RAMSAY.

I was getting ready for bed when my phone’s alert sounded.

Unknown: What’s your damage?

I lay down on bed and texted back.

Me: Who is this?

Unknown: Fucking guess. You cost me three friends today.

Oh.

Me: You owe me an apology. It’s your fault you were a bitch and not trusting Clint. He said he vouched for me. I programmed his name in.

The Dick: I’ve never known a chick to be cool. I didn’t believe him.

Me: That’s your bad. How it went down today isn’t on me. That’s on Cohen. As I waited, my heart started to pound. I didn’t understand Scout Raiden. That was obvious. When he came to the table at Pike’s, everyone was subdued. My cousins were fake polite, and only Clint said he’d tell me later what happened. He wouldn’t. Whatever had happened, none of my cousins would tell me. So, I decided to ask Scout.

Me: What happened today?

The Dick calling. I yelped, almost dropping the phone, but I hit accept and lay back, firmly ignoring how the flutters in my tummy moved up to my chest. His voice came through, sounding more mystified than anything. “They didn’t tell you?”

I swallowed, my throat feeling scratchy. “Clint said he’d tell me later, but I don’t think he will.”

He grunted. “Your cousins said their piece. I said mine. Everyone knows where we stand now, but I texted you because shit’s going to come out about Amalia. People are going to talk, and I gotta know if you’re going to feel a certain way in a weak moment and share with your new friend Gem what you saw and heard in that locker room. None of this is about me or you or whatever fucking issue you have with me. It’s about Amalia. She’s fifteen.”

A pang shot through me, splitting me in half. Old demons and haunts rose up. “I had a boyfriend who used to . . .” My heart picked up. What was I doing? I never talked about him, ever. But I heard myself adding, “He hurt me . . . a lot. The reason I’m sharing is because I started dating him when I was fifteen. So no, I’m not going to say shit.”

With that, I hung up.

Me: Don’t call me again.

Me: Also, I saved you in my phone as The Dick. Just so you know. #themoreyouknow

The Dick was right. But also not because nothing came out about Amalia. The friendship breakdown between the Maroney triplets and the other two stud muffins sitting at the top of the social ladder, Scout Raiden and Cohen Rodriguez, was the biggest highlight. Then the gossip started about me. I was being blamed for it.

“So . . .” Gem chewed her lip, and I knew she was wondering if we were good enough friends yet for her to pull a friend card and demand to be in the know. I had no idea what to say, so when I saw my cousins leaving school, I grabbed my stuff. “I gotta go.”

We were in one of the classes where the teacher liked to use worksheets. He’d come in, give us notes in a lecture, and then pass out the worksheets. We were supposed to use the rest of the class to fill them out and hand them in. I thrust mine at Gem. “Fill it out for me? Hand it in? I gotta go.”

“But—” I was out the door.

To be honest, I didn’t care whether she did the worksheet for me or not. If she didn’t, I’d deal. If she did, then awesome.

My cousins were in the parking lot by the time I grabbed my stuff from my locker and got outside. “Hey!”

They were waiting by Trenton’s truck.

“What are you guys doing?”

Alex folded his arms over his chest, tipping his chin toward the school. “We’re ditching early, going to our house. Wanna come?”

“Don’t you guys have football practice?”

“Not till four today.”

I glanced back at my bike, and Clint shoved off from Alex’s truck. I unlocked it, and he put it in the back, before hopping up and extending a hand my way. I didn’t need it, but I grabbed ahold of it anyway and climbed up and over. Alex got in the front, and Trenton was pulling us out of the parking lot when I saw Scout and Cohen leaving early too.

“He asked for your number, said he was going to apologize,” Clint told me. “He call you?” Well, shitters. He’d texted. He’d called. But he hadn’t apologize. I didn’t want to cause any more waves.

“He did.”

Clint nodded and settled back as we drove past Scout and Cohen. Feeling an itch I didn’t like, I took my phone out of my bag.

Me: You need to apologize.

The Dick: “For what,” said The Dick.

Me: So funny. Apologize, now.

The Dick: Gonna shock you, but . . .

I waited, expecting a middle finger emoji.

The Dick: I’m sorry for threatening you and your cousins.

Well. That was surprising, and I didn’t feel so bad for lying to Clint.

I sent him the middle finger emoji instead.

The Dick: I just apologized. Wtf?

Me: I owe that to you for all this mess. You should’ve just believed my cousin.

I waited, holding my phone, but he didn’t respond. The response came later that night after the guys were back from football practice. I was still at their house. My phone buzzed at the end of Captain America, our first movie.

The Dick: I’m not that bad of a guy.

I replied right away. I blamed my hormones.

Me: You’ve given me death stares since day one. Then you threatened me and my cousins.

Me: Credit to you for apologizing after I demanded one. Most assholes would try to blame me somehow.

The Dick: Again, I’m not that bad of a guy.

Me: Jury’s out. I only trust my cousins.

The Dick: Fair enough. How are the guys?

Me: Ask them.

The Dick: Jesus. Give me a break.

Me: Nothing came out today about Amalia, not that I heard.

The Dick: Yeah. Everyone’s worked up about the friendship split. Everyone’s blaming you.

Me: I should tell everyone it’s your fault, but right. The girl gets blamed.

The Dick: If anyone asks me, I’ll tell them it was my fault.

That made me pause.

Me: Why would you do that?

The Dick: The truth. Also aware you’re taking the brunt of some attention that might’ve gone Amalia’s way.

Me: What happened? Can I ask?

The Dick: We’re enemies who text. Not telling you.

I huffed, but that was fair.

Me: Is she a nice girl?

The Dick: Yeah. Sweet. Idolizes her brother.

Me: And you?

The Dick: I don’t know.

The Dick: That guy you mentioned before? He’s the one who held you down?

Oh man. I couldn’t breathe. But I typed back, my fingers feeling wooden.

Me: We’re still enemies who text. Not telling you.

The Dick: He the reason you moved here?

A fist squeezed my chest, taking hold of my organs. It was slowly circling, pulling everything tight with it, twisting it all up.

Me: Same answer, see above.

What am I doing? My phone buzzed, but I didn’t look at it. We were starting The Winter Soldier, and I didn’t look at my phone for the rest of my night. He was right. We were enemies. I needed to remember that.