“What the fuck kind of name is Garrison?” Lo retorts.
Garrison rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “Whatever.”
Garrison hid in a duffel bag in a trunk for twelve hours, and he doesn’t seem the type to go to that length just for a girl. I cut in, “As amusing as all of this is, we’re still no closer to answers, and I’d like them sometime in the next five minutes.”
Ryke dumps the glass into a trash bag and then disappears into the bathroom. Lo kneels beside the bed and gestures for the tweezers from Garrison.
He hesitates and then relinquishes them to him.
“Is there anything we can use to sew up the cut in there?” Lo nods to the first-aid kit.
Garrison relaxes further at the idea that we’re not going to the hospital.
“We can find an alternative if that’s what he really wants,” I say. I’m sure we can suture the wound ourselves, but it’s not going to be pretty.
Garrison nods. “That’s what I want.”
Ryke returns with a cup of water and hands it to Garrison. I pass him a packet of Advil, the best we have to stop the pain.
Garrison looks between us, and strangely he seems like he might cry, maybe just overwhelmed. “I thought you two hated each other?” He gestures from Ryke to me. Based off tabloids, it would appear that way.
Ryke answers before I do, “We’re good friends.” I’d label us in a similar manner. Not just friends, but a friend that I count on, rely on, a person that I need in my life.
Garrison grows quiet, eyes fixed on the carpet.
“What is it?” I ask, unable to read the sentiments beneath his features.
He shakes his head and tears open the packet. “I was just thinking…I don’t even know where I find the kind of friendship that you three have. My friends are dicks.” He lets out a short, pained laugh. “I’m one too…”
I glance at Ryke and Lo. Through years of ups and downs, fights and riffs between us, we’ve each become closer, and they’ve both taught me valuable things: how to be selfless and how to bear the pain in love.
I don’t live for money or for titles or achievements like I used to.
I live for people.
There is nothing greater than that.
“We’re all assholes,” Lo tells Garrison. “But one day, you’ll meet an asshole that pushes you to be a better person. Those are the ones that stick with you.”
Garrison rubs his eyes once, trying to hide the movement from sight. Then he downs the pills with a swig of water.
“We’re encroaching on my five-minute time limit,” I tell him.
His throat bobs. “I needed a place to crash…I’ve been sleeping in the breakroom at Superheroes & Scones for the past month. But I found out that Lily planned to install more video cameras in the store…I just…I don’t know. I couldn’t think of anywhere to go.”
I’ve already compiled a list of five places that seemingly should outrank where he is now. “Your parent’s house,” I suggest.
He licks his chapped lips. “They think I’m at Faust. You went there, right?”
I nod. “And why aren’t you there?” Lightning cracks outside the windowpane, the thunderstorm still raging on.
“I flunked out in April…” He tugs his hoodie’s string harder. “Most of the senior classes are college-level, you know that?”
I nod again. I know.
“I failed so badly that they wouldn’t even let me take another exam or even attempt the finals in May.” He pulls the hood over his head. “And you know, it’s my parent’s fault.” His bloodshot eyes meet mine. “Why’d they have to send me to a new school in the middle of the year? I know…I know I fucked up, but if I even want a high school diploma, I have to be held back. Do you even know what that feels like?”
No. “What about your friends? They have houses, I presume.”
“You mean all my friends that broke into your house to scare you? Those ones?”
“No,” I say, knowing what happened to them. Their court date passed in April, and they were all tried as adults. They were each sentenced to serve a year. “Your other friends.”
“I don’t have other friends,” he says. “No one wants to be associated with the bad guy, not at Dalton and definitely not at Faust.” He shrugs. “I had nowhere to go, okay? I had Superheroes & Scones and Willow, that’s it.”
If Lily and Lo hadn’t been sympathetic towards him—where would he have gone then? I stepped into Loren’s life with zero altruistic motives at first, but these small instances, where we touch another person’s life when they need it most, can be the deciding factor in whether or not they choose to wake up the next morning.
“I burned the letter that Faust sent my parents before they got it—the one that said I flunked. And you know…” He chokes up. “I’ve never been a good person. I don’t even know what some of you see in me…because I’m shit.”
If he can see his flaws and ache terribly at the sight of them, I think he’s going to be okay, especially with someone like Lo on his side.
“You’re not shit,” Lo tells him, as forceful as Ryke would have. “You want this glass out of your foot?”
Broken souls are mended every day by mended souls that were once broken.
“Yeah,” Garrison finally lets out a deeper breath. “Yeah, I want it out.”
49
ROSE COBALT
Poppy arrived this afternoon with her husband and daughter, missing the power outage, the surprise of Garrison, and Daisy’s small panic attack. I don’t have the energy to share all of this, so Lily and I just act as though the trip has gone smoothly and listen to updates from our older sister.
“It’s been chaotic,” Poppy says, removing the whistling kettle from the stove. “There’s always at least four cameramen following Maria to school, and I’ve resorted to escorting her in with three bodyguards.”
Lily sets three teacups onto the counter. “It’s not so different from before, is it?” This is Lily’s attempt to rouse my spirits. I’m more pissed at paparazzi than sullen and guilt-ridden, but I understand that I’m to blame for the increase in media attention. The newsworthy story centers on Connor and me, but I’d rather plan revenge strategies—that will most likely never come to fruition—than mope.
“That’s true. There used to be one or two cameramen hovering around us before.” Poppy’s wooden bangles clink on her forearm as she pours hot water into three cups.
Lily plops in the teabags.
My joints feel stiff and useless as I stand in the middle of the kitchen. “Neither of you need to waste time cheering me up. I’m never cheerful to begin with.” My voice is chilled. I decide to put in my diamond earrings. “Don’t you remember? I’m made of thorns.” When I was in prep school and being particularly prickly and cold, Poppy would often tell me pointedly, not all of us are made of thorns, you know.
Poppy gives me an apologetic look, considerate of my feelings even when I’m telling her I have none. I can wave a black heart in her face and she’d still say it beats like everyone else’s.
“What’s happening is awful,” Poppy says, “and I don’t mean to turn it around and victimize myself.” She passes me a teacup, as a peace offering. “I’ve been trying to tell Mom, Dad, and even Sam to stay out of your business. This is between you and your husband, and none of us have a place to tell you what to do. If I was in your position with Sam, I’d expect the sa—”