My instincts say it’s the latter, but I haven’t known him long enough to be sure.
Silence stretches between us for several long seconds. I watch Macy, who pretty much has the opposite of a poker face, as she tries to figure out what to say. It takes a little while, but finally she settles on, “He’s not Silence of the Lambs dangerous. He’s not going to drop you in a pit and starve you so he can make a dress out of your skin or anything.”
I burst into incredulous laughter. “Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got? He’s not going to make a dress out of my skin?”
She shrugs. “I also said he wouldn’t starve you in a pit.”
“It’s Alaska. You’d need a professional oil drill to make a pit in the frozen ground.”
“Exactly.” She holds her hands out in an obvious gesture. “See, told you he wouldn’t do it.”
“Are you trying to be reassuring here, or are you trying to scare the hell out of me?”
“Yes.” She bats her eyes at me. “Is it working?”
“I have no freaking idea.”
My phone buzzes, and I almost ignore it. But it has to be Heather—Macy’s the only one at Katmere who’s got my number—and right now, I could use a little of my BFF’s brand of sanity.
Heather: How was your first day of classes?
Heather: Any hot guys in your English class?
Heather: Or hot girls? Asking for a friend…
She includes the dtf emoji in the last one, and I laugh despite myself. Then take a quick pic of Macy in her tank top and long underwear, who fakes a pouty pose when I say it’s my BFF back home, and answer:
Me: ALL the hot girls.
Heather: Ugh. Mean
Heather: How was class?
Me: Altitude sickness kept me home. But I’m going tomorrow
And then, because Heather can go on forever and I want to finish this conversation about how Jaxon isn’t an actual movie serial killer, I text:
Me: Busy right now
Me: ttys
Then I put my phone aside and turn back to my cousin, who is currently scrolling through her own phone. She quits as soon as she realizes I’m done texting and then says, “Tell me the truth, Grace. Do you like Jaxon?”
“Like” is too insipid a word for the emotions Jaxon stirs up in me. There’s something about him that calls to me on a soul-deep level, something broken in him that somehow fits with what’s broken in me.
I know Macy doesn’t see it. She’s too busy being afraid of his darkness and social status to pay attention to what’s under the surface. But I see it—all the grief and pain and fear roiling around in him just beneath the blank face and empty eyes. I see him in a way I don’t think anyone else at this school does.
I don’t tell her any of that, though—it’s not my place to share Jaxon’s suffering. Instead, I answer, “What does it matter if I like him or not?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Because I don’t have an answer!” I groan. “I’ve been here three days, Mace. Three days! Everything feels upside down and backward, and I have no idea what I think about anything…or anyone. I mean, how am I supposed to know how I feel about a guy I barely know? Especially when he ignores me one minute and carries me home the next. He’s different than anybody I’ve ever met and—”
Macy’s snort interrupts my diatribe.
“What?” I beg. “Why do I get the feeling you know something you’re not sharing?”
“I have no idea. Go ahead.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “It sounds like you know something.”
“Sorry.” She holds her hands up in very obvious surrender. “I just…agree. Jaxon is definitely not like anyone you’ve ever met before.”
“You say that like it’s such a bad thing. I get that you don’t want me to like him—”
“Hey, I told you to stay away from him because he’s not an easy guy to be around. Or at least, he never was before. But with you…”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “It sounds like every cliché in the book, but he’s different when he’s with you. He’s somehow less intense but also more intense, if that makes sense.”
“It doesn’t. At all.”
Macy huffs out a laugh. “I know. But you’re the one who asked. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m wary about you and Jaxon doing whatever it is you’re doing, but I’m not totally against it. Not like I would have been if I hadn’t seen him with you today.”