Free Heartsick by Caitlin Sinead Page B

wanted me to go?”
    Something bristles under my skin. “Luke is not a jerk for wanting you to go to the hospital. Shit, Mandy, you had pieces of glass in your arm and were bleeding like crazy.” I don’t raise my voice often, so the soreness in my throat is unnatural. “And you shouldn’t have taken that weird crazy drug Zachary gave you anyway. I can’t believe you did that. You know how I feel about hard drugs.” I scrunch my mouth and busy myself with stirring my tea.
    When I look up, her purple eyes are focused on something to my left. Or she’s just avoiding looking at me. She clunks her teacup in the sink. “I shouldn’t have swallowed that tablet, but not every drug story is related to your uncle.”
    Heat flashes through me and I can’t move. I want to punch something. My teeth hurt from grinding against each other.
    She sighs. She reaches for my shoulder, brushes it with her fingertips and pulls back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” She leans against the counter. “All I was trying to say was Luke didn’t need to imply that Zachary hit me. He should have been able to tell I’m not like that.”
    It will do no good to explain that no woman, or man, is “like that.” But sometimes it’s indelicate to throw PC arguments at someone who has such deep ties to an issue you’ve only read about. I’ve been in the dark too. I have a sordid story too. That’s one of the reasons we’re so close. But despite the fury still broiling in my insides, I appreciate that her dark was a lot darker than mine.
    “You know, Luke wasn’t judging you, he was just assessing the situation.”
    “Okay, okay.” She sighs and looks toward the ceiling. “He’s not a jerk.”
    “He’s not a jerk.” My fingers curl into my palms.
    She stares at me. “Quinn.” She tips her head and grins. “You really like him, don’t you?”
    Ding
. My Pop-Tarts slam up. My heart almost stops. Flustered, I pull them out too soon. They burn my hands. As I suck on my red, sore finger, I say, “Wah mathes you thing thah?”
    Mandy laughs. We fall back to normal, and I smile, sore finger still in my mouth.
    “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” she says. She sighs and rushes her hands through her hair before she goes to our little table for mail and catalogues and pulls out a piece of paper. “I got this a few days ago.” I hold it. It twitches in my hand as I take in the words. Jail. Release. Visit.
    Her dad.
    “He’s coming to see me in November. My stupid mom not only told him I’m at Poe, she gave him my address.” She crushes her nose into her palm and shakes her head.
    I don’t love it when she calls her mom stupid, but then again, her mom does some stupid things. Still, what’s done is done. “Don’t be afraid,” I say. I hug Mandy for a long time. “If he keeps contacting you, my dad knows people who can help you get a restraining order.” The last time she saw her dad, when she was in high school, she insisted on a public place. He still slapped her and grabbed her wrist. He would have done more if not for some fast-acting sandwich artists.
    She pulls away from the hug. “I might see him. It might be different this time.”
    “Are you sure you want to do that?” I say, trying to find the right balance between I’m-your-friend-and-I-support-your-decisions and are-you-fucking-nuts. “Will things be that different just because you have me and Conrad and—”
    “I know I have you guys,” she says. “But that’s not what I mean.”
    I shift toward her. “I don’t think it’s wise to think he’ll somehow be different.” Some people don’t change.
    She shakes her head. “No, not him. This time
I’m
different. I think.” She looks at me with her deep purple eyes, and then shakes her head.
    “I know you’ve grown and become braver,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you.”
    She swallows. “I feel...stronger.”
    I open my mouth, not sure what to say. My