Westcott High

by Sarah Mello

  “I’d be more concerned with your constant need to blame others,” I said.

  “Twisted upbringings are all some of us have for excuses,” he replied. “Just let me have it.”

  “You’re fine, Wins. You don’t need therapy.”

  “That’s just what they want you to believe, isn’t it? Then you grow up to be Norah.” Winston paused. “Also, don’t try to get out of dishing on the new kid.”

  “Have you seen Casey?” I bobbed my head from side to side, searching for her in the crowd. My eyes eventually landed on Jacob, who was sitting with Cliff and the rest of the football team. I watched as they exchanged a friendly interaction and then wondered how, out of all the tables, the new kid ended up at that one.

  “I think she’s eating lunch in the library today.” Winston popped a yogurt-covered raisin into his mouth. “She told me she has to finish her homework so she can take her brothers somewhere tonight.”

  “That girl never stops,” I replied.

  I met Casey on her day. The day when her responsibilities finally overwhelmed her. She was hunched over the school’s bathroom sink, unable to hold back the tears. We weren’t expecting to find each other outside the stalls that day, but friendship often finds you when you didn’t know you wanted to be found. And that’s where ours began—one Winston and I never knew we were missing. I thought she needed me, but as it turned out, I desperately needed her.

  “Why are you looking for Casey?” he asked.

  “I wanted to see if she could help me think of an idea for my paper.” I pulled out my notebook.

  Winston rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re already starting that. It isn’t due until the end of the school year.”

  “I want to get a head start. Mr. Russell said in the event I don’t win the award, a solid original piece would still be an impressive and important part of my Yale application.”

  “So, what’s the new kid’s name?” Winston asked, dismissing my comment.

  “Jacob,” I said as I looked over at him again. This time, Jacob was staring back at me.

  “The only thing that threatens to ruin this is if Cliff has already brainwashed him into becoming one of his brocks,” Winston said.

  “Brocks?”

  “A bro and a jock. A brock.”

  “Colorful,” I replied, beating my pencil against the paper.

  “What could be worse than a pulchritudinous man like that becoming friends with Cliff Reynolds?” Winston glanced over at their table.

  “That’s a mighty big word for a Tuesday. And Cliff isn’t so bad.”

  “That’s a mighty big load of shit for a Tuesday too. Much like Mike Chang telling Mrs. Bennett he creatively composed a piece that was heavily inspired by Claude Debussy’s ‘Clair de lune,’ ” he yelled as Mike walked by our table and gave Winston the finger. Winston cupped his hand over his mouth and leaned toward me. “The kid thinks if he picks an impressionist from the nineteenth century that nobody will notice his plagiarism.” Then he straightened up and waved at Mike. “Love you too!” Winston shouted in Mike’s direction.

  “Look, there’s no proof that Cliff leaked the video. And despite his depthless personality and massive ego, he’s harmless.”

  “Harmless?” he repeated. “Your sister thought differently.”

  “Can we stop talking about Lana? Mrs. Penn all but threatened my life if I, Lana Carter’s sister, had the audacity to question her authority again.”

  “She did what?” Winston’s mouthful of candy made it difficult for him to speak.

  “Something isn’t right, Winston. First Mr. Russell disappears and is replaced with a newbie who, after two days at Westcott, has the power to leave six of my direct competitors unnamed? That’s unprecedented and borderline cruel.”

  “And you were set off by the word ‘pulchritudinous’? You literally speak like you’re writing a poem.”

  I chugged down my water, rolling my eyes to the left of the bottle. “Mrs. Penn is clearly Westcott’s new taskmaster. And I have a feeling she doesn’t care for me. Not like Mr. Russell did anyway.”

  “Oh. Hold on a second,” Winston said. “I think I spoke too soon.”

  I followed his eyes over to Jacob, who was now sitting next to JC.

  “That could be worse,” he said. “That could be way worse.”

  “What do you think they’re talking about?” I continued to watch Jacob and JC’s conversation.

  “Hopefully you,” Winston replied.

  Just then, Dean walked in between our view and broke our concentration. He stared at me as he walked by, offering a lazy, shameful grin.

  “And him?” Winston asked.

  My eyes followed Dean as he took his seat at a table so incredibly foreign to me. He shook his head as he settled in, his messy brown hair falling into place. “What about him?” I asked, making a solid attempt at stuffing my emotions back down.

  “Have you talked to him?”

  Dean Ballinger. A Violet turned Cobalt. A proficient basketball player—the captain of the team. Undeniably handsome. My ex-boyfriend. After Dean’s mom died at the beginning of sophomore year, the family’s finances took a hit. Mrs. Ballinger was the breadwinner, and without her income, they struggled to maintain their lifestyle. Somehow, Dean and his dad managed to get by for a while. But a couple short months later, Mr. Ballinger could hardly pay the bills. That was when my dad brought him in to help manage his company, a high-end sporting-goods store he and a partner owned together. Our fathers became the best of friends, and everything seemed to be looking up for Mr. B.

  But all good things must come to an end—and I hear the greatest things tend to end quicker than they started.

  “I wonder how Dean felt when he was forced into the lottery pool,” Winston said.

  Everyone knew Mr. Ballinger had embezzled money from the company. It was an astronomical betrayal, one that my dad was never able to forgive him for. Mr. Ballinger brought the missing funds to my dad’s attention, claiming someone else must have been responsible for the theft. It goes without saying that my dad didn’t believe him.

  Word got around Westcott, like it does, and Mr. Ballinger’s name was completely tarnished before the sun left the sky that day. I heard he began work for some call center. They got by, but eventually moved to the valleys before junior year started, unable to keep up with the demands of living in the hillsides of Westcott. And without his comfortable salary from the sporting-goods store, Mr. B was unable to afford tuition. Hence, how Dean became a Cobalt.

  “Well, if his dad never did what he did—”

  “Did, didn’t. Six of one, half a dozen of another.” Winston scrolled through his Instagram.

  “I don’t think that’s how that works,” I said. “And are you insinuating you don’t believe it?”

  “I just can’t believe Dean would let their fallout affect your relationship. I know he dumped you. But that was salvageable with a sorry. What was irrevocably damaging was his decision to—”

  “Why are we talking about this?” I slammed my pencil on top of my notebook, unaware of how loud my voice had become.

  Suddenly, Cliff turned around from a neighboring table with his finger over his mouth. “Shhh!”

  I stared at his ghostly smile in detest while everyone laughed.

  “Did he just shush you?” Winston asked, gritting his teeth.

  Cliff looked me up and down before twisting his head back around toward his sea of friends.

  I put my head down and picked up my pencil as the laughter began to disappear.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Winston chucked a crumpled-up straw paper at the back of Cliff’s head. “But we both know that Dean’s decision to date Norah was the worst one yet. How do you come back from that?”

  I closed my notebook, suddenly finding it impossible to focus. “You don’t.”

  Up until that point in the cafeteria, I only knew that Dean had started dating Norah a month before junior year began,
shortly after breaking up with me. But I hadn’t yet seen it for myself. Their relationship was a shock to everyone. No one assumed Norah would ever date someone like Dean, in the position that he was in. Winston was convinced she was a rebound and that they’d be broken up in a week’s time. Casey was convinced Dean was just confused about me and everything that was happening between our dads—and simply needed space. I was convinced there wasn’t a justifiable reason for him betraying me by dating the one girl who tried to ruin Lana entirely, and there wasn’t a point in trying to search for one.

  Winston held the bag of candy over his mouth to ensure he got every last drop.

  “You didn’t save me one single piece?” I placed my hands on the table, turning my body toward him.

  Winston’s eyes peeked over the plastic bag. “You’re on a diet.”

  “Is that how you justify eating multiple boxes of candy? By pretending I’m on a diet?”

  “Yes. It’s our thing.”

  “That’s not a thing.”

  “Look, don’t feel bad about Dean. Your dad isn’t the only one who doesn’t speak to Mr. Ballinger anymore,” Winston said, wiping his lips.

  Most families in Westcott no longer associated with the Ballingers after the business debacle. I credited that to Cliff’s father, Mr. Reynolds. He owned close to a dozen high-end condominiums throughout California, making him one of the wealthiest men in Westcott. In all my years of being privy to threats, I’d never known one to be as pathetic as Mr. Reynolds encouraging his fellow neighbors to stay away from the Ballingers. Most would say that’s not what occurred—but I know it was.

  And I guess I understood. After the accusations made against Dean’s father, I wasn’t sure if anyone would want to align themselves with a family who could tarnish their good name. I’d be lying if I said it never crossed my mind as I was falling into a deep friendship with Casey. Luckily for me, my good name was already a bit tarnished—thanks to Lana.

  “I wonder what would happen if Mr. Reynolds found out that Cliff is still friends with Dean.” Winston grabbed my pencil and started scribbling on his napkin.

  “What are you doing?” I asked him.

  “I . . . am writing . . . that down.” He lifted the pencil to admire his work.

  I quickly snatched it back from his hand. “Would you stop trying to come up with ways to blackmail Cliff?”

  “It’s how I plan to get through high school,” he said. “You know this.”

  I hit Winston in the head with my pencil.

  “You know what next Friday is, right?” he asked.

  My eyes sunk. “How could I forget?”

  “I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since Mrs. Ballinger passed,” he said. “Are you going to talk to him?”

  “Maybe.” I looked over at Dean, who was now nuzzled up next to Norah. “But probably not.”

  “Probably not what?” Kyle sat down across the table from us.

  Winston looked down at his phone. “Don’t do it, Kyle.”

  Kyle turned all the way left, boxing Winston out of our conversation. “Sonny . . .”

  “Kyle . . .”

  “Casey?”

  “No,” Winston interjected, his eyes expressing concern.

  “What do you think I’m going to do?” Kyle asked him, tossing a football back and forth between his hands.

  “Play her like a fiddle,” said Winston. “Become everything she wants but can’t have. Rope her in just to hang her with it.”

  “High praises, Winston. Thanks.”

  “It’s a dark day when you find out what Winston really thinks of you,” I said.

  “The darkest,” Winston added, cleaning up the aftermath of his lunch.

  “Look, I’m not a player. I’ve dated the same girl since tenth grade.”

  “Exactly,” Winston replied. “And we all know you’re bound to get back together with Ari.”

  Ari Ziegler—a Cobalt. Westcott’s star vocalist. Desperate for and bad at love. Kyle’s ex. The Zieglers moved to Westcott the summer before tenth grade, after hearing about the school’s new lottery system. Being a Westcott student was Ari’s only chance at attending Brown University. She passed the entrance exam and found herself in the hallways of WH her sophomore year, which is when she would meet the guy who would forever complicate and change her life—in so many more ways than one.

  “Ari and I broke up over the summer,” Kyle said.

  “You break up every week,” I replied.

  “Plus, you’re never really broken up—even when you are,” Winston said.

  I raised my finger at him. “Good point.”

  “Can’t you just date a Violet so we don’t have to worry about heartbreak?” Winston stood up and walked off, his dramatics smacking us in the face.

  I chugged some more water. “He’ll come around.”

  “Will he, though?” Kyle flicked my water bottle with his fingers.

  “So why did you and Ari break up this time?” I asked, slapping him on his arm.

  “We got into a fight the night of Cliff’s cookout, and we broke up. I stayed home, thinking she would too, but she went without me.”

  Every summer, Mr. Reynolds opened a new condominium complex; and every summer, he allowed Cliff to host a cookout at the condo’s pool. It was a great way for Cliff to throw a color-biased party for the Violets, while his dad got to show their parents around the condos. The cookout evolved into quite the chauvinistic ritual for the two.

  “What was the fight about?” I asked.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Kyle leaned in. “I could have sworn we had a two-hour conversation about it on your porch swing.”

  “Give me a refresher,” I replied. “It’s hard to keep up with all of your breakups.”

  “She told me I was smothering her, so I said I would give her some space. Then she accused me of not caring about her. Twenty minutes later—we’re done.”

  “It’s all the vaping,” I replied. “I think it’s messing with her head.”

  Kyle pretended to laugh and gave my water bottle another flick with his fingers—this time causing some of the water to spew from the top.

  I wiped the side of my mouth, catching the water drops before they hit my shirt. “I’m sorry, Kyle! But your and Ari’s fights are so juvenile.”

  “And your and Dean’s fights are what?” he retorted.

  “Not the same thing,” I said, tightly squeezing my water bottle.

  Kyle’s eyes made their way toward Dean’s table. “Him and Norah, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Apparently.”

  Dean and I began dating freshman year. We were always close friends, but my love for him eventually grew far beyond that of a friendship—a love we both chose to explore. The first year of our relationship was intoxicating. He was the kind of boyfriend every girl deserves to have at least once in their life. The overprotective, overly sweet, way-too-perfect boyfriend. The one who makes your single friends jealous and his own friends pissed that he’s changed. We spent our days together, under the sun. And our summer nights were spent under the stars.

  But sophomore year brought rainstorms—and we simply weren’t prepared. His mother’s passing changed him, understandably so. I loved Dean through it to the best of my ability, but once the broken relationship between our fathers rubbed off on ours, Dean’s love for everything, and everyone, slowly dissipated—including his love for me.

  My eyes made their way back to Kyle. “That . . . um . . . that fight between you and Ari doesn’t sound so bad,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

  “Maybe,” he replied as he looked down and twisted his thumbs. “Have you heard the rumor?”

  “Rumor?”

  Kyle stared at me longer than usual. “About Ari and Cliff. About what happened the night of the cookout.”

  Every decision impacts everything that follows. But some decisions aren’t always ours to make. Sometimes, in the most unfortunate circumstances, our fate is seal
ed by the decisions of another.

  4

  Tragedy strikes

  Every now and then—tragedy strikes. There’s not always an explanation, like they’d have you believe, or a laundry list of reasons as to why you ended up in the situation you’re in. There’s not always a person to blame or a crucial event that shifts you into the perfect spot for irrevocable wreckage. Sometimes, things just happen. Things that will change everything. Things that change you.

  “I cannot believe Mrs. Penn threatened you,” Casey said as we unpacked our bags and sat in our semicircle of desks.

  The last period of the day was study hall, the one and only class the Westcott teachers didn’t take very seriously. We were supposed to take advantage of the hour-long block of time to study, but we mostly just caught up on the latest Westcott ongoings.

  “Who threatened who?” Buckets asked, rolling his watch around his thin wrist as he leaned back in his chair.

  Billy Poland, aka Buckets. He got the nickname Buckets from collecting and dumping gossip to everyone in school. Buckets was creative, witty, slightly devious—and most definitely a Cobalt. He lived in a two-bedroom apartment with his parents and little sister—a life that was a far cry from most of his fellow classmates. Especially the Violets. He sometimes, however, received special attention from them—mainly when they needed him to do their dirty work.

  Casey gave me a frightened stare through her glasses, as if to suggest I shouldn’t say anything incriminating.

  “Hey, Buckets, do you know anything about the new English teacher?” I asked.

  “That depends. What do you need to know and why?”

  “Where did she come from? Why is she here? When is she leaving?”

  He rolled his neck from side to side, his blond hair staying perfectly intact.

  “Come on, Buckets, you owe me.”

  Buckets cocked his head to the side to glare at me. “Are you seriously going to hold the Lana story over my head the rest of our time here at Westcott? I’ve told you—I hated that for her. I just did what I had to do.”

  When he came to Westcott through the lottery, everything started as a lighthearted hobby for Buckets. That was, of course, until he realized he could turn his hobby into a business—a business based on favors. He began leaking photos and videos for his fellow classmates at WH in exchange for a casual camaraderie with the Violets. An interesting, slightly pathetic strategy, but it worked for him.