Chapter Twenty-Three

Amber

“I’m almost starting to worry about you two,” Mr. Griffin said, suddenly appearing in front of the table in the back of the room Dean and I had claimed on the first day of Code Club.

When did he move from his desk?

I’d been totally engrossed—not at all seeing the code on my screen, but mentally sketching my next blog post. Dean sat next to me, close enough to touch, not that I would with Mr. Griffin present.

It had been two months since the concert, since Dean and I had officially become more to each other, and I still wasn’t used to the glow he caused to shine through me.

“You’re saying you don’t code the minute you’re home?” I asked, smiling as I stretched my arms over my head. I’d accidentally let myself slip to the common-laptop-hunched position who knew how many hours ago.

Mr. Griffin pursed his lips in the universal touché face.

“Regardless,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “There are fun things to do outside this classroom.”

I feigned a gasp. “There are?”

Dean chuckled. “What are these fun things you speak of?” he asked, diving right in with me.

Griffin rolled his eyes. “You two are lucky you’re my favorite students. I might have to kick you out and force you to go do normal things. Like eat and sleep and all that stuff.”

I waved him off. “Sleep is for the weak.”

Dean nodded, his arms folded over his chest. “I could always eat, though,” he teased.

“All right,” Griffin said, heading toward the door. “I’m throwing in the towel. You two are younger and that’s an unfair advantage.”

I rolled my eyes. He was likely only five years older than us, one of the youngest teachers at Wilmont.

“Have a great night being old,” I teased, and he laughed.

“Oh, I will,” he said, halfway out the door. “Nice dinner. Netflix. Sleep. It’s all the rage, you know.” He waved before disappearing out the door and down the hallway.

Two seconds passed before Dean turned, his knee brushing mine as he faced me from his chair. He leaned over and his lips pressed against mine in the sweetest kiss. I sighed between his lips, the deep craving finally attended to.

“I thought he’d never leave,” Dean said against my mouth.

I fisted his black T-shirt, tugging him closer. “Yes,” I agreed, swiping my tongue over his.

The contact set my nerves on fire, a delicious heat that consumed my senses and burned our surroundings to ash.

Dean’s hands rubbed up and down my spine as he paid great attention to my mouth, nibbling my bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. I trembled, all at once my lungs so full and yet unable to draw enough breath at the same time.

“Pixie,” Dean growled my name, the vibrations tickling my chest. “I’ve been thinking about that all day.” He pressed his forehead to mine, breaking our kiss as he slowed us down.

I closed my eyes, my heart racing as I caught my breath.

“Me, too,” I admitted.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to see you at school all day and not kiss you?” His hands settled on my knee, an electric current tingling all the way up my spine.

“No,” I said, giggling. “I don’t. I’ve never kissed myself before.”

“Well you should,” he said, smirking. “It’s the best.”

“Really?” I brushed my lips over his lightly, so much so it was hardly even a fair tease.

Another low rumble from his chest, and he claimed my mouth again.

In the back of my mind, I waited for the panic to steal my current bliss. Panic over being swept away in his kiss, his scent, so lost in the swirl of emotions that we forgot we were at school.

But it didn’t come.

Nothing but warm energy and an ache for more.

This was a kind of trust I’d never experienced before. A connection that spoke volumes from deep within me telling me everything was good, everything was right.

Dean, my friend, my competition. The boy who pushed me to be better—who sparked a challenge that had helped me heal myself these past months. Heal wounds I thought would taint me for the rest of my life. The dark marks that I was certain would ward off anyone else from ever truly loving me.

Dean gently pulled away again, a deep breath shuddering from his lips, and it looked like an effort to stay in his chair. “I need to finish one more page addition on the school’s site,” he practically growled.

“Fun break over,” I said, smiling, my lips still tingling from his kiss.

“To be continued,” he assured me before turning back to his gear.

The song “Friends” by Flight of the Conchords blared from the cell on the table at my back, effectively stopping me from returning to the blog work. I swiped the cell to answer Hannah’s call.

“Hannah,” I said, drawing out her name so she knew she was in trouble. She’d known I was in Code Club tonight and usually waited until I texted her to call me for the recap. She was two hours early.

“Amber.”

I instantly stood up, the sob in her voice putting me on high alert.

“Hannah? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Where are you?” The questions spewed from my mouth, my eyes widening as if that would help me hear better through her cries.

“Home. I’m f-fine.” The stuttered hiccup in her voice combated that statement, but I breathed easier knowing she wasn’t in a wreck on the side of the road somewhere—the same phantom road Mom was always hounding me about.

“Why are you crying? Do I need to come get you?”

Dean began packing up our gear, his eyes darting to me every few seconds. I loved that he was prepared to leave in a hurry if I gave the word.

“No,” she whined. “It’s my mom. She totally just went off on me. Kicked Jake out of the house.”

“Omigod,” I said. “What happened?” Flashes of them getting caught by either one of her parents doused me with ice water. Her parents weren’t insanely strict, but they definitely didn’t believe in sex before marriage, and they certainly wouldn’t stand for it in their house.

“She found out I’m on birth control.”

“How?”

Hannah was the definition of careful. She always did her research and switched up the places she got her pills from if there was even an inkling her mom would discover her. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep things from her parents; she just knew their stance on it. But she had to be safe. She and Jake wanted a family someday, but not now.

“I was attempting to write in to Ask Me Anything,” Hannah said, her sobs finally ebbing. I gasped as she continued. “Was going to ask how to finally tell my mom I was on the pill and how I’m about to turn eighteen and I just didn’t want to hide it anymore.” She sniffed. “But I didn’t hear her walk in or when she read over my shoulder. Honestly, she flipped out about the blog for longer than the birth control.”

“Oh no.” My voice was a whisper.

Me. My blog. That was the cause of my best friend’s pain.

“Right? I tried to talk to her, but she was livid…” Her voice trailed off as she succumbed to a fit of sniffles. “She acts all progressive, but then she totally flipped,” she finally continued. “So, I’m grounded. For life. She’ll prob take my phone soon.” She sighed. “Can you call Jake for me? Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him—”

“I will,” I said. “But he doesn’t blame you. You know he doesn’t.”

“I know. I’m just mortified. I can’t believe she was so mad at me. You think she’d be happy I was being safe.” She groaned. “Sorry to put all this on you.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” Guilt churned in my gut. “It’ll be okay, Hannah. It will. Graduation isn’t that far off and then everything will change. She’ll calm down. Just hang in there.” I had to pray that she would come around. See that Hannah and Jake were being so smart. Still, it didn’t stop the acid in my stomach from whirling, from sucking at the bottom of my heart, screaming that this was all my fault.

“Right.” She sniffed again. “See you at school tomorrow. Unless I’m grounded from that, too.”

“Love you,” I said, and I hoped she knew I meant it. Even if she didn’t know that I was behind the blog that led to this, I wanted her to feel how sorry I was.

“Love.” She hung up, and I stared at my cell for a few seconds before glancing at Dean, who stood next to me, both our bags over his shoulder.

“Are we going to her house?” he asked.

I shook my head, recounting the conversation to him.

“Damn,” he said. “That blog is everywhere. Sucks that she got caught writing in to it.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “And her mom’s reaction over it?” I bit my lip. “Like…the blog is there to help people not hurt them. Not turn them toward doing bad things. It’s so people don’t feel alone.”

Dean cocked a brow at me, setting our bags down on the table, seeing I wasn’t ready to leave. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous,” he said, and I snapped my eyes to his.

“What?”

“I checked it out after…after I saw Tessa’s comments. It’s on the dark web, which we both know means the person is trying to hide. And even if the topics it discusses are helping people, the owner would be naive to think people wouldn’t get hurt in the crossfire.”

I gaped at him, guilt and anger twisting my stomach. “Crossfire?”

He tilted his head, his eyes searching mine. “The parents who are protesting it, the people who are writing in. Tanner being up in arms about it. The stuff the blog is posting about. It’s awesome, but it’s dangerous. Things like that are begging for conflict. One person’s beliefs will always offend another. It’s just the way the world works.”

I narrowed my gaze, trying like hell to calm the fire inside me.

“The way the world works,” I said coolly. “You know, you’re right.” I shook my head, adrenaline coursing through my veins. “It is the way the world works. People get offended. By legit everything. And maybe it is risky for someone to want to help on a social media level and leave their self so open to attack and criticism, but at least that person is trying to create change.” I huffed.

The parents’ outrage, Hannah’s situation, Tanner’s personal vendetta against the school.

I was over it.

Over so many things.

Thousands of people wrote in to Ask Me Anything.

Thousands of people searching for comfort in a world full of judgment.

And I would not shy away from that. Not because of backlash or fear or any of it.

I trashed the post I’d mentally sketched earlier.

New words and ideas took shape, forged in anger and hurt for my friend. She was a great person. Her grades stellar, her aspirations for the future even better, and she had a boyfriend who loved her. Like the kind of true love you read about in books.

“I get that,” Dean said, drawing me back to the present. “I’m just saying I hope the person behind it has a thick skin and is ready to deal with the hits that will inevitably come.” His eyes churned with worry and…regret?

I nodded, trying to calm down. Several months ago, I might’ve torched the blog because something like this had happened.

Hannah didn’t deserve this.

But I had gained strength and had healed through the posts, through connecting with the people who needed it. So, I’d have a thick skin, sure, and I’d keep on going. Keep on doing what little I could to change…something. Anything.

One post at a time.

And in the meantime, I’d just have to find a way to make it up to Hannah.

“How’s your TOC prep coming? The challenge, too?” I finally asked Dean after I’d cooled down a bit as we walked to the parking lot.

When we stopped between our two cars, he admitted, “Slow. I had a change of direction.” He smirked, mischief flashing in his eyes. “I’ll be ready for you by the deadline.”

I smiled. Good. Maybe his would be more direct and effective against Tanner’s vendetta than mine. Our simple challenge of riling up Tanner had taken an entirely new turn in light of what I’d learned from the people writing in to my site. The meaning and worth went so much deeper than this now. Bigger than a challenge to get back at another male in power pushing his beliefs on the masses. There were so many like him in the world—people who downplayed victims’ experiences, male or female, or were so set in their ways they believed all who didn’t live the way they did were wrong.

Dean brushed his fingers over my forehead, shifting a piece of hair that had fallen out of place. “I’m slightly terrified of the look in your eyes right now.”

I laughed, the tension easing in my shoulders. “I’m just pissed.”

“I know.”

“It’s unnecessary,” I said. “I hate that Tanner is even in a position to push his ideals in our faces. But he’s one in a sea of powerful people trying to claim they know what’s best for all of us.”

Dean arched a brow.

“Like his stance against birth control and sex and all of it. He rallies against something that should be a choice for each individual. He’s not the only one, and it even goes beyond the sex stuff.”

“Like what?”

I sighed. “Like the fact that I’m just as good a hacker as you, but you—a boy—are the one who’s been deemed the best and resident hacker genius of the school.”

Dean’s soft smile fell.

“I’m not blaming you,” I hurried to add, furrowing my brow as I tried to rein in my rant.

“If you want the title, you can have it,” he said, waving his arm toward the darkened school. “Then Tanner would have you at his beck and call because he’d blame you for the video prank and task you with—” He hissed, raking his fingers through his hair. “All his bullshit. Maybe you would’ve gotten the video down sooner.”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“What are you saying?”

“That there are problems here. That there are serious differences between the way boys and girls are treated in this school—hell, likely everywhere—and it’s total BS. And that, on top of every other agenda Tanner or people like him pushes, is why blogs like Ask Me Anything pop up.”

“Back to that now?” His tone was sharper than I’d ever heard it. “I’m sorry about Hannah. I really am. But…that blog is a direct act of rebellion. I’m not saying I don’t freaking love the idea, but everyone who decides to write in should know that there is always a risk of getting caught, or catching backlash for it.”

I smacked my hand on my thigh. “If people would just talk to each other and actually listen, not just plan a counter-argument—so much bullshit could be avoided. Being there for each other. Having some damn compassion over judgment for once. That’s what the blog is about.”

“I didn’t realize you read it religiously,” he said. “And people should know what they’re getting into up front. And Tessa is one of those people writing in. Luckily our parents are cool, but with the shitstorm surrounding it, I’d rather her not be anywhere near it. There should be a disclaimer upon entry of the site. Something that warns anyone who writes in what they’re really getting into—that there is a growing protest against it, that parents aren’t on board and neither are school officials. That writing in could have consequences, like tonight with Hannah.”

He could’ve thrown an ice-cold bucket of water over me and I’d be less shocked. Though I could see his side, it was hard through my internal raging.

“Hey,” he said as I struggled to find words. “I get the bullshit in this school, okay? I get that all over the place there are tons of people who get flack for being different—girls or boys or anyone in between. I grew up with a baby sister and I’ve seen firsthand how she catches shit for things Sean and I wouldn’t. I’ve watched Dad teach her things he never taught us. How to keep an eye on her drinks and how to get out of a hold if some creep sneaks up behind her.” He sucked in a breath. “I get it. And you’re right, the blog…whoever is behind it probably has the best intentions. And I’m sure it’s awesome to have someone who understands, too. Not everyone does.” His eyes were genuine as he reached for my hand. “I’m all for strong girls,” he said. “That’s why I like you so much.”

His words, his deep understanding, melted the rage flaming in my chest.

My heart swelled and ached, and I had so many conflicting emotions storming my body I felt too tight in my own skin.

“You’ve always been a good listener,” I said. My thoughts flashed way back to when we first met physically—instead of online. I’d spotted him on his laptop, told him he needed more stickers as a joke, and our friendly rivalry had started. But even then, he’d always been there. Listening, helping, never hesitating when I sent him a chat box and a question. “DC,” I finally said.

“What can I say?” He smirked. “I love…” His eyes widened before he forced out a laugh. “Love to hear your voice.”

The air in my lungs tightened, my heart picking up its earlier speed.

“Says the boy who spent the first two years of high school only speaking to me through chat boxes,” I teased, my breath catching.

“Hey,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s our thing.”

I reached up and brushed my lips over his. “I like our things.”

He walked us until my back was against my car, kissing me long and hard and sweet. I tensed for a breath, waiting for the cold to seep into my bones from being pinned against the car. From being trapped. Locked in his embrace and his kiss.

But again, it didn’t come.

There was only Dean and how safe I felt in his arms. How much power I felt thrumming through my veins, knowing I was in control. Knowing he’d stop if I so much as blinked the wrong way.

But I didn’t want him to stop.

The taste of him—Red Bull and spearmint—swirled and churned and wound me up so much it was almost enough to erase every thought in my head.

Almost.

“Mmm,” I mumbled against his lips, loving the way his body was flush with mine. “I told Hannah I’d call Jake for her.”

He growled, his eyes on fire as he gazed at me. “Never,” he said, a laugh in his tone, “say another dude’s name when my mouth is on yours.”

A warm shiver rippled down my spine. “Or what?” I challenged.

He kissed me again, hungrier, faster, until my entire body trembled under his. Too quickly, he ended it, stepping so far away from me, the cold air raised chills on my skin.

The grin on his lips was more enticing than Loki’s when he was in the middle of chaos.

“Night, Pixie,” he said, walking around his car and sinking behind the wheel.

I smirked, shaking my head.

The boy was good.

Great.

And he was all mine.