Free Thorn Abbey by Nancy Ohlin

corporations, and Mrs. De Villier’s father is a US senator. They sit on all the most important boards; they’re invited to absolutely every social event that matters. They’re royalty, basically.”
    I sort of guessed that Max came from a wealthy family, but I didn’t realize they were like the Kennedys. Still, why isDevon telling me this at two a.m.? And why is she acting like a crazy person? She’s seriously freaking me out.
    “Max is the heir to the throne,” she says in a faraway voice, her hand still pressing against my chest. “I’ve met Mr. and Mrs. De Villiers, and they can be a bit . . . intimidating. They’re not going to be happy when they find out their son is hooking up with you.”
    “But we aren’t—”
    “Can’t you see that he’s using you to get over his grief? That you’re just a distraction? All the other girls know to keep their distance after what happened. He’s an emotional train wreck, and he needs time. Friends. Not some love-starved loner throwing herself at him.”
    “But I’m not—”
    “Becca told me that he tries to put on this act, like he’s so cool and above it all. But deep down, he’s really vulnerable. Romantic. Do you know that he proposed to her?” she sneers.
    “E-excuse me?” I’m not just freaked out anymore. I just feel sick to my stomach.
    “I don’t mean he gave her a ring or anything like that. But he told her that he wanted to marry her someday.” Devon smiles wistfully as if she’s reliving a memory. “Becca was so excited. We even looked at wedding dress websites together, for fun. She picked out this amazing gown. She was so gorgeous, shecould get married in sweats and get away with it. You saw her picture, so you know what I’m talking about, right?” She gives my chest a little shove and pulls away.
    “R-right.” This is a nightmare. Literally a nightmare. I’m going to wake up any second now.
    Devon trails her fingers across my bed. “You know, she used to beg me to let her have the room Saturday nights so they could be alone,” she says dreamily. “She had all kinds of creative ways of sneaking him in here.”
    In here. Wait. Was she saying . . .
    “You mean, this room was your old room . . . with Becca?” I whisper.
    “Of course. They insisted on giving me a different one, because of the circumstances. But I didn’t want it. This was Becca’s favorite room in Kerrith, and mine, too. It’s the biggest, and it has the best view. Besides, I feel closer to her here.”
    Oh, God. Now I really feel sick. I’m living in Becca’s old room. And probably even sleeping in Becca’s old bed.
    The bed where she and Max used to . . .
    Devon bends down. “I’m not going to tell you to stop hanging out with Max,” she murmurs in my ear, her black hair splaying across my face like a million fine needles. “But you shouldn’t let him use you like this. You’re a real catch, and you deserve soooo much better.”

    The next morning, I wake up to my phone. I must have a voice mail or a text message. It keeps beeping, beeping.
    I hoist myself on my elbows, groggily fighting the nasty cobwebs in my head. I wonder if this is what a hangover feels like. Not that I would know, since the only alcohol I’ve ever had is communion wine at church and the two sips of Budweiser that Kayleigh forced me to try once.
    Across the room, Devon is lying facedown on her bed, wearing only her panties. Her red dress lies crumpled on the floor.
    Her silver box sits on the pillow next to her head. The one containing Becca’s photo.
    You poor, poor baby. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?
    My chest tightens. I reach for my stupid phone. There is a text message—no, two text messages.
    They are both from Max.
    I frown. What could he possibly want from me? His good-bye seemed so final.
    He’s an emotional train wreck, and he needs time. Friends. Not some love-starved loner throwing herself at him.
    Surely, Devon was wasted.