Rage: A Love Story by Julie Anne Peters

my eyes from the page, my heart hammering in my chest. I look at Robbie. He’s staring into his lap, playing with his string.
    God, if this is true …
    darkdarkdarkdarkdarkdark … covercovercovercover
    The rest of this page is filled with that. Then there’s a third page.
    I cot my mom shooting up and she says get out. I told Reeve she didn’t believe me. I get the needle and Ishow Reeve and she takes it. She tells me forget it and stay out of moms way. She keeps the needle. I find it and I smell it smells like viniger. We hide in the closet. Evrynight we hide in the closet he finds us. We disappear we cover oursells with all the cloths it’s hot and suffcating dark. darkdarkdarkdark we covercover. Reeve says does he hurt you? I say no She says he hurts me. He burns me with his cigarette. He burns me too but I don’t tell Reeve .
    I shut my eyes, but the next line has already wormed its way in.
    Reeve cuts. She doesn’t know I know …
    My stomach hurts. I can’t—
    I fold the pages together, hoping the words will fester, pop, ooze down the crease and off the page.
    I turn to Robbie. “How much of this is true?”
    He says, “Negative zero.”
    Is he lying? I lied on my essay. Everyone lies.
    God. I can’t turn this in to Mrs. Goins. She’d have social services or whatever all over them. But what if she should? Or what if it’s a bunch of bullshit?
    Does Reeve cut? I’ve never seen scars, but I never get past what shows—her face and breasts and legs and eyes. Especially her eyes.
    “Where’s Reeve?” I ask Robbie again, swinging out of the desk. “Is she coming for you?”
    “She doesn’t come for guys.” He exaggerates a grin. “Do you want me to keep writing?”
    “You know what?” I round the teacher’s desk. “I think this is enough. Maybe tomorrow we can start on the best moment.”
    “We?” Robbie asks.
    I have cramps. Head and stomach cramps. “You,” I say. “I meant I’d be here for you.”
    He stands and scrapes his case across the desktop, then saunters to the door. He says, “I’m going to meet her now. If you want to come.”
    She sits cross-legged on the grassy knoll in front of the school, gazing up at the sky. Twisting her head slightly as Robbie tromps down the hill, me behind him. When she sees me, she springs to her feet.
    “Hi,” I say.
    She looks the way I feel: dismantled. We lock eyes. Robbie plops on his case on the grass.
    Reeve mumbles, “I need to get Robbie home by four.”
    “No, you don’t,” Robbie says.
    Reeve fists his temple.
    I wince. Does she have to hit him so hard?
    She peers up the street. “There’s our bus.”
    “I’ll give you a ride home,” I say.
    A look of horror streaks through Reeve’s eyes. “I don’t want you coming to my house. Ever. Again.”
    “Okay. Then I’ll drop you at the corner.”
    She levels me with her stare.
    Reeve, please
, my eyes plead.
Let me help you, be with you
. “Later, then?” I say. “Can we meet somewhere?”
    Her eyes lose focus. “Not tonight. I can’t tonight.”
    “Sometime? Anytime.”
    A long moment passes. I hear the bus grinding to a stopand she goes, “You don’t want this. You don’t need me in your life.”
    I take a step closer to her. In a lowered voice, I say, “Yes. I do.”
    She can’t help but look. Her breath seeps out between her lips.
    A hand touches my arm and I flinch. Robbie says, “You know what I want? A grilled cheese sandwich.”
    Reeve and I go, “Shut up.” This makes us laugh.
    Reeve hugs his head to her and answers, “Okay.”
    Okay? To meeting me? Or to the sandwich? The bus door opens and we all tear down the hill. Robbie gets on, then Reeve. I watch through the filmed, scratchy windows as they take seats together near the middle.
    The bus pulls out. Reeve turns to look out the window at me. Her eyes hold the longing I feel.
    Blaring music in the background amplifies Novak’s rant. “If she thinks I care that she’s kicking me out, she’s delusional.