Black Heart by Holly Black

grins. “That’s the spirit, kid.”
    The doors close, and Lila and I are alone. The light overhead flickers as the elevator begins its descent.
     
    We pull out of the garage and start toward the tunnel out of the city. The bright lights of bars and restaurants and clubsstreak by, patrons spilling out onto the sidewalk. Cabs honk. In Manhattan the night is just starting in all its smoky glory.
    “Can we talk?” I ask Lila.
    She shakes her head. “I don’t think so, Cassel. I think I’ve been humiliated enough.”
    “Please,” I say. “I just want to tell you how sorry—”
    “Don’t.” She flips on the radio, adjusting it past the news, where the host is discussing Governor Patton’s terminating the employment of all hyperbathygammic individuals in government positions, whether or not they’ve been convicted of a crime. She leaves it on a channel blasting pop music. A girl is singing about dancing inside someone else’s mind, coloring their dreams. Lila cranks it up.
    “I never meant to hurt you,” I yell over the music.
    “I’m going to hurt you if you don’t shut up,” she shouts back. “Look, I know. I know it was awful for you to have me crying and begging you to be my boyfriend and throwing myself at you. I remember the way you flinched. I remember all the lies. I’m sure it was embarrassing. It was embarrassing for both of us.”
    I press the radio button, and the car goes abruptly silent. When I speak, my voice sounds rough. “No. That’s not how it was. You don’t understand. I wanted you. I love you —more than I have ever loved anyone. More than I ever will love anyone. And even if you hate me, it’s still a relief to be able to tell you. I wanted to protect you—from me and the way I felt—because I didn’t trust myself to keep remembering that it wasn’t really—that you didn’t feel like I—Anyway, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re embarrassed. I’msorry I embarrassed you. I hope I didn’t—I’m sorry I let things go as far as they did.”
    For a long moment we are both quiet. Then she jerks the wheel to the left, tires screeching as she veers off the road, making a turn that takes us back into the city.
    “Okay, I’m done,” I say. “I’ll shut up now.”
    She slams her hand down on the radio, turning it on and up so that it drowns the car in sound. Her head is turned away from me, but her eyes are shining, as if wet.
    We careen around another block, and she pulls up to the curb abruptly. We’re in front of the bus station.
    “Lila—,” I say.
    “Get out,” she tells me. Her head is turned away from me and her voice shakes.
    “Come on. I can’t take the bus. Seriously. I’ll miss curfew and I’ll get expelled. I already have two demerits.”
    “That’s not my problem.” She fumbles around in her bag and lifts out a large pair of sunglasses. She pushes them on, hiding half her face. Her mouth is curved down at the corners, but it’s not nearly as expressive as her eyes.
    I can still tell that she’s crying.
    “Please, Lil,” I say, using a name I haven’t called her since we were kids. “I won’t say a thing for the whole way back. I swear. And I’m sorry.”
    “God, I hate you,” she says. “So much. Why do boys think that it will be better to lie and tell a girl how much they loved her and how they only dumped her for her own good? That they only tried to rearrange her brain for her own good? Does it make you feel better, Cassel?Does it? Because from my perspective, it really sucks.”
    I open my mouth to deny it but then remember I promised not to talk. I just shake my head.
    She pulls away from the curb suddenly, the force of acceleration enough to throw me back against the seat. I keep my eyes on the road. We’re quiet all the way back to Wallingford.
     
    I go to sleep tired and get up exhausted.
    As I pull on my uniform, I can’t stop thinking about Zacharov’s cold vast apartment where my mother is now imprisoned. I wonder what