Free Perfect Glass (A Young Adult Novel (sequel to Glass Girl)) by Laura Anderson Kurk

pines we could see through this kitchen window. The juxtaposition jarred me.
    “Had they?”
    “Of course not. She broke down and cried on their porch and they had a hard time calming her down.”
    “The last time I talked to her, she seemed to be really sad about something.” I poured a cup of coffee and mixed in cream and sugar. “It’s not that I don’t want to help her, Mom. It’s just that I don’t think I’m experienced enough. And she hates me.”
    “I wouldn’t be surprised if you learn that she misses you. She just doesn’t know how to connect—if she’s supposed to push or pull. But you, my darling daughter, did nothing wrong and have nothing to be ashamed of.”
    When I looked in the mirror this morning, I saw a girl accused of something bad. It really wasn’t all that surprising, to my mom or me, when tears started flowing.
    “Everything’s going to be okay, Meg.” She dried her own cheeks with the backs of her hands and used a paper towel on mine, pushing it close to my lashes to keep my mascara in place.
    “I think I sort of feel responsible for her now.” I pushed the towel away. “I wish I could turn that off like a light switch.”
    “I know what you mean. I have some switches I’d turn off, too.”
    I took a shaky breath and attempted a smile. “I’m okay. If Henry were here, he’d just drive over to Jo’s and she’d let him right in. He’d explain everything and she wouldn’t misunderstand him. He’s literally un-misunderstandable.”
    “Be careful, Meg,” she said, turning back to her window. “No one’s perfect.”
    ***
    It didn’t take long for me to see my secret had been leaked. When I walked through the front door of school, someone said, “Hey, Kavanagh, stalking is not love.” The hall erupted in laughter. Tennyson waited at my locker with a horrified look on her face.
    “What?” I said when I got close enough.
    She shifted slightly, exposing the pink, furry handcuffs attached to my lock.
    “I tried to break them, but there’s metal under all that fluff.” She tugged at them to prove it. “I swear I only mentioned what happened to a couple of people and I have no idea why it’s so funny. I think you’re a victim of a slow news cycle.”
    “It’s not a problem.” I pushed closer to my locker so I could try to open it. I just wanted to get my books and make it to English on time. Quinn picked that moment to walk by, doing a double take when he saw the handcuffs.
    He stopped and reached for them, yanking hard in an attempt to open them. Then he took a mechanical pencil out of a pocket in his backpack and jerked off the metal clip, which he used to pick the lock of the handcuffs. They sprang free quickly enough that his lock-picking history seemed like an interesting future conversation.
    “Thanks,” I said, reaching for them.
    But Quinn held the fuzzy handcuffs in his hands, looking them over closely, and he smiled. “Oh, hey, did you want to keep these for when your invisible boyfriend returns from his fake vacation?”
    “You’re a riot, O’Neill. You’re also late to English.” I turned the combination on my lock and finally opened my locker.
    He tossed the handcuffs in and reached for my copy of
The Rose Tattoo
, the play we were studying. I had to jog a little to keep up with him when he headed down the hall, but it kept my mind off the stalker jokes being whispered around me. Quinn flipped through my copy of the play, pretending he didn’t hear what they were saying.
    Nate Murray, one of Thanet’s friends, reached out to stop me. “Hold up, Meg,” he said. “How long have you been into old women?”
    I shook my head and kept walking.
    “I looked it up,” he said, following closely behind us. “It’s called gerontophilia and there’s a support group in Denver for you. I wrote it all down.”
    Nate probably thought he was being cute, but Quinn had obviously heard enough. He shoved Nate. Hard. Into the wall. I had no idea Quinn was