yearbook pages ten years later. She had wanted her life to matter.
"Tel me about it," Beau said with another snotty laugh. Because Beau thought even wanting that kind of thing was a sign of weakness. "I guess becoming Miss Popular, Queen of North Val ey High, means you have to give up everything you love. Sounds like a great bargain. Real y"
"You don't know what you're talking about." She eyed him, taking in the proud, defiant tilt of his chin and the way his dark hair fel so messily over his face and neck, then looked back
66
at the road. The dark pavement stretched out before them, the mountains rising in the distance. The sun was lowering in the sky. "I didn't give up anything."
"Uh-huh." Beau was shaking his head again. "Look at yourself."
"So?" she demanded, opening her arms and looking down at herself, pleased with what she saw. Her silky, dark brown hair was pin-straight past her shoulders--she had her blowout down to a science. She knew her Dior mascara was perfect, because she'd slept on it before and it had stil maintained
its curl. She had chosen this particular pair of Lucky jeans because they hugged her tennis-toned legs.
But she knew that wasn't what Beau was getting at. What he meant was that back in the day, she would have been rocking matching ratty Converse
and a ratty sweatshirt, the better to look like a homeless person.
Oddly, not a look she was al that thril ed to remember.
"You look like you belong in a magazine," Beau said, and it wasn't a compliment. "Al glossy. I can't even imagine how long it takes you to get dressed in the morning, to make yourself look like that."
Something cold bloomed between Lila's shoulders and slid its way down her spine. While Lila knew for a fact that Carly just rol ed out of bed three
minutes before homeroom looking perfectly adorable, she, on the other hand, had to get up pretty
67
early to prepare the Lila Beckwith she wanted everyone to see. Sometimes it was exhausting, but she stil did it, because she had to.
"And the only thing I've heard you talk about in the past three years is your boyfriend and how popular you are." He made a derisive noise. His eyes were on the road. He wouldn't even look at her when he said it. "But the funny thing is, I don't think you actual y like your supposedly cool new friends, do you? Because you never look happy. Not the way you used to."
Lila gave him a cool look. "Let's get real, Beau," she suggested mildly enough. "You probably spend just as much time on your careless hipster costumes as I do on looking normal, and we both know you go out of your way to act like you're al ergic to the very hint of popularity of any kind. Which takes a whole lot more energy than just...hanging out with people."
"That's what you cal your mission to be best friends with Carly Hol ander?" Beau asked, laughing slightly. " 'Just hanging out'? What about the part where you had to completely turn your back on the person you'd been for your whole life in order to get her to be your friend?"
"She is my friend," Lila said quietly.
"Yeah, now," Beau said. He braked, letting the car rol to a stop at a red light. He turned to look at her, his blue eyes dark in the suddenly way-too-close interior of the car. "Once you completely changed. What was wrong with you before?"
68
Lila didn't know how to answer that. How could she tel him that everything was wrong with who she'd been? How could she tel him that, when he'd been such a huge part of it?
The more Beau had disappeared into himself and his misery over his family, the more she'd felt alone. She hadn't real y had him anymore--he'd been
too angry and too closed off. So she hadn't had anything. She'd wanted more. And once she'd started wanting more, she saw what she had--and who she
was--in a brand-new, highly unflattering light.
Suddenly, he leaned toward her.
"What...?" She flinched away in surprise.
But he was only rummaging in the backseat. He pul ed a hoodie from the rubble on the
"Tel me about it," Beau said with another snotty laugh. Because Beau thought even wanting that kind of thing was a sign of weakness. "I guess becoming Miss Popular, Queen of North Val ey High, means you have to give up everything you love. Sounds like a great bargain. Real y"
"You don't know what you're talking about." She eyed him, taking in the proud, defiant tilt of his chin and the way his dark hair fel so messily over his face and neck, then looked back
66
at the road. The dark pavement stretched out before them, the mountains rising in the distance. The sun was lowering in the sky. "I didn't give up anything."
"Uh-huh." Beau was shaking his head again. "Look at yourself."
"So?" she demanded, opening her arms and looking down at herself, pleased with what she saw. Her silky, dark brown hair was pin-straight past her shoulders--she had her blowout down to a science. She knew her Dior mascara was perfect, because she'd slept on it before and it had stil maintained
its curl. She had chosen this particular pair of Lucky jeans because they hugged her tennis-toned legs.
But she knew that wasn't what Beau was getting at. What he meant was that back in the day, she would have been rocking matching ratty Converse
and a ratty sweatshirt, the better to look like a homeless person.
Oddly, not a look she was al that thril ed to remember.
"You look like you belong in a magazine," Beau said, and it wasn't a compliment. "Al glossy. I can't even imagine how long it takes you to get dressed in the morning, to make yourself look like that."
Something cold bloomed between Lila's shoulders and slid its way down her spine. While Lila knew for a fact that Carly just rol ed out of bed three
minutes before homeroom looking perfectly adorable, she, on the other hand, had to get up pretty
67
early to prepare the Lila Beckwith she wanted everyone to see. Sometimes it was exhausting, but she stil did it, because she had to.
"And the only thing I've heard you talk about in the past three years is your boyfriend and how popular you are." He made a derisive noise. His eyes were on the road. He wouldn't even look at her when he said it. "But the funny thing is, I don't think you actual y like your supposedly cool new friends, do you? Because you never look happy. Not the way you used to."
Lila gave him a cool look. "Let's get real, Beau," she suggested mildly enough. "You probably spend just as much time on your careless hipster costumes as I do on looking normal, and we both know you go out of your way to act like you're al ergic to the very hint of popularity of any kind. Which takes a whole lot more energy than just...hanging out with people."
"That's what you cal your mission to be best friends with Carly Hol ander?" Beau asked, laughing slightly. " 'Just hanging out'? What about the part where you had to completely turn your back on the person you'd been for your whole life in order to get her to be your friend?"
"She is my friend," Lila said quietly.
"Yeah, now," Beau said. He braked, letting the car rol to a stop at a red light. He turned to look at her, his blue eyes dark in the suddenly way-too-close interior of the car. "Once you completely changed. What was wrong with you before?"
68
Lila didn't know how to answer that. How could she tel him that everything was wrong with who she'd been? How could she tel him that, when he'd been such a huge part of it?
The more Beau had disappeared into himself and his misery over his family, the more she'd felt alone. She hadn't real y had him anymore--he'd been
too angry and too closed off. So she hadn't had anything. She'd wanted more. And once she'd started wanting more, she saw what she had--and who she
was--in a brand-new, highly unflattering light.
Suddenly, he leaned toward her.
"What...?" She flinched away in surprise.
But he was only rummaging in the backseat. He pul ed a hoodie from the rubble on the
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