When I wake up, it feels like something awful is lurking in my stomach. I get ready as usual, hoping my routine will help shake off these worries, but by the time I make it to the kitchen for breakfast, I'm an anxious wreck.
I have to remind myself it's not Jamie's fault. He doesn't know anything about the situation with my father – how could he have known not to tell him where we are? But it doesn't change the fact my father is out there and armed with the knowledge of how to find us.
"Morning, honey," Aunt Lilly says. "You sleep okay?"
I force a smile. "Like a corpse."
"Good." She spoons some bacon onto my plate and hands it over. "I hope you've got an appetite. We've got waffles, too." She teeters over to the waffle maker and pulls some out, stacking them high on a plate before drizzling them in syrup. "Ah, you're awake, Lorraine. Want a waffle?"
I glance at my mother, who is stood in the archway. Her blonde hair is scraped back this morning, but several wild strands have managed to escape. Back home, my father didn't like her having a hair out of place – it feels nice to see her so normal.
If I tell her about Jamie, everything changes. This woman she's become, easy, relaxed, will be replaced with the other version, the one too afraid to let her guard down. She'll become frantic and paranoid, and by the end of the week, we'll have packed up our stuff and be ready to move on. It's why, when she takes a seat and asks me what's wrong, I smile and say nothing.
When I make it to school, I see Hayden is stood by his locker as usual, but this time, when some of his friends wander off to first period, I quickly make a beeline for him. He turns as I get there, looking surprised. I'm breaking all of our unspoken rules by being here, but this is an emergency.
"I'm sorry for talking to you at school," I say, "but it can't wait."
I expect him to tell me to leave him alone, but for a second, he looks concerned. He straightens up and pulls me closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. "What's wrong?"
Jamie's words come back to haunt me. I told him you were staying with your aunt in LA. My father is probably on a plane already. I take a deep breath. "I want to fight. Really fight. In the ring. Flying punches and everything."
The corner of his mouth tilts upward. "Flying punches?"
I fold my arms and crane my neck. "Yes. Will you let me?"
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans before leaning back on his locker. "I don't think so."
"Why not?" I ask.
He gives me a look as if to say, isn't it obvious? "Because you'll get hurt."
I'm about to storm off, but his hand shoots out and grabs my own, turning me to face him. I try not to think about how warm his fingers feel against my inner wrist.
He smiles a little. "Your heart is racing. I can feel your pulse."
I swallow hard before pulling away. "That's because I'm mad."
His eyes gleam back. "Why, because I don't want you to get hurt?"
"No." I'm acutely aware that I'm sounding like a brat. "Because you're so certain I will."
He raises an eyebrow. I think this is possibly the longest conversation we've ever had. And he's being nice. Kind of. "Even the best fighters do," he says. The bell rings, and he rolls his eyes before looking down at me. "Look, meet me after school. I want to show you something."
I'm about to tell him I'd been planning on getting some work done in the library, but he's already halfway down the hallway. Instead, I make my way to next period and spend the rest of the afternoon wondering what it is that Hayden wants to show me. Nothing rude, I hope, though I wouldn't put it past him.
When school finally lets out, I feel unusually nervous. I hurry to the parking lot, where Hayden is casually leaning on his car. He smiles a little and opens my door for me.
I sink into the seat. It's quiet for a few minutes as he pulls into the main road, and I run my hand back and forth over the leather. It feels wrong spending time with Hayden outside of our lessons. This is supposed to be business–I have a boyfriend. I wouldn't like it if Jamie kept going off with some new girl, so why can I do it?
"Where are you taking me?" I ask wearily.
Hayden smirks. "You'll see."
I continue to fidget, trying to look anywhere other than his pronounced, chiseled jaw. "I can't be home late," I say. "I have to–"
"Facetime with your boyfriend," he finishes.
I fold my arms. "Why are you saying it like that?"
"Like what?" He looks at me, the picture of innocence.
"Like I'm just so predictable," I say.
His smile is teasing. "Because you are."
"But I'm not."
"I've never met anyone as predictable as you, Maddison."
I scowl a little and look out the window. "If caring about my boyfriend is so predictable, then fine, I guess I am. It's better than being unpredictable."
"Says who?" Hayden asks.
"Says women. No one wants to end up with a guy who's unpredictable. They want someone they can count on. Someone who's dependable."
"Someone who's boring," Hayden says. The look he gives me suggests he's talking about Jamie, and already I feel defensive. Jamie might not be the guy who rides a motorcycle or the guy who stays up late, but he is the guy I can count on, and when you grow up in a house filled with chaos, it means everything.
Hayden suddenly reaches over. I jump out of my skin, thinking he's going for my thigh, when he raises an eyebrow and turns on the stereo. I swallow hard and try to settle my nerves, wishing this detour was over.
"Seriously," I say. "Where are we going?"
"I know spontaneity might be hard for someone like you, but try to relax."
I ignore his, someone like me, comment and look out the window. When we finally park up, it's outside what looks like an old fifties diner. "This is where you're taking me?" I ask.
"For now," Hayden says. "We have a couple of hours to kill."
He climbs out of the car and I follow him to the diner, where we take a booth near the back. It's pretty inside, all pale pinks and yellows, like something out of the movie Grease. I flick through the menu's milkshake selection while Hayden watches me from the seat opposite.
"I bet you'll have vanilla," he says.
I bite my cheek and quickly change my order. "Well, then you'd be wrong as usual. I'm having the caramel and popcorn milkshake."
Hayden lets out the quietest laugh. It's the first one I think I've ever heard. "You can get the vanilla, you know. I won't judge you."
The thought of Hayden judging me strikes me as funny, so I let out a laugh that seems to pique his interest.
"What's so funny?" he asks.
I'm saved from answering when our waitress, Sandy, comes over to take our orders. Hayden orders a chocolate brownie milkshake with extra whipped cream. I hesitate for a second before sheepishly whispering, "Vanilla milkshake, please."
"I'm sorry, honey," Sandy says. "Could you speak up?"
I clear my throat. "Vanilla milkshake, please."
Hayden can't stop his smile from forming, revealing the tiniest dimples in his cheeks. "We'll also get some of the hot wings, a bowl of nachos and two of your smokin' BBQ burgers."
The waitress smiles and takes our menus before saying she'll be right back. I turn to Hayden and fold my arms. He must notice my expression, because he leans forward slightly and rests his arms on the table.
"If you want to fight, you need calories. Protein."
When Sandy comes back with our milkshakes, things fall quiet. I glance across the table, finding it weird to see Hayden slurping milkshake through a straw. It's weird that I'm here with him, period. He is so reluctant to be seen together at school, but he's happy to take me out for food. It doesn't make sense–but then again, nothing about Hayden Walker makes sense.