Suffer Love by Ashley Herring Blake Page A

Evanescence (I made a mental note to step up Livy’s education on good music), a kid named Jared kept making obscene gestures at her during Biology (I made a mental note to find this asshat and break his legs), and her photography class, which she had been put into accidentally, was the only part of the day that kept her from chewing off her own tongue. Her words, not mine.
    â€œI think I might go to the Photography Club meeting tomorrow after school,” she said.
    â€œWow. That’s serious. You’re getting
involved?
”
    She laughed and threw a balled-up paper at me. “I don’t know, I just really liked it. I was lucky I could get the lens cap off the camera today, but I love the whole idea of capturing these little moments and making them, like, last forever. Mr. Grayson showed us this one photo of a little girl chasing a plastic bag down an alley. I mean, that doesn’t sound very interesting, right? But it was. The way the light hit the bag and made it seem like it was alive, the way the girl reached out for it like it was . . . I don’t know. More than a bag.” She shrugged and glanced up at me. “Um. It was cool.”
    â€œThat’s does sound cool, Liv.” I smiled. I hadn’t seen her excited about anything in a long time. “When’s the meeting over?”
    â€œI think around six-thirty? It’s sort of a kick-off-the-year party thing. Annalise will be there too, and she said her mom could give me a ride home.”
    I slid the peppers into the hot oil. “Sounds good.”
    Then I told her about baseball and Josh, but I had no desire to mention Hadley yet, even if her last name were Jones. Back in Atlanta, Livy was constantly on my case about why I didn’t have a girlfriend and whether or not I still talked to Nicole. I expected our time in Woodmont, or wherever the hell we were, to be no different. Livy wasn’t exactly a little girl anymore, but seriously, she’s my little sister. I wasn’t even thinking about telling her that I’d met a girl—a girl I had deemed
magical,
for Christ’s sake—but she’d turned out to be a blast from the past of our own personal hell.
    As soon as dinner was ready, Mom blew in the door.
    â€œOh, wonderful. You made dinner,” she said in greeting.
    Hello. You’re welcome.
    She dropped her work bag by the fridge while I piled pasta onto three plates. Livy slammed her books closed and cleared the space so we could all sit down at the table.
    We started eating in silence. Mom refused to let us eat in front of the TV. She said dinners were family time. What a joke. I wouldn’t mind just me and Livy, so we could talk, but you add Mom to the mix and it’s like a few feet of chains have been wrapped around both of our throats.
    â€œHow was school, Olivia?” Mom asked.
    â€œFine.”
    â€œMake any friends?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œAnd your asthma? Any—”
    â€œFine.”
    Mom pressed her lips flat. “What about photography? Will you be all right in there or do you need a schedule change?”
    Livy shrugged. “It’s fine, I guess.”
    Mom nodded and I wiped my mouth with my napkin to cover my grin.
    â€œDid you know we’re only about a mile from the Y, Olivia? I signed us up for a family membership,” Mom said while popping a pepper into her mouth. “You can ride your bike there—slowly—and swim a little. What do you think about that?”
    â€œMaybe,” Livy said, and I tapped her foot under the table. She smiled without looking at me. Dad always said Livy had some mermaid blood in her. There was rarely a time from April to October that she wasn’t in the pool we had at our old house in Nashville. Not that she was going to smack a kiss on Mom’s cheek for the suggestion, but I knew my sister. She’d find her way to the Y sooner or later. It’s the only exercise she could do