by Emily Lowry
The facts were:
Ever since Chase’s break up with Madison Albright last year, he could not keep a girlfriend for longer than three weeks. In fact, the girls broke up with him on that exact day, three weeks after they were first featured on Click together, every single time.
There were three girls who had dumped Chase Jones:
Phoebe Summers, who was on the soccer team.
Ella Cates, who went to the private school across town.
And finally, Savannah Mayhew, an Evermore senior who was working her way towards a scholarship for dance.
Chase mentioned that before these three relationships, he had never been dumped before. He dated Madison Albright, queen bee of Evermore’s social hierarchy, for almost a year before they broke up. Was she his first love?
At the time of their breakup, rumors flooded the corridors of Evermore — the unsurprising fallout of the nuclear detonation that was their demise. The most popular theory was that Chase dumped Madison, so she blasted him on social media and tried to make it look like she dumped him. Knowing how media-shy Chase was, the rumor seemed plausible.
So. Where to start?
I texted Chase.
Abby: Phoebe, Ella, or Savannah. Who should I start with?
Chase: Normal people start conversations with hello.
Abby: Hello. Who should I start with?
Chase: I dunno.
Abby: Helpful much? Come on, I need a lead to go off.
Chase: The only thing I know is that the day we broke up, each of them was acting weird. Not weird like you. Different weird.
Abby: Define different weird. Like I’m gonna break up with you weird?
Chase: Weird. Like they were sad or something.
Abby: Did they say anything unusual?
Chase: Dunno. Don’t really remember with the first two tbh. Savannah kept it short. I asked her why but she just said sorry and ran off. Haven’t talked to her since. They were all over in like thirty seconds.
Interesting. I appreciated not wanting a long, drawn out break up. But for three girls — all of whom had been super interested in Chase — to break up with him on the same day, in the same general fashion, then refusing to talk to him after? It was very, very suspicious.
Chase: Is that enough of a lead for you?
Abby: I think so. Talk later.
Chase: Wait. You’re gonna be my gf and I don’t know anything about you. Besides that you’re nosy and persistent with a touch of weird.
Abby: Do you call all your girlfriends nosy, persistent, and weird?
Chase: Yes. So, what are you into, Abby Murrow? Fave food?
Abby: Easy, kettle corn. Yours?
Chase: Tacos. Fave thing to do?
Abby: You are officially fake dating Colorado’s number one fan of B-Movie slasher flicks. The gorier the better.
Chase: Oh man, horror movies? WHY?
Abby: Scared?
Chase: Terrified.
Abby: I’ll protect you. It’s that or we have to call the whole thing off.
Chase: You are so weird.
Abby: I try.
The patio door opened. Dad came out carrying a tray with iced tea and store-bought cinnamon buns. He set the tray down. “Even for a teenager, you sure are smiling at your phone a lot.”
Busted.
“Are you looking at one of those me mes?” Dad asked.
“Memes,” I corrected. “And no, I’m talking to a friend about a project.” It felt weird calling Chase Jones a friend. A few weeks ago, we’d never spoken.
“What’s Izzy doing?”
“Don’t know, maybe you should ask her.” I sipped on my iced tea. “I have more than one friend, you know.”
“And who’s this new friend?”
“His name’s Chase.”
Dad crossed his arms and nodded, considering this information. Dating had never, ever come up in my social life — this might have been the first time I mentioned a boy to him.
“So, does this Chase play football?” Oh great. Chase Jones was so famous in our town that even my dad had heard of him. Ugh.
“Maybe.” I answered carefully.
“Uh-huh,” Dad said. “And how do you feel about this Chase?”
“I am feeling that we are not having this conversation,” I said. “He’s literally just a friend. That’s all. And I’m not even interested in Chase, I like—”
I stopped myself. Dad meant well. He was not the type to wait on the front porch with a shotgun if his daughter went out with a boy. Still, it felt weird to talk to him about boys. It felt weird talking to anyone about boys, because I literally knew nothing about them at all.
I had tried talking to my mom about a boy once, back in eighth grade when I’d had a crush on a boy from Model U.N. She’d only cared about his grades and prospective careers.
Maybe Dad would do better. I decided to give it a shot. “There’s a boy named Nicholas. He’s the senior editor of the Pinnacle. He’s the one I like.”
“But I thought you were texting with Chase?”
“Just for a school project.”
“Must be a fun project. You sure looked happy.”
“He’s just a friend,” I said. “I am definitely not Chase’s type. He only dates the popular girls… you know, perfect cheerleaders and people like that.”
“I think you’re perfect.”
“You’re my dad. You’re obligated.”
“True.”
I swatted at him.
“You’re not supposed to admit it!” I shrieked, giggling.
“Well, I guess I’m not perfect,” he said with a smile.
There was a comfortable silence between us as I devoured my cinnamon bun, using the dough to mop up the cream cheese icing. There was something that had been bugging me and now seemed as good a time as any to bring it up. “Can we have decorations for Christmas this year?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll think about it.”
It may have only been September, but Christmas was already on my mind for good reason. Christmas decorations had been a constant point of contention back when Mom was around. She said that they made the house look messy. We put up a fake tree, but we weren’t allowed to decorate it with anything but white Christmas lights because they provided a “clean, modern” look. Last Christmas had been the first year it was just Dad, Katie and me. I had hoped that Dad would have taken initiative to decorate, but instead he’d spent most of the holidays trying to hide his misery. It was heartbreaking.
“Thanks, Dad.” I gave him a hug and left.
13
Abby
When Monday came, I was wired with excitement. It was the energy that only showed when you were chasing down a lead. I imagined it was the thrill detectives got when they were trying to solve a case and were tracking down potential suspects.
Not only that, it would be my first official day at Evermore as Chase Jones’s fake girlfriend. I wondered how that would go and decided I would wait for him to approach me at school. Stupidly, I hadn’t thought of making a game plan for our first public interaction, so I guessed we would have to improvise.
I’d dressed up for the momentous occasion, though. Or down, depending on which way you were looking at it. True to my word to Chase, I had ditched my journalism wardrobe and instead wore leggings and a cute white sweater, paired with my favorite baby pink Nike sneakers. I’d also left my hair in long, loose waves, instead of scraping it back in its usual severe ponytail. I had been instantly gratified with the success of this loose hair technique when Nicholas Applebee had done a double take in the hallway as I walked past him this morning. Score one for Abby!
I liked my fresh look, it felt very freeing to not be all dressed up like I was playing a part. Now all I had to do was get through the day without spilling something on myself.
Feeling powerful, I snuck out of my first class — History, bleh — early. The teacher was too busy trying to fix a broken globe to notice. I crossed campus
, enjoying the blossoming fall colors and the crisp mountain air, and entered the Fine Arts Building I knew so well. But instead of heading to the Pinnacle office, I lounged outside one of the dance studios and pretended to check my phone.
Inside, feet scuffled as the instructor shouted instructions over upbeat music. Soon after, casual applause marked the end of class. The door opened and dancers filed into the hallway, most of them headed to the locker rooms to change. The last girl to leave had long red hair that she’d tied in a ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was panting.
“Savannah?” Up close, I was instantly taken aback by how pretty she was, with wide blue eyes, full lips, and flawless pale skin.
My hand instinctively flew to my chin, where a developing zit was threatening to need its own zip code very soon. Sigh.
Savannah glanced at me. “Hi?”
“Abigail Murrow. I’m with the Pinnacle.”
She shook my hand, still confused.
“I wanted to talk to you about something, do you have a minute?”
She checked the time on her phone and shrugged before leading me into the studio. It smelled like a strange mixture of perfume, deodorant, and sweat. There were gigantic bay windows which faced the distant mountains, snow-capped for the first time this year.
I closed the door behind me.
“Is this for the paper?” Savannah asked.
“Exactly,” I said, giving her a smile I hoped showed a perfect combination of professionalism and friendliness. “I’m doing a major feature on the social lives of students at Evermore. Right now I’m just gathering material — interviewing people, checking out some stories, seeing what people think. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?”
Savannah looked at me uncertainly. “Why me?”
“Why not you? The dance classes are popular and so are the dancers. I bet you have boys all over you.” Savannah’s eyebrows shot up. Oof. I knew that was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left my mouth. I sounded like an awkward aunt at a family dinner.
I backtracked quickly. “What I meant to say was that I need to get all sides of this story. Someone mentioned you might be a good person to talk to.”
She crossed her arms. She wasn’t letting me get away that easily. “Who?”
“Dylan Ramirez,” I lied. I was positive that if I mentioned Chase’s name, she’d run. She already looked skittish.
“Oh.”
“Right,” I said. “So, what does popularity mean to you?”
Now she was truly stumped. Good. I’d spent my entire weekend thinking of how cleverly I could work my way through this conversation to find out what I needed to know, but I had not thought about my lack of social skills in my planning of this. I needed time to think.
Savannah stumbled over the question, rambling on about how people get featured on Click and then digressing into a vague, humble answer. “What is popularity really? Everyone should just get along and do what makes them happy.”
It was the vanilla answer an athlete reserves for the post-game interview when they don’t want to get in trouble. The answer Chase would give. The answer Nicholas wouldn’t accept.
“Perfect,” I said.
Savannah eyed the door. “Is that it?”
“One more thing,” I said. She would give nothing away without being pressed. I appreciated that. Too many people spilled their lives all over social media. It was refreshing to meet someone with the presence of mind to stay guarded. “But this is off the record.”
She was staring at me strangely — people did that a lot lately — but she nodded for me to continue.
“You were dating Chase Jones, right?”
“I need to go.” Savannah grabbed her bag and made for the door.
“It’s not like that,” I said, “I just don’t get it. He’s hot. He’s nice. And he’s the quarterback. As far as popularity goes, he’s probably the most popular guy at Evermore. Why dump him?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Her tone was icy.
This was going nowhere. “Sorry.”
Savannah paused, her hand on the door. She sighed. “Why do you want to know this, anyway?”
I didn’t know what to say.
She filled the silence for me. “Do you have a crush on Chase? You want to go out with him? Is this what this is all really about?”
“Um…”
She faced me, a sad smile on her beautiful face. “Look, I don’t blame you. Everyone wants to be with Chase. I sure did. But being with him in reality, it’s not what you expect. It gets complicated.”
I leaned forward, intrigued. “How? He likes you, you like him, seems simple to me.”
“He still likes me? You talk to him?” Her voice was laced with what sounded like hope.
“I’m profiling him for the social feature.” I told her.
“Of course you are. Look... Abby was it?”
I nodded.
“Ok, well, here’s the thing, Abby. You seem like a nice girl. And Chase may seem like a nice guy. But…”
“But?”
“I will sound like a nutcase.”
“Please tell me.”
“Ok. If you know what’s good for you, you need to stay away from Chase Jones. Everyone needs to stay away from Chase Jones. Go out with him and you’ll only end up getting hurt. Don’t let him hurt you, too.” Savannah opened the door and stared me dead in the eye. “And don’t tell him I said that.”
“Promise,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back.
The mystery deepened.
What exactly had Chase Jones done to hurt Savannah?
And why did I feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought of them together?
14
Chase
Fall was the best of the four seasons. Football was underway. The mountain air was crisp and the first snowfall would be soon. The trees were already changing colors, morphing into an array of bright yellows, oranges, and reds. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed to the Fine Arts Building.
Abby was waiting outside. She had sent me a text saying that she wanted to talk. These days, that kind of text would give me a cold sweat. But since it was Abby, and our relationship was strictly business, I wasn’t too concerned.
That changed when I saw the stoic expression on her face.
The cold sweat began.
“What’s up?” I asked. She looked pretty with her hair down.
“I have questions.” She folded her arms and sized me up with a glare.
What now?
Students passed by. Gone were the t-shirts and skirts of summer, replaced by the sweaters and jeans of autumn. Not that I was complaining. There was something deliciously cozy about girls in sweaters. Like the white one Abby was wearing.
Whoa, Chase. Stop thinking like that. Strictly business, remember?
“Let’s go for a walk,” I said. “We could cut through the quad? If we do that, I guarantee people will talk about us like we’re a thing.”
“Should we hold hands?” Her tone suggested she would rather hold a slug.
“Trust me — we don’t need to hold hands. If I stand next to someone long enough, people will think I’m dating them. There was once a rumor I was in a relationship with the school statue.” I hoped my joke, unfunny as it was, would put her at ease.
What was with her today, anyway? She had been so funny over the weekend as we texted back and forth, falling into an easy banter with each other.
Abby raised an eyebrow. “Did it dump you after three weeks?”
“We had serious communication issues.” I stuck out my arm as a substitute for my hand. “Come on.”
She didn’t take my arm, but she walked beside me. “So, I spoke with your dancer friend this morning.”
Savannah. We’d been broken up for just over a month now, but talking about her still felt like picking open a scab. All at once, a million questions piled into my head, each fighting to reach my mouth. How wa
s she? What did she say? Was she hurt? Was she seeing anyone? Why’d she break up with me?
But all I said was: “Oh.”
“We talked about you.” Abby eyed me as if I was a test subject in a science lab. Like any good scientist, she was trying to see how I responded. She was testing me. Why? What had Savannah said?
“And did you figure out why she dumped me?”
We circled through the quad. Most of the students left us in peace, busy with their own conversations. But I caught a handful subtly pointing, and at least one took a picture with their cell. Good. The sooner the rumor that Abby and I were an item started, the sooner the saboteur — if there was one — would show their ugly face.
Abby kept her voice low. “She said you hurt her.”
“What?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. Hurt Savannah? How? I’d admit that I wasn’t the smoothest talker, wasn’t always the best at texting back, but I was sure that I said nothing that could be interpreted as mean. I’d planned all our dates, paid for everything. I didn’t push for anything physical — we didn’t kiss until our third date, and even then, I kept everything super respectful. How could I have hurt her?
“You didn’t know that,” Abby said. Her voice was soft, her stoic demeanor melting slightly. “You actually didn’t know.”
“How could you tell?” I was surprised, again.
“Your face. Your words.”
“But I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly. If you had hurt her and you knew it, you would deny it. Or you would call her crazy. But you said nothing. And you got the same look on your face you always have when you’re thinking hard. It almost looks painful.”
“Hey!” I protested, holding my hands up as she laughed at me. “Cheap shot!”
Abby smiled at me and continued. “You looked like you were trying to remember how you could have hurt her. If you don’t remember, that means if you did hurt her, it was by accident.”
Wow. This girl read me like a book. It’s a good thing I wasn’t the type to lie — I wouldn’t be able to get away with it even if I wanted to. “I can’t think of anything I did.”