Denver’s eyes flicker to my socks again and I note her white ones that are perfectly folded over. I pull a pair of pink socks with crazy red stripes out of my dresser and toss them to her. “You can have these if you want. I have two pairs of that type.”
“We have to follow the dress code or we’ll be in trouble.”
“In class. Outside of class and school events we don’t have to wear the uniform.”
We’re both wearing a plaid skirt that hits our knees and a white button-down shirt. My side of the room is filled with posters of puppies I bought at the campus store. I also went old-school like Razor and taped pictures of my family by my bed. I also have a few of him I was smart enough to print out before everything fell apart.
A sharp ache causes me to close my eyes. It’s been over a month since we last talked. Since he last held me in his arms and told me he loved me. I tell people I have a boyfriend, but I’m not sure if that’s the case anymore. How long can I expect a guy to wait when we haven’t had contact for so long?
I reopen my eyes and Denver’s weighing the socks in her hands like I offered her a loaded gun. “It’s just socks.”
“My mom won’t approve,” she whispers like she’s afraid her mother might hear her in California.
“Well, that may be true, but she’s not here, is she?” A wicked smile spreads across my lips and it widens when I spot the spark of an evil smile start to form in response.
Denver is definitely sealed shut inside her box, and if Razor taught me anything, it’s that boxes are meant to be broken down and thrown away.
A knock on the door and my happiness fades. Nervous adrenaline seeps slowly into my veins and Denver grabs her purse and slips on her shoes. My parents are here. They visit every weekend and meet with my school counselors so they can review my phone records to confirm I’m contacting only them and Addison.
They freaked over my post on Bragger and then freaked more after I told them what happened with Kyle. Mom and Dad promised I would never see Razor again. They didn’t care that he protected me from Kyle. They saw Kyle and Razor as the same problem instead of one guy being the issue and the other being the solution. I informed them I’d be eighteen soon and their opinion didn’t matter much to me after that.
Mom cried. Dad yelled. I remained defiant. A few days later they told me they would give Razor a chance if I showed I could be trusted again. It’s an argument that caused all of us to bleed.
I did break their trust, but there’s not a part of me that regrets it. Those few months with Razor were the best of my life.
But my relationship with my parents isn’t the only one that needed repair. Addison wasn’t too happy I was keeping secrets from her, either. A couple of times I thought about asking her to play go-between for me and Razor, but then I figured that wasn’t fair. Addison and I just need to be friends and I need to deal with the consequences of a whole lot of decisions.
Denver opens the door and my mother says, “Hi,” as my roommate bolts. I sigh. Denver has a long road ahead of her with socialization skills.
My room fills with my family. Elsie attaches herself to my side. Zac and Paul act like they’re going to mess with Denver’s stuff and I continually threaten their lives. Dad tells me how he won the client and saved the factory. I congratulate him, then Dad, Liam and Joshua ask about school, drilling me on my classes, and my mother stays unusually silent near my desk.
She studies the pictures of me and Razor and once she touches his leather jacket, which hangs on my desk chair. “Will you guys give us a few minutes?”
It was one of those moments where everyone was talking at once and then no noise. After several beats of awkward silence, Dad offers to buy ice cream and everyone but Mom vacates.
Mom stays quiet long after the door to the room shuts and I consider taking a page from Denver’s book and bite my nails. Mom and I...we don’t know how to talk anymore. I mean, we do talk, but it’s nothing more than her asking about school and me filling her in. There’s no ease to our conversations. It’s like we’re strangers now.
“You’re still in love with him?” Mom meets my gaze. “You’re still in love with Thomas Turner?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “And if you’re wondering, I’ve done what you’ve asked. I haven’t had contact with him.”
“I know. Truth is, I don’t know, but everything we check on says you haven’t, and deep in my heart, after everything that has happened, I still trust you.”
That statement felt more like a sharp knife to my stomach than a compliment, and I try not to wince with the impact.
“I don’t approve.” Her utter expression of disgust reinforces this. “Neither does your father, but we’re realizing that if we don’t figure something out with this issue, you’re going to end up like Mia Ziggler on the back of a Terror bike and we will never see you again.”
I scowl. Mia Ziggler is becoming a thorn in my side. If I’m ever granted a free pass to ask any question about club business and receive the answer, I’m so inquiring about her.
“So this is how it’s going to be,” she says. “We have reached an agreement with the board of the Terror. Your father and I will allow supervised visits between you and Thomas as long as his club promises that they’ll continue to make sure Thomas follows our rules.”
I’m bouncing. I’m on my bed and I’m bouncing. “I get to see him?”