by Emily Lowry
Her words echoed in my mind. We can both move on. So this was it, then. After this, she was done with me. Maybe I’d never been more than a checklist to her. Maybe that was all I could ever be to anyone — a box to be ticked. How many of my “friends” felt the same way? How many people were just pretending to be friends for the perks? Abby had pretended to be my girlfriend to get access to parties, but at least she’d been honest about it. That did little to simmer the anger I felt welling in my chest.
“How?” I asked, keeping my tone level.
She rubbed something from her eyes. “By breaking up.”
37
Abby
Silence never felt so loud. It filled the Jeep, a presence pressing on everything. I felt like I was being crushed. Instinctively, I pulled my feet towards my chest, careful to prevent my wet boots from getting on the seat. I wanted to curl into a ball and hide. Why had I ever thought this fake relationship was a good idea? Even a fake relationship needed to end.
“Okay,” Chase said. His voice was cold. He stared straight ahead, his hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel even though we weren’t going anywhere. “So, we break up. What then?”
I took a deep breath to keep my voice from hitching. “After we break up, Madison will come to you. She’ll try to comfort you and get back together with you.”
“Why will she come for me now? She hasn’t any of the other times.”
I’d thought about this a lot. “Those other times she was trying to hurt you. But our relationship lasted longer than three weeks. It looked to the outside world that it was serious. This time, I suspect she thought she might actually lose you. I don’t think she’ll take that risk again.”
Chase didn’t say anything.
What was he thinking?
I would have given anything to be inside his mind at that moment. His perfect face gave nothing away. His eyes were hard and shiny — impossible to read.
“What if she doesn’t?”
“Even if she doesn’t, you have enough proof.”
“Proof?”
“That someone’s trying to sabotage your relationships,” I said. “We know about the photoshopped photo of you with another girl. We know that the saboteur is using Click to mess up your relationships.”
“But we already knew that,” he snapped. “How does that help?”
“Because I’ll verify it,” I said, keeping my voice calm even though fractures were spider webbing across my heart. “When you tell Savannah tell her it happened to me and you too. And I’ll explain everything. It… it might not be enough. But I think if she trusts you… I think she’ll understand. You guys are talking again, right? So, she is in a somewhat forgiving mood already.”
Chase rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment, his eyes closed, his shoulders slumped. It was the same body posture he had after throwing an interception, a look of angry defeat. He didn’t think this would work. He thought we’d gone through all of this and that I wasn’t delivering my part of the bargain. How could I make him see? How could I make him understand?
“I’m sorry,” I said. All the words were in my head, but I couldn’t seem to get them out. “I tried; I really did. It’s not perfect… but it’s the best I can do.”
He gently banged his head against the steering wheel. “Okay. So how do we break up?”
38
Abby
My neck was in the guillotine, and I was waiting for the blade to drop. Stiff wind whipped my face and puddles of slush pooled around my boots. Nearby, a handful of students threw snowballs at each other. Above, the sky was grey. It felt like it had been forever since I’d seen the sun. The weather matched my mood.
I stood in the center of the quad, Chase’s hoodie in my hands. I held it close. It was probably the last piece of Chase I’d ever have. Yesterday, sitting in his Jeep in the parking lot, we’d agreed to break up. It had to be done in public so it could be blasted on Click. We would put our most vulnerable selves out in the world to be seen by everyone.
We’d agreed that I would give him one of his hoodies in the quad, like I was giving it back to him. It would read unmistakably as a break up to any passers-by. He handed me the one he was wearing — his Panthers football hoodie — and I stowed it in my backpack before exiting his Jeep.
I cradled the hoodie. It still smelled like Chase’s cologne.
What I would never confess to Chase is that last night, I had worn his hoodie to bed, and cried. It was my last night as Chase Jones’s girlfriend, and the sadness had become impossible to keep bottled up inside me.
The rumor mill was cranking already. After I’d left his Jeep yesterday, Click put us on blast. There was a brief clip of me leaving his vehicle, walking through the parking lot, and rubbing my eyes. The caption: Trouble in Paradise? Immediately after receiving the blast, I got a text from Izzy asking if everything was okay. I just answered a simple “Yes”, but didn’t say anything else.
I breathed in deeply. It was time to steel my nerves and prepare myself. If my break up would be all over Click, I would not show any weakness. I wouldn’t spend the next two years of my life as a sobbing meme.
It’s okay, Abby. You’re just playing your part. This is your job as a journalist.
You got what you wanted out of this.
Did I?
39
Chase
My feet were anchors dragging across the frozen ground. I held a crumpled piece of paper, the original checklist Abby created for us. I’d added a final box:
Break up.
This was the last thing I wanted to do, but Abby was sure it would draw out the saboteur. She was convinced it was Madison who was screwing with me, and this was the only way to confirm it. Plus, she’d completed her checklist. There was no need for her to keep me in her life anymore. My usefulness to her was officially over.
I couldn’t eat supper when I got home last night. My parents didn’t notice, but Jordyn did. She knocked on my door while I was listening to music — which was much better than her usual habit of barging in uninvited.
“What’s wrong?” she asked matter-of-factly.
“Nothing.”
“So, Abby?”
I reluctantly removed my headphones. “It’s all good.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, and I can tell you how you’re being stupid and how you can stop being stupid?”
That was Jordyn, equal parts caring and blunt. I wanted to tell her the truth. How our entire relationship started off as fake to find out who was sabotaging me. But now I had feelings I couldn’t deny. But they weren’t reciprocated.
How could I tell her that? Her and Dylan were the two people I never lied to, and I’d lied to both of them about dating Abby. Now what? Admit it to both of them, right when I needed their support the most?
Dylan might understand, but Jordyn? I was worried she would instinctively take my side and she would hate Abby for the rest of her life, even if it was undeserved. I refused to put Abby in that position. I hoped we could form some kind of friendship after everything was said and done. Maybe I was being naïve. Abby wasn’t really friends with people like me. And the breakup was her idea. She was gently pushing me out of her life.
“It’s complicated,” I said.
“So uncomplicate it.”
“I can’t.”
“Try, Chase.” She was glaring at me.
“Thanks for the advice,” I mumbled. I put my earbuds back in.
Jordyn ripped them out, her blue eyes flashing angrily. “Are you serious right now?”
“What do you want me to say?” I asked, annoyed.
“You like her?”
“What do you think?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Jordyn snapped. “It matters what she thinks. Does she know how much you like her?”
“I mean I am dating her, I’m sure that conveys I like her.” No one — not even Madison — could push my buttons better than Jordyn. She’d never admit it, but she’d m
astered mom’s snippy tone. “I would like to think she knows.”
“Unless you’re being a moron,” Jordyn said. “And let’s be honest — you have moron tendencies when it comes to girls.”
“Dude — leave me alone.” I used the word on purpose. Jordyn hated when I called her dude, but she was annoying me right now.
“I’m trying to help you.”
“Then leave me alone.”
“Fine.” Jordyn threw the earbuds in my face. “But if I find out you did something irredeemably moronic, I know where you live. And I will punch you.”
She slammed the door behind her.
“Thanks for the support,” I shouted.
The sight of Abby standing in the center of the quad wiped all memory and all thought from my mind.
Was it really too late?
40
Abby
Chase marched over to me, a man on a mission. His expression was grim, the twinkle in his eyes gone. This was not the happy Chase Jones I’d grown to care for over our time together. This was not the Chase Jones I knew. His lips were pressed tight together. He gave me a curt nod, but he couldn’t keep eye contact.
“Here.” My voice nearly broke as I held out his hoodie. I sensed the people watching us. Students I couldn’t name were discreetly holding up their phones to capture the moment for Click. The countdown had started; they were pressing record and waiting for the explosion.
Chase reluctantly took the hoodie.
“So we’re doing this,” he said, his voice too quiet for anyone but me to hear.
He was playing his role perfectly. His eyes were cold, and he looked miserable as he cradled his hoodie in his hands.
“We had to wake up sometime,” I whispered. Yes, Abby — you had to wake up and realize that you had feelings for a boy that only started dating you so you could help him make up with another girl. His love letter to Savannah popped in my mind, the phrases burned in my memory. She was perfect for him. They were perfect for each other. I liked him too much to stand in the way of his happiness.
“They’re watching us,” he said. It was true. We were surrounded, placed on a stage for an audience of onlookers.
A stage, or a cage? Even if our relationship hadn’t been fake, would it have survived the scrutiny of Evermore High? The scrutiny of Click? High school relationships were fragile things, I decided, and they broke under the briefest of pressures. They were more fragile than a glass Christmas ornament. All it took was someone to brush against a branch, and the ornament would fall and shatter.
“I guess we need to give them something to watch,” I said.
“Yeah…”
Chase took a deep breath. “So, this is it?”
His voice was loud. I’d heard him use it before — never to me, never to anyone in everyday life. It was the voice he used to call commands when he was playing football; the voice designed to carry over a field and above a crowd of cheering fans. A voice that would be caught by every camera within shouting distance.
Up close, it was over-powering.
My cheeks grew hot and my vision blurred. I rubbed the heel of my hand into my eyes. Then I mustered my strongest glare and shouted back. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? It’s why you keep pushing me away. It’s all for her.”
There was a flash of confusion on Chase’s face, but the cameras were on us, so he shook it off quickly. What was he confused about? It was the truth — this had all been to get Savannah back.
Chase’s face contorted as he spoke again. “I did everything I could. Everything. But it wasn’t enough. Well, you know what, Abigail Murrow? You’re not perfect. You’re just a girl.”
And there it was, my greatest fear out in the open. I wasn’t perfect. The same thing my mom had said to my dad before leaving. Chase’s words opened an old scar. My spirit drained, and I lost any fight I had. In Chase’s letter to Savannah, he had called her perfect. Something I would never be, no matter how hard I tried.
Tears welled in my eyes, and I blinked them furiously away before delivering my parting shot.
“We’re done. At least someone got what they wanted.” I pushed past Chase and stormed out of the quad.
41
Chase
My head spun.
I’d arrived in the quad to stop the breakup, to talk to Abby, but it all got out of control so fast, a car hitting black ice. The cameras came out, and we performed the perfect high school break up, complete with fake tears and a dramatic exit. I tried to make sense of it all, but it was like grasping for fog. No matter how hard I tried, answers slipped through my fingers.
What did she mean, “At least someone got what they wanted?” — by the look on her face, nobody had gotten what they wanted. I thought this was what she had decided. It was her decision to break up. So why did she look exactly like I felt?
Broken.
And what was I supposed to do now?
42
Abby
Before I’d even had time to return to my locker, Click exploded. The video of our breakup was everywhere. There were multiple fresh angles, infuriating captions, and worst of all, a trending hashtag: #Abbyaintperfect.
Way to rub that one in my face again. It was every nightmare I’d ever had come true. I sent a text to Izzy, told her I was turning off my phone, then drove home and cried myself to sleep in an empty house.
I felt cold and empty, and to make matters worse, I was harboring the searing realization that the only person I wanted to help make it better, was the one person I couldn’t have: Chase. The memory of him telling me I wasn’t perfect, eyes cold and mouth twisted, was burned indelibly on my frontal lobe. It was all I saw every time I closed my eyes.
It was meant to be a fake break up. Acting, staging a scene. So why did it feel so real? So raw? Tears welled up in my eyes every time I thought about it.
Keeping my new penchant for faking things going, I pretended to have a stomach bug so I could miss the next two days of school. No way was I facing the music yet.
Instead, I wallowed in sad loneliness. Dad went to work after I insisted I was fine to stay home alone and Katie went to school. When they were both safely out of the way, I curled up on the couch, pajamas on, pint of ice cream in hand.
I was still all about the clichés.
I masochistically watched romantic comedy after romantic comedy. I resisted the urge to hurl things at the TV when they ended happily ever-after. Every. Single. Time.
I mean… come on. That wasn’t real life. In real life, the all-star quarterback doesn’t fall in love with the plain, socially awkward girl. He falls in love with the beautiful, redheaded, popular dancer or the cheerleading social media queen.
The perfect girls, perfectly matched for the perfect guy.
Tears stung my eyes every time I thought about how stupid I’d been to let myself develop genuine feelings for Chase freaking Jones. Our time together had been magical. During our fake relationship, I felt more like myself than I ever had. I confidently wore clothes that made me feel good rather than my uptight uniform. I socialized instead of holing up in my room and working. I was happy.
Chase let me discover who I really was, who I enjoyed being. It was my fault for blurring the lines between facade and reality. It had just been so easy to slip behind that curtain, to ignore my real life on the other side. I was the actress who lived the role of a lifetime and now had to go back to being a normal person.
Two days into my wallowing, I still wasn’t brave enough to turn on my phone. Click was too much to take right now. And then there was the other issue: what if Chase texted me? Or worse, what if he hadn’t?
The reality of that would be too much to bear. He would be too busy with Savannah to text. We weren’t even real friends. Our social worlds never collided. It had been a pact of convenience, and that pact was now over.
To add to my list of current life grievances, the social feature was due soon — Nicholas had given me a deadline of next week, as he thought it wou
ld be a great lead-in for the upcoming Christmas Crush.
Nicholas had sent me an email yesterday, excited about the upcoming feature. It turned out EVERYONE wanted to know what I had to say about the social lives of Evermore High. This would be the first time people actually read the paper. But they weren’t doing it because my investigative journalism skills fascinated them. They wanted the dirt, the cheap gossip. They wanted me to take subtle shots at Chase. Worse — they’d be looking for ways to misconstrue anything I wrote so it looked like I attacked Chase.
Over the weekend, I opened and closed my laptop a thousand times, never writing more than two words. I no longer cared about impressing Nicholas, or Mr. Adebayo, or anyone. When I wasn’t staring at a blank page, I was curled up in my bed or eating food I couldn’t taste. I still didn’t turn my phone on. Maybe I would never turn it on again.
All I wanted to do was text Chase. I could play it cool and joke about our fake breakup, then add that I hoped he could be happy with Savannah, and that I hoped we could catch the saboteur soon. But I couldn’t muster the courage.
I missed him. Badly. But I feared that if I turned on my phone, I’d have no messages from Chase, and way too many from Click.
The ones that yelled at me wouldn’t bother me — what could words do when your heart was broken? — but if there were any pictures of Chase with Savannah together, news about them making up and starting over... I wouldn’t be able to take it.
Better to stay ignorant and pretend Chase was as miserable as I was.
43
Chase