Dear Ava

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

His face flattens. “And while you’re at it, let it all out. Say everything you’ve obviously been holding back for months. Do it now. Get it over with.” I frown. How has he gotten the upper hand all of a sudden? “Why?” “Don’t you want to? Isn’t this your first time back among us in ten months? Don’t think I don’t see all that rage inside you. Let me have it.” Is this one of his games? I swallow, caught between my need to lash out at a Shark—something I’ve dreamed about for almost a year—and my urge to ask him to explain why he’d kill the person who hurt me. Anger wins. “Fine. I hate you and your friends. You ruined me last year, but I won’t let you take this year from me or shape the person I’m going to be. If you make my life hell, I’ll do the same to you.” His eyes close, his thick dark lashes lowering briefly. “Oh, Tulip. You can’t make my life hell.” “I’d like to see you walk in my shoes.” His gaze goes down to my Converse. “No thanks.” “Asshole,” I say, my jaw tight. “Yes.” “Major asshole. Like the biggest dick at this school, and I don’t mean size-wise. I mean douchebag of major proportions. I can’t believe girls actually want you. You’re disgusting.” “Yes.”