Free Rage: A Love Story by Julie Anne Peters

and stuffed animals. Maybe that’s why this apartment never felt like mine. Too much of Tessa left behind.
    “It’s a walk-in closet. If you
could
walk in.”
    Reeve snaps, “You don’t know what a closet is.” She charges me, bumps me backward, and shuts herself in the bathroom.
    I’ve said the wrong thing—again?
    My skin sizzles where she touched me. Water runs in the sink, and I think, Touch everything, leave fingerprints.
    Thunks on the stairs draw my attention and Novak suddenly bursts in. “Johanna.” She literally throws herself at me.
    I remove her arms from around me and flatten them to her sides. Her face disintegrates.
    “What?” I say, even though I know what. Make that who.
    Novak bites her lip and twists her hair over her shoulder. Her hair is thick and luxurious, the kind of hair you see in shampoo commercials. “I’m sorry about last night,” she says. “I didn’t know Dante was going to do that.” She tries to hold my eyes but can’t. “Okay, we talked about it.”
    My jaw drops.
    “You wouldn’t have been forced to do anything you didn’t want to. You could always say no. And you did.” She shrugs one shoulder.
    “Yeah. I guess I respect myself.”
    Novak swallows hard. “It wasn’t my idea. We were talking about you and I told Dante you were a lesbian and he thought that was cool. He asked if I’d be willing to do it with you so he could watch.”
    “You
did
tell him.”
    I don’t know what shocks me more. That she betrayed my confidence about my sexuality or that she agreed to the plan.
    “Hey,” she adds, “you should be flattered. Guys want you. Girls want you. You don’t even have to choose. You know I’d sleep with you, even without Dante.”
    Our eyes meet and lock.
    Novak’s intense gaze breaks off and her eyes shift over my shoulder. “You didn’t mention you had company,” she says flatly.
    Reeve is standing in the hallway. How long has she been there? She ducks around Novak and beelines for the open door.
    “No!”
    She’s past me. I race out the door and down the stairs to catch her. “You don’t have to go, Reeve. Don’t go.”
    She slows and turns. Her eyes have lost their luminescence. They lift up to the landing, where Novak is slumped in the doorway, separating her split ends.
    Reeve heads toward the van that’s parked at the curb. I’m not going to let her get away.
    Crushing grass in my bare feet, I step into a patch of goat-head thorns and yelp. I hop on one foot, trying to brush off the burs as I make my way to the end of the yard, where I stub my toe on the broken sidewalk. “Reeve. Reeve!”
    The van door slams shut.
    I lunge for the handle. “It’s only Novak,” I tell her.
    Reeve starts the engine. Exhaust coughs out the tailpipe and I have to raise my voice to be heard. “She’s just a friend.” The window’s open an inch, so I know Reeve can hear me. “Please. Whatever you heard …”
    Reeve meets my eyes. Hers are dark, and deadly.
    “Can I call you?” I ask.
    A flicker, a trace of uncertainty flashes across her face. She shifts into gear. I press my forehead against the metal trim over the window and ask, “Will you call me? Please?”
    She doesn’t jam her foot on the gas.
    “Do you have something to write with?” I say. “I’ll give you my number.”
    Reeve checks the rearview mirror and drives off.
    I storm past Novak on the landing and fling myself onto the divan. A bur is embedded in my foot and I pull my ankle up chest high to dig it out. “Thanks. Your timing sucks.”
    Novak doesn’t say anything.
    I glance up to see her checking out my privates. I spin away and stretch my shirt down over my knees.
    “Reeve Hartt?” Novak comes over and perches beside me. “You have to be kidding. She’s such a skank.”
    I whirl on her. “Shut up.”
    Novak flinches. “God. Are you sleeping together?”
    The bur pops out, and I throw it at Novak. “That’s none of your business.” I stand. “That’s all you