Chapter 25: Ricky
Today was the day the "Secret Relationship Pact" went into the shredder.
I hopped out of the van and leaned against the door, my heart doing a frantic double-time against my ribs. I’d seen the texts from Roxie last night—the raw, honest ones about her parents, the ones that didn’t have any "Ice Queen" filters. She was done hiding, and I’d be damned if I let her stand out here alone.
When her blue sedan pulled into her usual spot near the front, a hush seemed to ripple through the students loitering by the entrance. Normally, Roxie would step out, wait for Fran and Catherine to flank her like a royal guard, and march inside without glancing at the "commoners."
Instead, she stepped out alone. She looked tired, her eyes a little shadowed, but she held her head with a kind of genuine strength that made her previous "perfection" look like a cheap imitation. She locked her car, shouldered her bag, and then did something that probably caused three different heart attacks in the senior lot.
She walked straight toward me.
I met her halfway. The silence was absolute now. I could see Fran standing by the brick pillars, her mouth literally hanging open. I could see the jocks pausing mid-laugh. Every eye in East Shore was on us.
"You look like you didn't sleep a wink," I said softly as she stopped in front of me.
"I didn't," she admitted, but a small, real smile touched her lips.
"What happened?"
"I spent the night explaining the concept of 'separate households' to a seven-year-old. It’s exhausting."
"You're here, though."
"I'm here," she whispered. Then, as if she were checking a box on a list of revolutionary acts, she reached out and laced her fingers with mine. Her hand was warm, steady, and unapologetically there.
We started walking toward the main doors. It felt like walking through a gauntlet, but the weight of her hand in mine made the whispers feel like background noise. We were halfway up the steps when I realized I’d forgotten something in my morning haze of nerves and coffee.
"Wait, hang on," I said, stopping near the top of the stairs.
Roxie arched an eyebrow, that old spark of sass returning to her eyes. "Getting cold feet, Henderson? It’s a bit late for that. We’ve already traumatized the cheerleading squad."
"No, nothing like that. It’s just... I was running late, and I totally botched my look." I leaned in closer, dropping my voice so only she could hear. "I ran out of my pencil this morning. I’m only half-lined, Roxie. I feel practically naked."
She stared at me for a beat, her eyes wide with disbelief, before she burst into a genuine, melodic laugh—the kind I’d only heard in the auditorium or on her porch. "Are you serious? You’re having a cosmetic crisis in the middle of our grand debut?"
"It’s a rockstar thing," I defended, though I was grinning. "Style is a commitment. Can I borrow yours? I know you keep the good stuff in that designer bag."
Roxie shook her head, but she was already reaching into her purse. She pulled out a sleek, silver-cased eyeliner—the kind that probably cost more than my last three guitar pedals. "If you break the tip, you’re dead. And I mean it. I’ll go back to hating you."
"I’ll be careful, I promise."
I took the pencil, using the reflection in the glass of the front doors as a makeshift mirror. I smudged a bit more onto my lower lids, darkening the look until it felt right again. I could feel her watching me, and when I looked back, she was smiling—not the smirk she used for the public, but something soft.
"There," I said, handing it back. "The mystery is restored."
"You are such a dork," she sighed, but she didn't let go of my hand as we pulled the heavy doors open and stepped into the main hall.
The atmosphere inside was electric. People were literally stopping in their tracks, turning to stare as we walked past. I saw Trevor the jock look at us, then look at the floor, totally confused. I saw Fran try to say something, but Roxie just gave her a brief, polite nod and kept walking. She wasn't being mean; she just wasn't playing the game anymore.
We reached my locker, and for a second, I forgot we were in a school at all.
"So," I said, leaning against the metal. "First day of the rest of our lives? Or just Tuesday?"
"A bit of both, I told Olivia about the divorce. And I told her about you."
"Yeah? What’d she say?"
"She asked if you were going to teach her how to play the drums like Georgie. She thinks the 'Rising Moon' thing is cool."
"Kid’s got taste," I chuckled.
Roxie leaned in, her forehead resting against mine for a brief, quiet moment amidst the chaos of the hallway. "Thank you, Ricky. For not letting me hide."
"I told you," I whispered. "I've got you."
The bell rang, loud and jarring, but neither of us moved. The secret was dead, the mask was gone, and as we finally headed toward our separate classes, I realized that borrowing her eyeliner was the least of the things I was going to share with Roxie George. We had a lot of noise to make, and for the first time in my life, I didn't care who was listening.