Finding Wonderful (The Perfect Rebels Book 1) Page 4

  "You don't need to do that," I tell her. "I'm not going to bother you." What an enormous fucking lie, but I do it so easily, which shows how used I’ve gotten to lying.

  I’m becoming such a liar. The lies burning off my tongue so easily. It makes me hate myself.

  “Did you hear what I asked?” Willa asks, wrenching me out of my self-loathing daze.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  She sighs. “I said that you’re not going to be bothering me like you don’t bother me at school?”

  Now I sigh. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said Friday. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was just… messing around.”

  She arches her brow. "Just messing around, huh? Tell me this, then. Gaige, you forgave Porter for putting you on the spot in front of the class? What he did to you was sort of the same thing you did to me, only you used me to get out of your mess because you were uncomfortable when he brought up Evelyn, whoever she is."

  Evelyn. Hearing her name makes my heart flinch for a brief second.

  “I wasn’t uncomfortable with any of that,” I say, pretending to be unbothered. “I never get uncomfortable.”

  “Liar.”

  “I’m not a liar.” Says the biggest liar ever.

  “You sure about that?” she questions with her hands on her hips.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, my voice coming out off pitched.

  She smirks at the sound. “It means that I think you lie about a lot of things.”

  My lip twitches in annoyance. “No, I don’t. Everything I ever say is the truth, even if it’s harsh for some people to hear.”

  She rolls her eyes. Actually freakin’ rolls her eyes.

  Who the hell is this girl standing in front of me? Because it sure as hell isn’t the Willa I know.

  “Yes, you do. You lie all the time. Just like you’re lying when you pretend that you weren’t uncomfortable in class when Porter threw Evelyn in your face. But you were. You just didn’t want anyone to see you were. But I saw it in your eyes.” She pokes me in the chest, catching me by surprise. “And for a second, you felt guilty for being an asshole to me. But none of this an excuse. I don’t want to be made fun of either. And FYI, I’m not obsessed with you, and I don’t want to see your dick!”

  Holy shit. How did she see all of that?

  She’s got me so wound up that I’m not sure if I want to scream at her or kiss her.

  My lips part to either fire a comeback or move in to kiss her—I’m honestly not sure—but a shocked gasp stops me from saying anything else. Willa and I turn to find Mrs. Marlow standing in the doorway with her hand over her mouth.

  Great. She probably thinks I was hitting on her daughter, which I guess I technically was. Well, sort of.

  Fuck. There goes my place to stay and trying to get close to Willa.

  "Oh my goodness," Mrs. Marlow lowers her hand from her mouth, her gaze landing on Willa. "What's going on honey? Are you okay? Or…" Her eyes roam in my direction and worry flashes in her eyes.

  I can see her wheels turning, questioning what kind of guy she’s allowing to move into her house. If I’m a guy that just asked her daughter if she wanted to see his dick. All Willa has to do is tell her yep, he’s a perv, and her mom will kick my ass to the curb.

  I let go of the bed and put some distance between Willa and me, hoping that helps ease the situation. But panic chokes at my throat that I’m not going to have a place to live.

  "It's fine, Mom," Willa says nonchalantly. "Gaige and I were just messing around. It's a thing we sometimes do to be funny. What you heard me say… Well, that was me being a brat. Gaige didn't have anything to do with it."

  What the fuck? My gaze darts to Willa, but her neutral expression is unreadable.

  “Oh, okay.” Her mom warily glances back and forth between the two of us before scooping up a box off my bedroom floor. “Willa, you and I are going to talk about your language later. Gaige, let’s get the rest of your stuff into the truck so we can get you all settled in before dinner.”

  When she leaves the room, Willa lowers her head and presses her fingers to the brim of her nose. “Great, now I’m going to get an hour long lecture about being nice to others and not using the word dick.”

  “You should’ve just told her the truth.” I rake my fingers through my hair and stare at her, baffled. “Why didn’t you?”

  She lowers her fingers from her nose and lifts her gaze to meet mine. “I have no idea.”

  I stare at her for a moment, and she carries my gaze steadily. My heart begins to beat deafeningly and I find myself wanting to kiss her again.

  Fuck. This isn’t going to end well.

  “You’re welcome by the way,” Willa says, cutting through the lust burning inside me. Then she picks up the lamp and hurries out of my room.

  I stand there, gaping at the doorway. This is the second time she has saved my ass from getting chewed out, and both times I haven’t done anything to deserve her kindness.

  How can she be so nice to me when I’ve been nothing but a jerk to her? And if she knew who I really was, what I’ve done—what I’m going to do to her—she definitely wouldn’t act that way.

  “Gaige! Get your butt down here!” my aunt shouts up the stairway. “The Marlow’s are ready to get going! You better not make them wait!”

  Heaving a sigh, I balance the last couple of boxes in my arms and then head for the doorway. Before I step out, though, I cast one final glance back.

  When my aunt first told me the attic was going to be my room, I was horrified. Weren't attics supposed to be a place where ghosts and bats and spiders and monsters lived? The first night I stayed up here, a storm blew through the town and caused tree branches to scratch against the windows. I thought I was going to die; that monsters were coming to get me. I wanted to leave, but my aunt had told me not to bother her, so I tried not to panic. But as thunder boomed and lightning snapped, I freaked out and ran downstairs to wake her up, determined someone—or something—was after me.

  “There’s something upstairs.” I gently shook her awake. “I think it’s a ghost or a monster or something.”

  She rolled over in bed and glared. “Go to sleep. I told you not to bother me.”

  “But I—”

  “If you come down here again and wake me up, I will lock you in that room,” she said. “Is that what you want?”

  I shook my head. “No… But I really am scared…”

  “Well, I really didn’t want any kids,” she snapped. “But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

  I swallowed hard and left the room like a puppy with his tail between his legs. I didn’t want to be a burden to her. I didn’t want to be here. What I really wanted was my mom and dad back.

  Tears sprung from my eyes as I raced up to the attic and cried. I felt weak and pathetic. Unwanted. Stupid for getting scared. Stupid for thinking my aunt would care. Stupid for believing in monsters. I hated feeling stupid. I hated feeling weak.

  After my eyes dried, I promised myself I’d never allow myself to hurt this way again. I’d be stronger. I wouldn’t let things affect me so much. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. I’d make that happen no matter what it took.

  Somehow, I manage to make that happen. But I hurt a lot of people in the process. Sometimes I wish I could go back and do things over. Make better choices. Not hurt so many people.

  What I really wish for is that I’d never went to that party that night.

  Chapter 5

  Willa

  When I was younger, kids used to call me stupid. Stupid girl. Stupid freak. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But then I grew up, became friends with Brecken, and he was always telling me how smart I was. How much I rocked. That I was such a cool, amazing person. And the stupid comments became hushed whispers I rarely heard.

  Now, I wonder if the kids I go to school with may have been onto something. All I had to do was lie to my mom and tell her Gaige was hitting on me. Then she wouldn’t have let
him move in with us. Yes, my mom is nice, but she has a line and harming or hurting me is that line.

  I shouldn’t have lied.

  I don't know why I did. I wanted Gaige to get into trouble. I wanted to see him squirm. But he was taking these short breaths, and I felt sorry for him. A panic attack. I've had them before. I used to have them all the time in middle school. When I walked into the cafeteria and kids pointed and whispered. When my nickname floated around the room. When the teacher would call on me and kids would turn and stare, waiting for me to screw up. Sometimes I'd skip class and hide out in the bathroom. Or eat my lunch by my locker. Or ditch school altogether and walk around the neighborhood until it was time to go home.

  So yeah, I felt sorry for Gaige and let him off the hook. The reason behind his panic is a mystery, just like why he’s moving in with us. I don’t care, though. This is the last time I’ll be kind to Gaige. From now on, I’ll avoid him. My good deeds monthly quota is officially done.

  After I bail out of the house, I stay in the truck with the window down and wait for Gaige to come out. If Brecken were here, I’d call him up and vent to him about the ordeal. He’d make jokes. I’d laugh. Life wouldn’t seem all that shitty. But now all I have to look forward to is going home, returning to my room and depressing music, and over analyzing why the hell my best friend wanted to leave.

  Stop thinking about this shit, Willa. Just stop thinking.

  Just stop.

  Blinking the tears back, I focus on my mom. She’s standing in the middle of the lawn, shielding her eyes from the sunlight as she chats to Louisa about Gaige.

  “Oh, I’m sure he won’t be a bother,” my mom insists. “He seems like a nice young man.”

  Louisa’s face scrunches. “He can get pretty annoying. Usually, I just send him out of the house or make him do chores, like mow the lawn or something. You can do that if you need to. In fact, you probably should make him.”

  “A neighbor of ours actually mows the lawn for us,” my mom says. “But I might have Gaige come to the shelter with me if he’d like to. We can always use the extra help, and it’s so rewarding.”

  A pucker forms at Louisa’s brow. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it. But honestly, I’ve always believed that people should take care of themselves. I don’t know why other people’s problems are supposed to be mine just because they can’t get their life together.”

  Man, she’s a real bitch. I mean, I know my mom can be a little much with her spread the love and peace around the world, but seriously, how can someone be so cold and uncaring toward helping someone in need?

  “They’re not putting their problems on me,” my mom says, kindly but firmly. “A lot of people who come to the shelter don’t want to be there. They’re just going through a tough time. Most of them aren’t happy that they have to ask for help. In fact, a lot of people who come in are ashamed that they’re there. I hate that they feel that way. But I think a lot of their shame comes from others shaming them.”

  I put my hand over my mouth to hide a smile. Go, Mom. She just put Sour Face in her place.

  “I wasn’t shaming them.” Louisa narrows her eyes. “I was just pointing out that I don’t think people should have to take care of others if they don’t want to.”

  “You’re right,” my mom agrees with a nod. “No one should have to be taken care of by someone who makes them feel like a burden.”

  Louisa’s nostrils flare as she raises her chin and turns for her house. “I think I’ll go check on Gaige. See what’s taking him so long. It was nice talking to you Livvy.”

  My mom waves at her and then walks toward the truck.

  “Go mom,” I say as she slides into the driver’s seat. “You seriously put her in her place.”

  She slips the key into the ignition. “I didn’t put her in her place. I was trying to explain to her that shaming people who need help isn’t a very nice thing to do.”

  “You’re being too nice right now.” I draw the seatbelt over my shoulder. “That woman is a bi—” I stop myself as her eyes widen. “Big old meanie.”

  My mom shoots me a look, but her lips twitch. “Nice cover up.”

  “What cover up?” I play dumb. “What did you think I was going to say?”

  “Willa.” She tries to act upset, but she struggles—usually does. “I really wish you’d start watching your language. Lately, I’ve heard you say a lot of not-nice words. Like when you were upstairs with Gaige. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard you say that word and in front of some guy you barely know.”

  “Yeah, about that… I kind of do know him, like more than barely.”

  “Oh, are you friends at school?”

  “No. More like the opposite.”

  “Oh…” Confusion swirls in her eyes. In my mom’s world, there’s either people you’re friends with or people you should try to be friends with. There is no in between.

  She’s still trying to piece together what I mean when Gaige strolls out of the house carrying two boxes.

  “Is that the last of your stuff?” Louisa asks, following him.

  He nods, turning to face her. “Yep.”

  They stare at each other for a moment, and I expect them to hug or something, because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when a family member moves out? Then again, it kind of seems like Louisa is kicking Gaige out of the house. Plus, she doesn’t seem like the hugging type.

  Louisa eyeballs the door and then Gaige. “You better not have taken any of the furniture. If I go in there and anything of mine is missing, I’ll report it stolen.”

  “Okay,” Gaige says flatly. Then he trots down the front porch and strides across the grass to our truck.

  “And just remember if you do anything at all to upset Mrs. Marlow,” Louisa shouts after him, “She’ll kick you out and then you’ll have nowhere to stay. Because living with me is no longer an option.”

  Gaige doesn’t look in our direction, quickening his strides with a blank expression. But I’m guessing the indifference might be a mask to hide the pain he has to be feeling.

  I glance at my mom. “I hate to say this Mom and break your whole everyone-is-a-good-person belief, but that woman is a big, old meanie.”

  My mom stares at Louisa, who’s glaring at Gaige as if he just robbed her. Then my mom’s mouth curves downward as Louisa continues to chew Gaige out.

  “Your silence means you agree with me,” I tell my mom. “You just don’t want to say it aloud.”

  My mom clears her throat and tears her attention off Louisa. “Well, I think we should get going if we want to get Gaige’s stuff moved in before dinnertime.” She turns on the engine and rolls down her window. “I think I’m going to find out what his favorite meal is and cook it for him. Maybe that’ll cheer him up.” She looks at me with hope in her eyes. “Do you think he’d like that? I know teenage boys are supposed to like food.”

  “Sure.” I force a smile.

  As Gaige sets the last of his boxes into the bed of our truck, he catches my gaze through the rear window. The pain emitting in his eyes is so overwhelming I can hardly breathe. I want to look away, but I can’t seem to rip my gaze off him. Even though I don’t want it to, my heart aches for him. I’ve felt that kind of sadness before, seen it in my own eyes.

  Where is the pain coming from? What has he been through?

  Swallowing hard, Gaige turns away from me and heads to his truck.

  “Are you okay, Willa?” my mom asks. “You look upset.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, forcing on a fake smile.

  The truth is I have no idea what I am or why I pity Gaige so much. But I definitely need to stop before I end up getting hurt.

  Chapter 6

  Gaige

  The Marlow’s live in a quiet neighborhood about ten miles away from where I used to live. The path up to the single story home is lined with an array of bright flowers and pinwheels and hanging on the front door is a huge Welcome Everyone sign. The inside of the hous
e is equally as welcoming, with colorful walls, framed photos of their happy family, and hand painted inspirational decorations. The guestroom is where I'll be staying and it has been made up with vases of flowers and a queen-sized bed covered with a mountain of those pointless throw pillows.

  “I hope this is okay.” Mrs. Marlow flips on the light and throws open the curtains. “It’s not very big, but you can always move the extra dresser out into the garage if you think you need more room.”

  I set my duffel bag on the bed and force a smile. “It’s fine. I promise.”

  She smiles as if my approval just made her day. “Good. I’m glad you like it. I was worried maybe all the pillows were a bit too much.”

  "They're fine," I tell her. "I just appreciate you letting me stay here."

  Her smile magnifies. “How about we go get your stuff moved in and then I’ll get dinner started? Do you have a preference as to what you’d like to eat? I can make steak, hamburgers, pancakes. Anything but fish. Willa hates it when I cook seafood.”

  “Because it stinks up the house.” Willa appears in the doorway, carrying one of my boxes. She looks from her mom to me. “Where do you want me to put your shi—”

  “Willa!” her mom exclaims, her eyes wide in horror.

  “Stuff,” Willa continues without missing a beat. “Jeez, Mom. Way to overreact.”

  Mrs. Marlow puts her hands on her hips. “I thought you were going to work on your language.”

  “I am,” Willa insists. “I technically didn’t finish the word, did I?”

  “Don’t try to get out of this on a technicality.” Her mom scolds. But she doesn’t sound pissed. If anything, she appears amused. “You really need to work on your word choices. Try to add some prettier words to your vocabulary instead of using all those ugly words.”