Page 37 of City of Love

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We spend the afternoon and into the evening with my mother, who clearly adores Lydia. She tells us about the class outing tomorrow—the Eiffel Tower, as I expected. Lydia gives me a stern look when my mom tells us we’ll be going up to the top, and I turn away to hide my smile. Once my mother excuses herself and tells Lydia to ask me for anything she needs, the two of us go to my room.

I watch as Lydia settles herself on my bed with ease, sitting cross-legged and looking up at me.

“All right,” she says. “Let’s make a plan. What should we do about Marcus? He wants to talk tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that won’t be happening,” I say before I can stop myself.

Lydia raises one brow at me.

“What?” I say. “Don’t look at me like that. Do youwantto talk to him?”

“No,” she admits, and I sit next to her on the bed, our backs resting against the wall. Our knees overlap, but she doesn’t seem to mind, so I don’t move.

“Well, whatdoyou want to do?” I say, looking over at her.

“Hmm,” she says, looking thoughtful. I watch as a range of emotions flit over her face—vulnerability and anger chief among them. “I’d really like to punch him in the nose.”

A bark of laughter escapes me. “If I’m not allowed to dangle him off the top of the Eiffel Tower, I don’t know that you should get to punch him.”

She makes a little noise of grudging discontent but doesn’t argue. “What about if I put hair removal cream in his shampoo?”

I pretend to consider. “Amusing, to be sure, but perhaps counterproductive, as it just screams for retaliation?”

“You’re no fun,” she says, but she grins over at me, and I smile back. She’s making light of this situation, which, even though she did it earlier, is still unlike her—mainly because not many things get under her skin like Marcus seems to have done. This is something she does when she feels scared, but not many things scare Lydia. If that’s what she needs to do right now, however, I can play along.

Even as that thought crosses my mind, though, the smile on her face dies, replaced by a tense frown.

“It makes me so angry, Noel,” she says, her voice quiet. “Because he scares me. And I hate being scared, feeling like a coward. I hate that I’m not stronger—”

“No,” I say, cutting her off as I shake my head. I turn my body so it’s facing her, and she does the same. “Don’t do that,chérie.You’re one of the strongest people I know. It’s true,” I say when she shoots me a skeptical look. And it is true. “You don’t let any one situation define you. You take charge of your problems. You don’t wallow; you focus on finding solutions.”

“I just hate feeling scared,” she says again, and I want to pummel the monster who put this look on her face.

“I know, sweetheart.” The endearment slips from my mouth without thought, but I ignore it and go on. “I know. But we’ll take care of this, and you won’t have to feel scared anymore. All right?”

She nods, looking tired. Her eyes stray to the window, where orange-pink light is filtering in as the sun makes its way from the sky. Then she looks back to me and sighs.

“So, what should I do?” She thinks for a second. “Maybe Ishouldtalk to him. Tell him firmly that it’s never going to happen. Tell him to leave me alone.”

“You could report him,” I say. “You reallyshouldreport him. What he’s doing isn’t okay.”

She bites her lip as she looks out the window. “I’m scared to do that,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just—let me try to handle it first, okay?” She looks at me entreatingly, and I sigh.

“Okay. But you’re not talking to him without me,” I say.

“I agree,” she says, “but don’t be so bossy.”

Right. I should probably try to change that. Being told what to do really seems to grate on her.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ll try not to. I don’t think you should be alone with him though.”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Me either. Don’t worry—I won’t.”

“All right, then—he wants to talk, so you’ll talk. And I’ll…” I trail off, waiting for her to tell me what she wants.

“You’ll stand silently but menacingly beside me.”

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