67 | Sanity, Or Lack Thereof

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When soccer season ended at Kaiserslautern, Joanna couldn't have been more grateful. It was the first time in a long while she was glad to be off of the field—for good.

She hoped she wouldn't have to spend another year there, but the Lieutenant didn't seem to be moving any time soon. Her position was starting to sound steady—a word Joanna never associated with the Lieutenant. The only thing steady about the Lieutenant was Sir Harold. Joanna was convinced that the flight overseas was what killed Sir Harold the orange tomcat, but the Lieutenant wouldn't hear it.

If I have to spend another year in this shit hole I might actually maim myself, Joanna thought to herself as she packed up her duffle. She was pointedly avoiding the fact that Arden was coming around the corner, which meant—

Someone grabbed her by the back of her sweatshirt. Joanna grunted as her back was thrown against the lockers, the combination lock wedged against the small of her back. She turned her chin up, eyes narrowing at the sight of Georgina glaring down at her. Joanna might act tall, but Georgina was far taller.

Georgina flattened her forearm across Joanna's collarbone, pushing hard.

"If you ask nicely, we can forego me carrying you over the threshold," Georgina said.

"I'm not a sack of potatoes," Joanna said.

"Could've fooled me," Georgina said.

"You should come with us," Arden said. Joanna kept her eyes locked on Georgina, but that goddamn smile was enough for her to waver. She blinked fast and spared a split second glance at Arden.

Her heart beat heavily in her chest, reminding her why her eyes were burning all that month. Her skin crawled where Georgina pushed against her sweatshirt. When Joanna remained quiet, Arden looked up at Georgina and sighed, hands on her hips.

"All right then," Arden said at last. "We may not have practice, but you still work for my Auntie. You'll never be able to afford that tattoo without her, you know."

It was half-finished. Joanna had one, maybe two sessions to go until the tattoo was done, but that still left her other leg exposed.

"Fuck tattoos. They're for addicts, right? Should've figured," Joanna said, and she knew she crossed a line just by the tick in Arden's jaw. She would have smiled if Georgina didn't have her by the throat.

She knew what Arden wanted to say, and how it would sound coming out of her mouth. "You know I use medicinally," like she was a suburban mom justifying a facelift.

"Careful," Arden seethed with a sickeningly sweet smile.

"You'll have to drag me over the threshold," Joanna hissed back, and before Arden could so much as spit in her direction, Joanna ducked out of Georgina's hold and ran for it.

She could feel her heart pounding, compounded by the fact that she knew this wasn't real, and that in real time, she was trying to wake the hell up. She could feel it thumping to the sound of Georgina's feet on her heels, only for Joanna to come skidding to a halt at the sight of Arden's Sisters on the other end of the hall, down the long corridor stretching away from the locker room.

Joanna's sneakers caught traction. She touched a hand to the tiles as she pivoted, narrowly dodging Georgina's hand reaching for her sweatshirt. Joanna bolted between the cafeteria pillars, fully aware that as she jumped over tables, that she was in Bradshaw. She was wearing her uniform. Her sneakers—they weren't sneakers at all, they weren't meant for running on tiles, not one bit.

When she turned the corner, her feet lost momentum and traction. She slammed into the wall, only to be suffocated by Georgina grabbing her by the hair and shoving her face into the brick. She grunted as Georgina whipped her off of the brick and threw her against the opposite wall.

"We don't need you at your best anymore," Georgina snarled into her ear, her fist twisting Joanna's arm behind her back. "I've been holding back all season—I can't wait for Dodge to let me break your bones, Joey."

***

Joanna jolted awake. Her hands went to the comforter over her chest before she shifted her eyes across the ceiling and to the sunlight bordering the window curtains. Her bedroom didn't have curtains, last she checked.

She sat up, her hair the size and color of Mars in the dark Mason guest bedroom. She rubbed a hand over the side of her face and sneered at the greasiness that settled in overnight. She grabbed her shirt from the pillow next to her head and rubbed it over her face before getting up and putting it on.

Joanna rolled nimbly out of bed and landed on two secure feet. No broken bones. Truthfully, Joanna never broke a bone in her body and she tapped on the wooden end table just to keep in Karma's good graces. The worst injury she had was a fractured wrist in elementary school for doing something stupid. After that, the Lieutenant claimed Joanna's bones were made of metal.

It would take more than Georgina Saber to break them if that were the case.

Joanna patted her hands to her legs, and then to the rugged skin on her inner thighs. Out of habit, she looked for blood. Her hands came up clean. She couldn't exactly think about Arden Dodge without associating her with those cuts.

She rubbed her hands off on her shirt before jumping into a pair of sweatpants and hiking them up to her hips. She yanked the cord tight and tied it as she headed down the hall to Rosalie's bathroom.

Joanna hesitated at Rosalie's door.

To think I came so close to suggesting we share, she thought to herself, grinning. She shook her head as she backed into the restroom and shut the door. It was for the better that Joanna was assigned the guest bedroom. If she had any say in it, she'd be all over that gorgeous tan skin every second of the night. The look on Rosie's face when Joanna grabbed her by the—

Joanna sighed, her hand in her hair. She couldn't very well expect Rosie to go along with that, and chances were, the weekdays would be even more unlikely.

Rosalie Mason was the type of girl who had a set sleep schedule. Joanna couldn't interfere with it, no matter how tempting the matter. Joanna decided that the chances of Rosalie thinking about sharing a bed were about as likely as Sami Griffin being straight.

Rosalie had, however, thought about it almost every time she woke the previous night. She couldn't stay asleep when she was wondering if Joanna was awake, if Joanna was comfortable, what Joanna was doing. Just having Joanna in the house was enough to drive her sleep schedule crazy.

By the time she heard Joanna close the bathroom door, Rosalie was wide awake. She put her hands in her mused, gnarled hair and decided that she was going mad. It wasn't the first night she lost sleep over Joanna, but it was different this time. It wasn't anxiety so much as it was...

What was it?

Rosalie pinched her thumbnail between her teeth. Did she want to... share the bed with Joanna? I've never slept in the same bed as anyone other than Sami, she thought. It was easy to share a bed with Sami because they never cuddled, snuggled, or anything of the sort. But if she shared a bed with Joanna, would she do that? Was that allowed?

You are not sharing a bed with Joanna just because she's in the same house, her logic said, as reprimanding as it was disappointing. Her logic was right, though: Her mother would know in a heartbeat, she was sure of it. She didn't know how her mother would know, but something told her that Jenn Mason had a sixth sense that involved knowing when Rosalie was up to something she shouldn't have been.

And Joanna Spencer was on that list.

Rosalie changed for the day—a sweater, fluffy socks, and leggings—and went out into the hallway where she intercepted Joanna leaving the restroom and her mother emerging from her room down the hall.

Rosalie halted and, likewise, Joanna did as well. They stared at one another before looking over at her mother, whose hair was tied up in a topknot. Without makeup, the dark shadows under her mother's eyes were visible against her pale skin.

Her mother flattened her hands over the front of her robe and said, sharply, "Well, don't mind me, ladies. I'll be making coffee downstairs."

"Okay. We'll be down in a sec," Rosalie said, and as her mother slipped past them, she laid a hand on Rosalie's cheek and gave it a pat. Rosalie wrinkled her nose up, resisting the urge to smile as her mother hurried down the steps.

Her mother glanced back at them over her shoulder, and Rosalie was thankful that she hadn't moved yet. Her mother's narrowed eyes, however, made a jolt strike up her spine. She turned to Joanna to whisper, "I think she's gonna question you."

"I already have a plan. I just need to tell the Lieutenant," Joanna said, holding her hand out for Rosalie's phone.

"What happened to your phone?" she asked as she handed it over.

"Chucked it out a moving car window," Joanna said. Rosalie's eyes widened, and Joanna merely rolled her eyes, as if such a thing were commonplace in Germany. "Gucci already texted me, which means Arden is probably already tracking me. I figured I should just ditch it before coming to your place."

"Georgina texted you?" Rosalie gasped. "What did she say?"

"Not important," Joanna said, shaking her head.

Rosalie bristled. She pictured that maniacal smile on Georgina's face in the arena yesterday, and it only made her frustrations triple. She was furious with herself for caving and not saying a thing. It was for the better, she knew that, but she wished she was the sort of person who could punch Georgina without thinking twice about it. She'd never be that person.

That much she was sure of.

But it didn't stop her from wishing she could be.

"I think it's important," Rosalie said.

At this, Joanna looked up from Rosalie's phone with a raised eyebrow. Rosalie challenged her, eyebrows lifted, anticipating Joanna's cooperation. Joanna snorted and shook her head, typing away on Rosalie's phone before shooting the message off and handing it back.

She held on, even as Rosalie grabbed hold of it. "Like I said—it's not important," Joanna said.

Shortly after Joanna released the phone, it buzzed it Rosalie's hand. The message read, "Be there in 3."

"I guess she's already on her way here," Rosalie hummed as she started for the stairs.

Joanna snagged her by the hand. Rosalie squeaked, spinning back around to the immediate kiss Joanna planted on her lips.

She could only imagine what her breath tasted like, but Joanna didn't seem to care. Her lips tasted like bubble gum, and the sugary sweetness clung to Rosalie's lips even after Joanna pulled away. Joanna's hands spread over Rosalie's hips, pushing her sweatshirt up so that her fingers grazed the elastic hem of her leggings and over the curve of her ass.

After they separated, Rosalie ran her tongue along her bottom lip. She glanced over at the stairs where she could see the mirror on the foyer wall. When she turned back, Joanna's hand grazed her cheek.

Joanna trailed her fingers over Rosalie's cheekbone and along the edge of her jaw. Rosalie's breath hitched, catching in her chest where her heartbeat stilled, aching at the sight of Joanna's slow, confident smile. This close, Rosalie could see the dotted red mark on her cheekbone where the piercing used to be, and the puckered skin where an industrial bar used to bracket the end of her finely trimmed brow.

Joanna quirked that eyebrow up as she whispered, gaze lifting from Rosalie's lips, "Did you think about me last night?"

Rosalie visibly swallowed. She knew it because Joanna's eyes tracked the motion before meeting Rosalie's gaze once more. Joanna held her still by the jaw, her thumb grazing Rosalie's chin.

"Maybe."

"I'm just a few doors down."

"I could say the same to you."

"Is that a challenge?"

Rosalie glanced back at the stairs. Still no sign of her mother.

Joanna looked as well. When their eyes met again, Joanna dropped her hand. "I'm gonna go get changed."

Rosalie watched Joanna walk off, her frizzy hair swishing as she turned on her heels. Rosalie went to the stairs, a hand over her chin where the pressure from Joanna's fingers still lingered. She rubbed at the spot, her smile widening.

When Rosalie's feet touched down on the tiled foyer flooring, the sound of an engine purring reached her ears. She went to the front door and peered through the window. From there, she had the perfect vantage point for spying the Lieutenant Colonel Spencer perched atop Joanna's banana yellow vespa.

The Lieutenant sat with her back as stiff and straight as a board, hands poised on the handlebars. She was wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses and a high-collared olive green jacket marked with black leather strips over the biceps and shoulders. After the Lieutenant put the vespa in park, she dismounted, running a hand through her short, spiky hair. She had the poise of Joanna Spencer.

I can see the resemblance now, Rosalie mused as she unlocked the door.

As she opened it, the Lieutenant jumped the porch steps two at a time and sidled up to Rosalie, who said, "Joanna's just getting dressed."

"You've got lipstick right here," the Lieutenant said, tapping at the skin below the corner of her own mouth.

Rosalie's eyes shot wide open. She slapped a hand to her mouth, and as she rubbed at the spot, the Lieutenant slipped inside.

"You must be Joanna's... mother," Rosalie's mother said, and if Rosalie wasn't so distracted by the smear of lipstick on her face, she would have analyzed her mother's comment further.

Jenn Mason came to rest in the kitchen archway, arms crossed.

"You could call me that, yes," the Lieutenant said, chin raised. Her gaze circled the room. She did a quick 360 before coming to focus on Rosalie's mother again. Her attention flitted to the wall decorations. She took her sunglasses off and pointed at the photo-less picture frames. "Those are empty."

"I'm not sentimental," Rosalie's mother said.

"She isn't," Rosalie sighed.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," her mother said, hands now on her hips. "It keeps the house clean. I have enough papers to organize."

"Writer?" the Lieutenant said.

"Lawyer," her mother said, a bite in her tone.

The Lieutenant clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, narrowed eyes shifting to the stairwell where Joanna's footsteps could be heard racing to the stairs. Joanna flew down them and flipped over the end of the banister.

Rosalie's heart leapt to her throat at the sight. Does she not realize how easy it is to break an ankle doing that? she thought, horrified at the idea of having to bench Joanna for Regionals.

Khoshekh came running down after her. He skidded onto the foyer tiles, his tail pin-straight and stuck in the air. The Lieutenant pointed at him. "Who's cat is this?" she asked.

"Rosalie's," her mother said.

"That's Khoshekh," Rosalie said.

"Ah, so this is the little man I've heard so much about," the Lieutenant said, laughing. "Infinitely more superior to Sir Harold."

"Told you," Joanna said.

The Lieutenant's attention went back to the task at hand. She flicked the vespa keys at Joanna, who tossed the car keys. They crossed paths mid-air before landing in their designated spots—the car key in the Lieutenant's hand, and the vespa key in Joanna's.

"I'll get you a new phone," the Lieutenant said.

"I don't need one," Joanna said.

"Tough nuts."

Before Joanna could groan and insist, Rosalie's mother said, "There's fresh coffee if you'd like to stay for a mug."

"I should get going," the Lieutenant said.

"The coffee is already poured."

"If you insist," the Lieutenant said, and gestured valiantly to Joanna. "Lead the way, my liege."

"You're so weird," Joanna huffed, but Rosalie didn't miss the grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

Rosalie trailed after them, eyeing her mother curiously, who was squinting at the Lieutenant like the Lieutenant was hiding something behind her weird facade. Rosalie considered what possible grudge her mother could have against the Lieutenant, and concluded that whatever it was, it had to do with the reason why Joanna didn't want to stay in the same house as the Lieutenant.

But there's no way we could tell her the actual reason why Joanna can't stay at her own house, Rosalie thought.

"So what is it you do, exactly?" Rosalie's mother asked as she circled around the other side of the island countertop. She slid a mug over the surface to the Lieutenant, who took it and raised it as if toast.

"I'm a field officer for the military."

"Which armed force, specifically?"

"Air force. For the past year I've been at the installation in southern Germany."

"Do you speak much German?"

"Ich weiß genug," she said.

Rosalie's mother pointed to Joanna, who said, "I'm taking French, not German."

Rosalie claimed a spot at the counter and pulled a coffee mug between her chilled hands. She glanced between their mothers before at last settling on Joanna, who had a slightly constipated look on her face as she observed the staring contest.

"Is there a reason why Joanna is staying here and not at her own home?" her mother asked, at last.

The Lieutenant took a long sip of her coffee, making sure to emphasize the slurping sound before setting the mug down with a hardy sigh. She said, "I'm going to Colorado for the next two weeks."

"What about her father?"

"What about him?"

"Couldn't he take care of her?"

"Maybe if I knew him," she said. Rosalie bit her tongue, but she couldn't hide the shock on her face. Joanna groaned in annoyance. "Sir Harold was the only father figure you needed."

"Obviously," Joanna griped.

"Grandparents, then?"

"California," the Lieutenant said.

As Rosalie watched her mother turn sour at the Lieutenant's answers, a brief, flitting image crossed her mind. It had the sort of clarity a striking dream might have, its residue painted over the inside of her skull where it remained long past its due date when dreams often sour. The image was more than that, though. It encompassed the sensation and thoughts that struck upon viewing it.

She wondered what the Lieutenant Colonel felt the moment she learned of what Joanna did, when she discovered that her daughter had been admitted into a psych ward. What, then, did the Lieutenant make of her daughter? Would she believe anything that Joanna said the way she did Joanna's insistence that they lie to Jennifer Mason?

Perhaps that was why the Lieutenant went along with Joanna, then. Or perhaps she went along with it out of sheer fun. The Lieutenant didn't even know that Joanna was still playing soccer—that much Rosalie was aware of the day after Homecoming, when Rosalie first met the Lieutenant.

What information did Joanna trust with her mother and why? Why lie about being in soccer?

Why lie at all?

Rosalie pictured Joanna in front of traffic, emerging like a fawn off of a gravel shoulder and staring the headlines down.

Though, Joanna wouldn't look

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