Logline

Grayson, an overwhelmed 17-year-old struggling to hide his miserable home life, must ask for help before he loses his scholarship and the best friend he secretly loves.

Blurb

Seventeen-year-old aspiring engineer Grayson Hicks would like to rebuild himself into a robot. No feelings? No problems. After his father walked out, shutting off his emotions was the only way to survive. Besides, if he ever gave in to something as useless as feelings, who would take care of his depressed, drugged-up mother? After all, she needs him.

Yet the night he discovers Val, his way-too-trusting best friend, naked in the backseat of his coworker's car, Grayson is confronted with burgeoning feelings he never expected. But falling in love with Val proves to be a complication Grayson can't handle, especially when his mom's depression worsens and his grades plummet.

With his emotions controlling him, Grayson's life is heading into a tailspin. Pretty soon, people are going to find out what's really happening in his house. If Grayson can't get his feelings under control, he could lose everything: his mother, his chance for a scholarship, and his best friend. Now it's Love versus Logic—and the gloves have just come off.

~Chapter One~

Are You All Right, Grayson?

8:37 a.m.

Even from the end of the hall, Grayson Hicks could see the angry bold lettering covering every inch of his locker, black and raw, like jagged claw marks. On the bottom righthand side, a corner of neon-green paper poked out like the tip of a knife. It wasn't until he got closer that he was able to make out exactly what they had written in black permanent marker.

Asshole. Creep. User. Man-whore.

Insults smothered the pale blue of his locker. Grayson stopped abruptly and did his best to ignore the rush of blood thrumming in his ears. Beside him, his best friend, Val, looked up from the cell phone cradled in her hands.

"Looks like you got a welcoming committee," she said, stepping forward. She nudged the corner of the paper with her toe and smiled. "Whose heart did you break this time?"

He grimaced. "Funny."

It wasn't the first time a girl had been angry with him. His dark-blond hair and pale, silver-grey eyes entwined themselves around most girls' hearts like a stranglehold. He knew a flash of his smile could start a stampede of pounding hearts in the hallways, and the heat from his stare could ignite a forest fire of fantasies.

It wasn't his fault he was the mirror image of his father. The sleaze.

Grayson clenched the rim of his paper coffee cup between his teeth and swirled the lock. When he opened the door, a landslide of notepaper slipped out and buried his feet. Val picked up a few and held them out, grinning.

He shoved his hoodie and a textbook in his locker, ignoring the papers. Waiting for Val to read them out, he took another sip of coffee before realizing the expression on her face had changed.

"What?" he asked, looking down at the black block letters. He grabbed a handful from the floor and shuffled through them until one of them made him freeze.

Justice for Jessie.

What was that supposed to mean?

Val leaned over to read the scrap paper in his hand. "Jessie Walker? Since when do you like Jessie Walker? She's not even your type."

Four days ago, the willowy volleyball star had confronted him after third period, hugging herself like it was the only way she could hold herself together, her face blotchy and shiny with tears. He knew it was exactly four days ago because he never forgot anything, especially time. His unparalleled power of recall was something he could always rely on, even if it meant remembering things he'd rather not, like Jessie and her limp blond hair hanging like straggly curtains against the sides of her face and the pathetic pleading in her glassy eyes.

Grayson could understand exponential and logarithmic functions. Polynomials. Differential calculus. Geometric sequences. Trigonometric ratios. Yet Jessie had been there, huddled against the wall with her hiccupping sobs, tormented by the only thing he couldn't understand.

Feelings.

It wasn't like this hadn't happened before. Usually, he could wriggle free with his charismatic smile and a kind word in the hallway, but the strained sounds that had gurgled in Jessie's throat sounded different. Desperate. At the time, he wasn't sure he could fix it by bestowing his usual grin on her.

He sifted through the angry notes, half expecting them to ignite in his fingers.

Was it his fault Jessie Walker had said yes that night? The word no had never crossed her lips. Not once, or he'd never have touched her. He wasn't that guy. He could never be that guy. Instead, she'd pulled him in with an insecure smile and a misty hopefulness in her eyes. She'd followed him around and clung to him. Jessie had begged for his attention for the better part of last year, and three weeks ago at Liam Murphy's senior-year house party, he'd finally let her have her way.

So now what? Jessie and her friends were mad at him for sleeping with her? Because he didn't show up with flowers and undying love the next day?

Grayson glanced around for his audience. He'd have to make sure not to run into Jessie or any of her friends.

Val took the note from him. "Jessie Walker?" she repeated. "What did you do to Jessie Walker?"

Shrugging, Grayson snatched the paper from her hand and crumpled it in his fist. "Nothing," he said, tossing it aside.

He'd been honest at least. He was sure he'd told Jessie that he didn't want a relationship. She knew that. Everyone knew. He was never supposed to be anyone's reason for existence. He wasn't the one they should trust with their fragile, incessant feelings. He could never share whatever it was they wanted him to feel. It wasn't personal. He just didn't have it in him. How could he possibly let himself feel anything after what had happened?

Feelings were for the weak, for those who liked to suffer.

He couldn't afford to be weak. Not now. He had to be the strong one.

Val squinted at him. She could read him like a book. "What's that supposed to mean exactly?"

"Nothing," he replied, slamming his locker shut. A few lockers down, a girl turned to look at them, her gaze dropping to the slips of paper scattered over the floor.

He wasn't to blame. He couldn't be. He didn't do anything to her, and he couldn't get wrapped up in thinking he had. He shook his head. He couldn't let feelings distract him. He needed to stay focused. He needed that scholarship; it was his only way out. It was better to have them think he was all wires and electronics, with a faultless internal clock, a multithreaded CPU, and an artificial heart that pumped strings of data instead of blood.

Or maybe he really was a pseudo-human, a human-shaped animatronic performing humanesque movements whenever his buttons were pressed.

Are you all right, Grayson?

Smile.

"It's just drama," he said. "Just the usual drama." Drama he'd have to ignore for the rest of the day. Were they watching him right now? He kicked a few of the papers and eyed them as they fluttered a few feet down the hall.

Nodding, Val tugged on his sleeve and looked up at him with her usual hopeful expression. "Don't let this get to you, okay? People are assholes. They don't know you the way I know you. Don't let this ruin your day."

Sometimes it was hard to handle Val's optimism. She meant well, but somehow, she always looked at the world with annoyingly rose-coloured glasses. She was always hopeful and was always ready to put a positive spin on something that was clearly a massive dumpster fire—like his life.

Grayson turned and stepped over the mess. "I'm done here."

11:55 a.m.

Morning classes crept by, each minute like an unending, unbearable hour. It was almost impossible to concentrate on the blurred, swirling equations in front of him, and the persistent hum of the overhead fluorescent lights swarmed around his ears like wasps.

Justice for Jessie.

Everyone sat twitching in their chairs, restless and eager to be outside in the last of the warm weather. When the lunch bell finally rang, kids sprang from their seats and gushed through the door and into the hallway. As usual, Grayson met Val at his locker.

"Let's go outside for lunch," Val said, as he crammed his backpack inside. Slamming the door shut, he averted his eyes, ignoring the black lettering. Most of the notes that he'd left on the floor had been kicked down the hallway, little neon reminders of someone's feelings, now crumpled and stepped on.

He glanced at the hall clock and nodded. "Sure."

"Why is everybody staring at you?" Val asked, her gaze sweeping up one side of the hall and then the other as they headed toward the lunch room. "Did anyone say anything to you about the notes?"

He shook his head as a group of whispering girls walked past, their mouths twisted with disgust.

How could he tell her that no one had spoken a single word to him the entire morning, like he'd spent the first two periods of the day in solitary confinement?

"Did you talk to Devon at least?" Val pressed, referring to one of his closest friends growing up. She ducked under his arm as he held open the door to the cafeteria.

"I don't have any classes with him this semester," he answered, his eyes flicking toward his old lunch table where a group of popular guys now sat, loud and laughing and oblivious to his absence. Did they even miss him?

"Look," Val said, jutting her chin toward a table near the corner. "They're looking at you weird. What the hell is going on?"

Turning, Grayson let his gaze swipe casually over the faces until Yvonne's long, shiny black hair caught his attention. They had biology together last semester and one date that ended in the back seat of his car. His usual wolfish grin froze in place when he realized she was scowling.

"Whatever," he replied, squaring his shoulders. "I'll grab some pizza and we can go outside."

What was going on? School used to be a reprieve, a place where he could let his shoulders drop half an inch. Something unseen began to spread through the cafeteria, drifting slowly like an invisible, noxious gas. Gentle ripples at first—hissing whispers, astonished expressions. Everywhere he looked, heads ducked to avoid him, and if they weren't avoiding his eyes, they were staring without hiding their contempt. The usual hum of chatter that normally bubbled through the sprawling lunch room was absent, and in its place buzzed a restrained hush that echoed in his ears as they stood in line to get their food.

"Okay, okay, stop looking!" she hissed at him through clenched teeth. "You really know how to be subtle. Now they're talking about us."

Grayson frowned. "How do you know?"

Rolling her eyes, Val moved in front of him. "It's obvious. Look at how Mallory is whispering to Yvonne and looking at you at the same time."

She waited for him to do as instructed. He looked over her head at the group of kids huddled at the table near the vending machines. She was right; they were staring, and it wasn't the usual look he received from girls. This wasn't the heavy-lidded, dreamy gaze he was used to. Now, he could practically feel their disdain creep across the floor and climb up his legs like twisting, choking vines.

Val covered her mouth with her hand. "See? Now look at Keegan and Mike. Same deal. Something is definitely up."

Grayson stiffened and turned away. This whole thing was probably orchestrated by Jessie and her friends, a silly plot to avenge her so-called broken heart. They were probably recording his reaction and planning to post it on social media to humiliate him. It was probably some messed-up game.

"Come on, let's forget it," he said, snagging a piece of pizza from the shelves in front of him.

He refused to play along, but it was exactly how the rest of the day went.

3:09 p.m.

Sitting in his white Acura RSX with its matte-black hood and rumbling exhaust, Grayson did his usual ritual: rear view mirror, side mirrors, hand on gear shift, vent tilts. Everything was right. To end, he glanced at the dashboard clock and mentally corrected its time.

Then he did it all again three more times, just to be sure.

Waiting. Waiting. Where was Val? He pressed buttons until all the windows whirred down and the AC kicked on. The air, too heavy and wet against his skin, sighed with the last green gasps only the end of September could muster. Everything was still so verdant and clinging and fragrant. Summer's final, exhausted yawn. He didn't remember enjoying any of it.

Finally, the passenger door opened.

"You're late," he said, as Val sank into the seat beside him.

He waited until a few cars had passed before pulling out of the parking space. Finally, after several minutes of silence, his curiosity overtook him.

"Okay, what? Do you know what's been going on?"

Val, still looking out the window, remained quiet. She wound the strap of her bag around her index finger until the tip became swollen and purple. Her silence hooked into his skin like a burr.

He sensed Val retreating into herself. "Please?" he prodded.

"It's not good," she said, turning toward him. "Are you sure you haven't heard anything about it today?"

Annoyed, Grayson slammed the car into a higher gear and the exhaust roared. "Obviously not."

Val cleared her throat, as though preparing him for something terrible. "It's bad, Gray. It's all over the school. I thought for sure you'd know by now."

She waited a minute before continuing, almost long enough that he began to feel the urge to pull over to get it out of her.

"The writing on your locker, the notes, the stares—" She broke off, exhaling a long, controlled breath. Her hand slid over his on the gear shift.

"It's because Jessie Walker killed herself last night."

He put the car in neutral and coasted toward the red light. A strange emptiness gushed through him and spread like a cold, lacy frost through his veins until it prickled his fingertips and froze his hand to the steering wheel.

Jessie Walker killed herself last night.

Was it his fault? Was everyone blaming him?

The questions hung in front of him like a gauzy wraith as they passed the Shoppers Drug Mart on the corner. He weaved in and out of traffic in a daze and almost drove through a red light.

What had gone wrong? Who was to blame? A small part of his well-organized brain acknowledged that identifying the real culprit didn't make Jessie Walker any less dead.

Did it even matter now? It was too late.

"Suicide," Val said, breaking into his thoughts. "She's the first one since that kid with the cleft lip back when we were in grade nine. What was his name? Remember?"

Anton Kowalczyk. Dusty hair, slumped shoulders, dirty fingernails. Two years older. He remembered.

"Suicide," he repeated, rolling it around on his tongue like a pill he couldn't swallow. Somehow saying the word out loud made it so terrifyingly real. His heart stuttered in his chest.

Was it his fault?

He pulled himself straighter. Why was he getting so worked up? It's not like they'd been an item. He had ignored her until that night. It was only one time.

One time.

They drove in silence until they reached Val's dead-end street where the old maple trees conspired over them and the afternoon shadows stretched lazily across the modest, well-tended lawns. The whole neighbourhood was continuing their day, as though nothing had happened. Beside him, Val shifted in her seat. She wanted to say something else. She always chewed the inside of her cheek when she was thinking, especially when it was something she didn't want to talk about.

"How?" he asked. He didn't want to know why.

Val wriggled in her seat. "Her mom's prescriptions or something. All of them. I guess they found her unconscious, but it was too late."

His heart squeezed as another gush of ice flooded through him. He pulled into her driveway and let the engine run. Like it mattered. He couldn't escape something like this.

Val reached for his hand on the gear shift again and laced her fingers through his. It felt small and smooth and warm, a tiny creature he could crush with one squeeze. He looked at her golden-brown skin and long, coral-tipped fingernails, his breath trapped in his chest.

Sighing, she looked up at him with a worried expression. "Gray, there's something else."

His throat tightened. He knew it. The white siding of her house began to blur into a fuzzy haze.

She clenched his hand harder, keeping him steady, like she'd always done. She was his life raft, the only thing keeping him from going under.

"Everyone's saying she left a note," she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "And you're in it."