Page 109 of Faux Real
“But—”
“I’ll see you after school,” Sawyer says, casting her a tight-lipped smile. “‘Kay?”
Corrine frowns, taking the keys begrudgingly. “Yeah, okay, fine.” She glances at Oliver. “You coming to the party? Should be a fun one.” She winks at him. “Open bar this time.”
“House parties aren’t my thing,” Oliver says with a shrug. “Plus, I’m not drinking these days.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Really?”
He nods. “Really.”
“Oh,” I hum. I didn’t expect that. “Good.”
Corrine rolls her eyes. “God, this school is full of losers.” She blows Sawyer a kiss. “I’m bored now. Bye, babe.”
“Let’s get you to homeroom,” Sawyer says once Corrine is out of sight. His hand hovers against my lower back as he glances back at Oliver, adding, “Later, Knight.” I don’t look back. I won’t look back. Only forward. “You doing okay, KC?”
“I’m so tired of people asking me how I’m doing,” I murmur.
“Oh, it must be so hard to have people who care about you,” Sawyer teases, letting out a soft laugh. “But seriously, you good? I’m here if you ever need to talk, you know that right?”
“I know,” I say as we turn the corner. “I know.”
“Why don’t you come to Lemar’s party? Blow off some steam?” Sawyer suggests. “Could be good for you. Have some fun, you know?”
“Last time I was at Lemar’s I fell into the pool because I ateyourweed cookies,” I remind him, a slight smile forming on my face. “Does that sound like fun to you?”
“That sounds like thedefinitionof fun!” Sawyer exclaims.
I roll my eyes. “Right.”
“Don’t worry, this time I’ll make sure you’re kept a solid distance away from the edibles,” Sawyer says. “Coolers only, I promise.”
“You tryna get me drunk?” I joke. “You think that’ll make me more fun?”
“You don’t need anything to be fun,” Sawyer says as we stop in front of Mrs. Patella’s classroom. “Just be you.”
I force a smile. “I’ll think about it.”
“All I ask.”
Just be you.
That’s hard to do when I have no idea who I am.
thirty-four
Solid Gold
OLIVER
Iwasrambunctiousasa child, always running around and breaking shit. High energy, my nanny would say, but my parents didn’t see it that way. To them, I was problematic. A destroyer of fine art and crystal knick-knacks. It was never my fault, not really. Once, when I was five, I shattered an antique vase into hundreds of pieces. Mum nearly had an aneurysm and spent a whole night trying to glue it back together. It worked. Sort of. Some pieces were missing, and you could see the cracks, but the structure held. The foundation was there. It wasn’tcompletelybroken.
That’s what I’m holding onto now. Thatwe’renot completely broken. That we’re merely cracked. There are artifacts in museums around the world that passed through many hands, that have been dropped, battered, scuffed. But they’re still standing today. We still feel awe in their presence. That’s because these priceless artifacts are quality-made. The finest material. Often gold.
Gold doesn’t lose its value. Even with scratches, its price doesn’t change. When it’s roughed up, you can melt it and morph it into something else. Sometimes, into something better. Something more beautiful. Something priceless. Something to cherish.
We were gold.
