often I’m amazed Tanner can’t read it on me. I’m already being stared at enough as it is—word’s spread that I was the girl seen with Sebastian at the club. Rumors range between me being his sister, his girlfriend, or his indentured servant. I don’t have the heart to tell them what he told me.
That he was never going to speak to me again.
It had a ring of finality to it that I can’t deny. And when I think about the vow I made, the way my mother acted after my father left me, I can almost imagine that it’s a good thing. I’ve had crushes before, but I was able to suffocate them early on. What I felt during that kiss was something else, something torrential.
But then I remember what I found on the internet the morning after, when I Googled “Sebastian Crane” and “abduction.” When Sebastian was twelve, he was kidnapped by four men who wanted to extort money from his father. They pulled up in an unmarked van, knocked him out, and threw him in the back.
Except his father wouldn’t pay.
They made threats. They kept him tied to a chair for three days with no food, swearing they’d kill him if they didn’t get the money within a week. When the police finally figured out where Sebastian was being held, an abandoned building on a riverside, they surrounded the place. The kidnappers swore they’d shoot him if the cops made a move.
And Sebastian’s mother snapped.
She made a break for the building, got inside, and made it halfway across the floor toward her son when they shot her—right in front of him.
The information was hard to find, almost as if someone had tried to cover it up. It took four hours of searching through archives on the web before I found old copies of articles someone had forgotten to erase.
Thinking about it is almost too painful.
Swimming is painful too, because when I swim, all I can do is think about Sebastian. I pull to the side of the pool and pant for a minute before hauling myself up. I’m the only one here. This must be one of Sebastian’s usual practice times. I towel off, my footsteps echoing in the empty room, and dress in the locker room. My wet hair swings over my shoulders as I check my phone for new messages.
Only one, from an unknown number: Meet me in the parking lot at 3 .
That’s weird. It’s definitely not Tanner or Opal, since I have both their numbers. Maybe it’s a classmate who wants to return something I left in class—but I’m pretty sure I didn’t forget anything.
I check the time. 2:55. Uh oh. And then I realize—what if it’s Renée? I gave her my number, but I didn’t get hers. Maybe she wants to hang out again. I really don’t want to explain the kiss to her, but I’d also feel bad ignoring her text.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, wring out my hair, and walk out into the sunlight. Early classes just got out, so the sidewalks are full of laughing students. I hunt for Tanner but I don’t spot him. He’s probably playing videogames with his roommate.
In the parking lot, I spot that shiny black car that Renée rented the first time I met her. Definitely her, then. This time, when I approach it, the driver gets out. I expect him to open the door for me, which he does—but then he shoves me inside and locks it behind me.
“Hey!” I yell, but it’s quickly muffled by the seat I fall into. Except it’s not a seat. It’s a lap.
And it’s Sebastian’s lap.
“Watch it, you pervert,” grunts Tanner’s voice, and suddenly there are arms pulling me into a sitting position.
“She fell onto me. Why does that make me the pervert?” asks Sebastian, his tone bored.
“You’re a pervert because I can just tell, that’s why.” Tanner straightens his shirt and checks me over. “You okay?”
“What’s going on?” I say, fighting to sound normal despite the fact that Sebastian’s sitting right there, his gaze slung casually to the side like he’s never kissed me in his life. H is arms are crossed.
“Ask Mr. Sullen Silence
That he was never going to speak to me again.
It had a ring of finality to it that I can’t deny. And when I think about the vow I made, the way my mother acted after my father left me, I can almost imagine that it’s a good thing. I’ve had crushes before, but I was able to suffocate them early on. What I felt during that kiss was something else, something torrential.
But then I remember what I found on the internet the morning after, when I Googled “Sebastian Crane” and “abduction.” When Sebastian was twelve, he was kidnapped by four men who wanted to extort money from his father. They pulled up in an unmarked van, knocked him out, and threw him in the back.
Except his father wouldn’t pay.
They made threats. They kept him tied to a chair for three days with no food, swearing they’d kill him if they didn’t get the money within a week. When the police finally figured out where Sebastian was being held, an abandoned building on a riverside, they surrounded the place. The kidnappers swore they’d shoot him if the cops made a move.
And Sebastian’s mother snapped.
She made a break for the building, got inside, and made it halfway across the floor toward her son when they shot her—right in front of him.
The information was hard to find, almost as if someone had tried to cover it up. It took four hours of searching through archives on the web before I found old copies of articles someone had forgotten to erase.
Thinking about it is almost too painful.
Swimming is painful too, because when I swim, all I can do is think about Sebastian. I pull to the side of the pool and pant for a minute before hauling myself up. I’m the only one here. This must be one of Sebastian’s usual practice times. I towel off, my footsteps echoing in the empty room, and dress in the locker room. My wet hair swings over my shoulders as I check my phone for new messages.
Only one, from an unknown number: Meet me in the parking lot at 3 .
That’s weird. It’s definitely not Tanner or Opal, since I have both their numbers. Maybe it’s a classmate who wants to return something I left in class—but I’m pretty sure I didn’t forget anything.
I check the time. 2:55. Uh oh. And then I realize—what if it’s Renée? I gave her my number, but I didn’t get hers. Maybe she wants to hang out again. I really don’t want to explain the kiss to her, but I’d also feel bad ignoring her text.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, wring out my hair, and walk out into the sunlight. Early classes just got out, so the sidewalks are full of laughing students. I hunt for Tanner but I don’t spot him. He’s probably playing videogames with his roommate.
In the parking lot, I spot that shiny black car that Renée rented the first time I met her. Definitely her, then. This time, when I approach it, the driver gets out. I expect him to open the door for me, which he does—but then he shoves me inside and locks it behind me.
“Hey!” I yell, but it’s quickly muffled by the seat I fall into. Except it’s not a seat. It’s a lap.
And it’s Sebastian’s lap.
“Watch it, you pervert,” grunts Tanner’s voice, and suddenly there are arms pulling me into a sitting position.
“She fell onto me. Why does that make me the pervert?” asks Sebastian, his tone bored.
“You’re a pervert because I can just tell, that’s why.” Tanner straightens his shirt and checks me over. “You okay?”
“What’s going on?” I say, fighting to sound normal despite the fact that Sebastian’s sitting right there, his gaze slung casually to the side like he’s never kissed me in his life. H is arms are crossed.
“Ask Mr. Sullen Silence
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