he said, “you need the money, and we know our experiment works. We could still win.”
“I don’t care about the money,” I lied, even though I was still paying the bills late.
“We could start working during the day,” he added. “You wouldn’t have to be alone with me.”
I choked a little, and turned my face more squarely away from him. I wanted to be alone with him . . . But I didn’t want that at all. “It doesn’t matter, Tristen,” I said. “We’re not doing the contest.”
“Jill.” He spoke my name so firmly that, although I didn’t want to look at him, I did.
“What?”
“I made a bargain with you,” he reminded me. “You helped me; now I will hold up my end of the deal.”
“Tristen, we haven’t even thought about the presentation,” I said, voice cracking, and not because I was sad about the pathetic state of our abandoned project. “How would we present what we learned in public?” And it wasn’t exactly the contest entry I was talking about when I concluded, near tears, “We have nothing, Tristen.”
Even though I’d told him not to touch me, he clasped my upper arm and leaned closer. “We can do this, Jill,” he said. “You know we can.” He squeezed my arm. “We can beat Darcy and everyone else. You and I are smart enough to use what we’ve learned and win.”
I should have yanked my arm away again, but I didn’t. Darcy . . . I wanted to beat her. And I did still want the money.
And I did want to win.
“All right,” I agreed, pulling away from him then, decisively. “But we’ll work during school hours, and this time I’ll be in charge, because it’s my money. You said so.”
“I don’t want or need the cash,” he replied, crossing his arms again. “I will honor that part of the bargain, too.”
I took a second to consider what Tristen was offering.
“Let me help you win,” he said again so quietly that even I barely heard. “Let me make what’s left of my existence worthwhile.”
My heart, which I wanted to close off to him, nonetheless sank when he said that. His father . . . He knew his father would come back for him. I tried not to look at the gash across Tristen’s cheek but couldn’t stop myself. One of them might very well kill the other before long.
“Please,” Tristen said. “Let me keep my bargain with you.”
I couldn’t imagine working closely with him. It hurt just to stand next to him for a few minutes. But if Tristen Hyde felt that helping me would somehow serve as redemption, somehow help pay for the
