“Nate invited Rowe to come to the game with me and Ty tonight…to meet their parents. She doesn’t have anything nice to wear, and I’m not good at makeovers, so we’ve pretty much just been failing in our attempts for the last two hours—and we have to leave in like thirty minutes,” I say, all in one breath, because I feel like the more I can pack in, the less likely my words are to sting. I know they do anyhow—I can tell by the crushed face my sister makes at me, for just a fraction of a second. She looks at Rowe, not with jealousy, but with envy. There’s a difference between the two—however small it may be—and the fact that my sister’s face is full of envy means a part of her actually likes Rowe. And there’s also a part of her that sees what Nate sees in her. She just wishes he saw whatever it was in her, too.
“Stand up,” Paige says, jolting Rowe and me both to attention. She studies our roommate’s face, and then moves the garments left hanging in our closet. She holds a few things up, but nothing is the perfect fit. I can see the options dwindling, and there really is only one dress that works; I know it’s Paige’s favorite. It’s a simple, deep-blue cotton dress, and Rowe would look like a knockout in it.
“Come here,” Paige says, twirling Rowe around, and with a little force, pulling down the zipper of her dress. She’s still hostile, and I hate that. I’m about to call her on it, when Rowe’s dress suddenly falls to the floor. Our roommate stands in front of Paige and me with what I know—in an instant—is her worst nightmare bared to us.
Rowe’s body is riddled with scars. They are deep and pink, and a few are a dark red. They appear surgical, for the most part, but others…I don’t know. Something bad happened to her. In that moment, I find Paige’s eyes, and I make a silent plea to her. Paige, come on…you cannot mention this. Don’t say anything. Give her this—give her the safety of us.
I’m wishing so hard, I swear my lips are moving. But I see it in my sister’s eyes right away. Rowe and I—we are so similar. Her scars stayed, while mine disappeared. My welts from the MS shots faded in time—with massaging, and oil, and work. And I get to become just Cass. I have a choice, and I can choose not to tell anyone. When my sister looks at me again, I can see the recognition in her eyes. I know she’s also urging me to share. Rowe can be trusted; she wouldn’t sum me up as just the girl with MS.
But I’m not sharing tonight. This break—this moment that happened between the three of us—this is Rowe’s. It’s for Rowe and Paige. As I watch my sister drape her favorite dress over our roommate, squeezing her hand to give her courage to feel beautiful, I know that Rowe has also earned herself a new warrior. Once Paige Owens is on your side, heaven help the person who tries to do you harm.
My story can wait. Tonight—right now—this is for Rowe.
Chapter 10
Ty
I’ve played the voicemail over at least a dozen times. I feel like a child, hiding in the hallway while I listen, like I’m doing something wrong. Maybe I am. But I don’t know. I just can’t figure out what this means.
It’s Kelly. She left the message late last night, probably while I was in Cass’s room—in Cass’s room, with Cass, where I want to be right now. Instead, I am here at the end of the hall, bent forward in my chair by the fire exit and laundry room, holding a finger to one ear and my phone to the other. I play it again—hoping to get one more clue into what’s going on.
“Hi, Ty. I know, it’s…it’s late. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t going to call, but…gosh.”
Kelly laughs nervously.
“Wow, your voice. I haven’t heard it in so long. It’s just always been text messages, emails, Facebook. You sound…good. You sound good.”
It’s the pause—this pause—in her message that worries me. She is crying. I’ve held that girl through tears before, and I recognize the hiccup in her breath. She’s hiding it, but I know it’s there. She has to know I’d know, that I’d recognize it. And then her mask goes up.
“You know what, it’s okay. I’m just probably being stupid. It’s late, and the baby’s been up a lot. So, you know what? How about maybe I see you over Thanksgiving? Yeah. Let’s plan on it. You can meet Jackson.”
She lets out a single, breathy laugh.
“I bet you’ll get a baseball in his hand. Okay, so…I’ll just talk to you then. Really, don’t worry.”
Thing is, I’m worried. I’ve been worried since I checked my messages at midnight. I woke up at three in the morning and listened to it again, and if I’m being honest, I never went back to sleep. Every time I listen, I worry.