Em and Em

by Budzinski, Linda

  Or what she’d thought they had.

  She pulled away. “You should go.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t.” Emily pulled at one of his curls and let it go, watching it bounce back perfectly into place. If only relationships could be like that, could bounce back after being stretched to their limits. But she knew theirs never could, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted it to. “It’s over, Zach.” It was beyond over.

  Zach nodded and stood. As he opened the door, she called to him. “Zach?”

  He turned.

  “Goodbye.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “You need another smudge over here.” Emily dabbed her mascara brush across the left side of Trina’s chin and rubbed in the black streak with her thumb. “Perfect. You look like you haven’t bathed in weeks.”

  She and her mom had created “pros” and “cons” lists to decide whether to stay in Jersey or move back to Boyd County. This time, Trina had appeared on only one of the lists. She loved it here. She had lots of friends and was doing great in school, and she’d literally performed cartwheels down the hotel hallway when they told her she’d be back just in time for the opening night of Annie.

  For Emily, it didn’t really matter. It was a lose-lose proposition. There was nothing for her back in Jersey, and there was nothing for her here. Everyone now knew exactly who she was, and not only would she have the honor of being Emily Slutkowski, but she would have the additional distinction of being The Girl Who Ruined the School’s Chance to Go to State. Still, at least here she wouldn’t need to worry about running into Jimmy d’Angelo. Or Zach.

  “We need to get going, girls. Are you ready?” Their mom appeared in the doorway. “You look great! Nice job with the makeup.”

  “Two minutes,” Emily promised. She grabbed a comb and began teasing Trina’s hair. “You need more volume.”

  “Em?” Trina looked up at her sister, her face serious.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you glad to be back?”

  Emily shrugged. “Sure. It’ll be great.”

  It would be horrible. She dreaded seeing her former friends. Claire had texted her a few times while she was in Jersey, asking her to call so they could talk, but she’d ignored her. Charles hadn’t communicated with her at all, not a single text, and she’d tried to ignore that fact as well. She went through the whole ostracism thing a year ago; she could deal with it again now.

  It wasn’t until Trina wiped away the tear on Emily’s cheek that she realized she was crying.

  “Everything will be okay,” Trina said. “You’ll see.”

  Emily nodded and sniffed.

  “The sun will—”

  “Oh, don’t even.” Emily tickled her sister until she squealed for her to stop. When their mother reappeared, tapping at her watch, they both hooted and raced outside to the car, calling for shotgun.

  ***

  Emily wore a black hoodie with the hood up and slouched low in her auditorium seat. Her sister’s name was printed in the program, so the entire town would surely be on the lookout for her. Boyd County didn’t have many scandals, and she had no doubt they made the most of the ones that did come along.

  Of course, she’d have to face everyone eventually, but her mom and Principal Keane had set her up to get through Christmas break and midterms at home. She hoped to put off seeing her classmates as long as possible.

  She snuck out to use the restroom during the last song before intermission. She wanted to get in and out before the crowds, but when she opened the bathroom door, she ran into someone.

  “Ember?” It was Sarah. Crap.

  “Um. Hi. It’s Emily now.” She lowered her head and tried to slip around her, but Sarah didn’t move.

  “You’re back.”

  “Yep.” Thanks, Captain Obvious.

  “How are you? I was worried about you.”

  Worried? Had Sarah somehow missed the newsflash that Emily had ruined everything for the school? “I’m okay, I guess. How about you? How’s Grease going? It opens tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah, tomorrow night. I’m hoping we’ll be ready for it. It’s been extra crazy because of … well, you know. Never mind.”

  “Never mind what?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Sarah looked away. “It’s just that tech crew has been pretty screwed up ever since … ”

  Of course. She hadn’t even considered that. Tommy was no doubt suspended, or maybe even expelled. So not only did she ruin the football season, but she also messed up Grease. Wonderful. One more reason for Claire and everyone else to hate her.

  “You’ll be there, right? You have to come see it.”

  Emily shook her head and scooted by her toward the nearest stall. “Probably not a good idea. But good luck. I mean, break a leg. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  For the second night in a row, Emily hid in the cover of a darkened auditorium. She’d decided to check out Grease after all, though she’d slipped in late and planned to leave early. And this time she’d made sure to go to the bathroom before she left the house.

  Aside from the occasional misplaced spotlight, the show was fantastic. The chemistry between Claire and Ryan almost made her forget that she was watching a play, that Sandy and Danny were fictional characters, and that being in love pretty much sucked.

  Emily lost herself in the story so thoroughly she forgot to leave before it ended. It wasn’t until the cast began taking their curtain calls that she realized she needed to get out of there. She slipped through a side door and down a darkened hallway, but when she reached the end, the exit door was locked. What the … Wasn’t that some sort of fire code violation? As she made her way back, she could hear the crowd emptying out into the auditorium lobby.

  Great. Now she was trapped. She’d either have to walk through throngs of people or wait them out. She slouched against a wall. No way could she show her face.

  About twenty minutes later, with the crowd noise reduced to a light murmur, Emily decided to make her move. If she wore her hood, kept her head down, and walked quickly, she might be able to sneak out and dash across the parking lot to her car without anyone recognizing her. But as she stood and made her move toward the lobby, she heard voices approaching. Marissa and some other cheerleaders.

  Her breath caught. What now? The only thing worse than running into a bunch of her old friends would be for them to discover her lurking here in the shadows. She scurried back down the hallway toward a door on the right-hand side. She wanted to disappear into an office or a closet for a few minutes.

  Except when she opened the door, instead of a darkened room, she found herself blinking under the glare of bright fluorescent lights.

  “Ember!”

  She was in a backstage room, face-to-face with Ryan.

  She held her finger up to her lips, her eyes still adjusting. “Shh. Please. No one else can know I’m here.” She scanned the room, her gaze falling on a heavy cherry-colored curtain hanging nearby. “Great job tonight, by the way.” She headed toward the curtain.

  “Ember, wait!”

  “Quiet!” She slipped behind it and stepped on someone’s foot.

  “Ouch!” It was Claire, and her face was the same shade as the curtain.

  “Hey, what are you doing? Ohh.” Emily grinned, forgetting for a moment that running into Claire was precisely what she’d hoped to avoid.

  The two of them disentangled themselves from the curtain and stepped back out into the room. Ryan wore a sheepish expression that left no doubt as to what she had interrupted when she came bursting in.

  Emily and Claire stood facing each other. Well, this was awkward. On many levels.

  “How about I meet you out by the soda machines?” Ryan asked.

  Claire nodded and waved him away without ever taking her eyes off Emily. “So the rumors are true. You’re back.” Her tone was measured. Did she mean that in a good way or in a Screw-You-Ember-O’Malley-Or-Whatever-Your
-Name-Is way?

  “Listen, Claire, I don’t know how much you know about what—”

  “Pretty much all of it.”

  “Right.” Emily’s face burned, and she turned away. Of course, she would. The trial had been plastered on the news for the entire week back in Jersey. Even the striptease video had somehow been leaked online. At this point, everyone in Boyd County had surely seen and read every humiliating detail. “I don’t blame you if you think the worst of me. I’m not who I said I was. I kind of wanted to be, but I’m not. I’m Emily Slovkowski, better known as Emily Slutkowski, from the Jersey Shore. I’ve never even been to Philadelphia, though I have visited New York a couple of times, and I actually am hoping to go to Long Island U for photography, but I never—”

  “Emily.” Claire interrupted, her eyes guarded, stony. “None of that is the point. I mean, I get it. You were in Witness Protection. You had to lie. And as far as the whole ‘Slutkowski’ thing goes, that’s craziness. You were drugged, right? Even if you hadn’t been, why should you take the rap when every single idiot guy in that tub stood there and cheered you on? Not to mention the loser who taped it.”

  Emily tried to speak but couldn’t. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish washed onto shore, dazed and confused outside of its element. Claire didn’t see her as a slut. She saw her as someone who had been wronged. Somewhere deep inside, she knew Claire was right, had always known it, but she hadn’t allowed herself to believe it. Instead, she’d worn the scarlet “S” and done her best to become the girl in the video.

  Why hadn’t she fought it? Claire would have fought it. Emily sat down on a nearby step stool as a year’s worth of tears spilled out—part shock at Claire’s reaction, part relief at finding someone who finally understood, and part mourning over a miserable, wasted year. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  When Claire pulled up a stool next to her and placed her arms around her shoulders, she leaned into her. What had she done to deserve a friend like Claire? She pulled away, choking through her sobs. “So what is the point?”

  “What?”

  “You said the lying and the video weren’t the point. Which means there is a point. What is it?”

  Claire sighed. “When you said I was a fool to ever think we were friends—”

  “I just meant that—”

  “I know what you meant. But how could you believe that? How could you think I was only friends with you because you were from Philadelphia, or because of some stupid made-up past?”

  “It wasn’t so much my past, it was … me. I wasn’t who I pretended to be. Trust me, I’m not the Ember O’Malley you think you know.”

  Claire raised her eyebrows. “So that was all an act? You’re not actually smart, funny, sweet, and brave? Well, then you deserve an Academy Award. You really should try out for the spring musical.”

  Emily gave a weak smile and wiped her tears. “You really think I’m brave?”

  “Are you kidding me? The way you stood up to the whole football team? Not to mention, testifying in a murder trial? Yes, I think you’re brave. In fact, you’re the one who inspired me.”

  “Inspired you?”

  “To ask Ryan out. I figured if you could risk your life like that, the least I could do was risk a little heartache.”

  Emily gave Claire a fist bump. “I’m so proud of you. Speaking of which … your throat must be parched after all that singing. You should head on over to the soda machines and get a drink.”

  Claire grinned. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  “Very cool. You two are adorable together.”

  They gave each other a long hug, and Emily slipped back out and down the hallway. As she made her way outside to her car, she felt herself breathing easier than she had in days. Claire still wanted to be friends. She couldn’t ask for anything more.

  Well, maybe one thing more.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Emily ran her fingers along the rough wall of the bridge, closing her eyes as she relived her kiss with Charles. The sense of freedom and simplicity and … oh, yeah, the hotness. She sighed and debated texting him—something she’d thought about a million times in the ten days since she’d returned to Boyd County. She’d even composed a few texts, but she could never bring herself to hit “send.”

  She leaned against the wall and breathed in the smell of pine. It was so quiet and peaceful here. She’d come every day since she’d returned, always during school hours so she wouldn’t have to worry about running into anyone. Now she had an entire portfolio of bridge photos, taken on bright days and cloudy days, from inside and outside, and from every angle. She’d even climbed a nearby tree and taken a bunch of shots from above.

  Today, though, was special. Today it had snowed—only about an inch, but it was enough to transform the bridge into a magical scene from a Christmas card. She half expected to hear sleigh bells and see a horse-drawn carriage trundle through.

  She unzipped her camera case. The pink candy heart still sat at the bottom. She’d grown so used to seeing it there, she almost overlooked it now. Almost. She adjusted the focus on her lens and peered through her viewfinder at the hole in the wall. She loved the way it formed a natural frame for the view outside, and today that view was spectacular. The creek was partly frozen, and snow-covered icicles clung to the rocks. As she played with different focus settings, she realized the snow had begun to fall again.

  She sighed. She should probably go. Her mother had protested when she’d grabbed the keys this morning. She didn’t like Emily driving in the snow, and now she’d be really worried. On the other hand, it couldn’t hurt to stay for just a few more minutes. She’d love to get some shots of the swirling flakes. She leaned out of the hole and zoomed out for a wide shot of the creek, the banks, and the surrounding landscape.

  Wait. Whose car was that parked behind hers?

  “Well, look who it is.”

  Emily’s heart pounded as she turned to find Schmidt’s massive figure looming at the entrance.

  “If you want to jump, I’ll be happy to push you.” He stepped toward her, and the old wooden planks groaned beneath his weight. As he came closer, she could see the rancor in his eyes. Why wasn’t he in school? Christmas break didn’t start for two more days.

  She shivered. Of course. He’d been expelled or suspended. Because of her.

  “Hello, Marcus.” Her voice sounded calmer than she felt. “It was poison, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Romeo and Juliet. Cyanide, most likely, though Shakespeare never actually—”

  “Shut up.” Schmidt closed the distance between them. “You act like you’re so much better than me, but I saw that video. Everyone saw it. You’re a low-life Jersey Shore whore. Admit it.”

  Emily’s face burned. “I was drugged.”

  “So? Drugs might make you slur your words or say stupid stuff, but I’ve never heard of them making girls strip in front of a whole room full of guys.” Schmidt leaned in, his face just a few inches from hers. “You wanted to do that, and you know it.”

  She glanced beyond him toward the path outside. She’d seen Schmidt on the football field. For a big guy, he was quick. Even if she could slip past him, she doubted she could outrun him all the way to her car. She clutched her camera, ready to swing it if he tried anything. “You don’t know the first thing about me. Much less what I want.” She knew she was practically daring him to do something stupid, but she didn’t care. She was sick of guys making assumptions about her because of one stupid video.

  To her surprise, Schmidt reached down and grabbed her camera. He wrested it away from her and dangled it by its strap out the hole in the wall. “I know you want your camera back.”

  She blinked. Maybe he didn’t plan to hurt her. Maybe he just wanted to harass her, payback for getting him in trouble.

  Schmidt swung the camera wildly above the ice. Condensation was beginning to collect on its lens.

  Emily forced a smile. “Tell you what. Y
ou give my camera back, and I’ll do something for you.”

  “What did you have in mind?” He leered at her suggestively.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Not that. Believe me.” She sweetened her tone. “How about I refrain from posting a rather … shall we say … embarrassing photo I took of you the last time we were here at the bridge?”

  “What photo?” Schmidt stopped swinging the camera.

  “You don’t remember?”

  He furrowed his brow and tilted his head as if concentrating. “No. I mean, I was pretty wasted. Not that it matters. Everybody knows I get crazy when I’m drunk. Go ahead and post it.”

  Emily shrugged. “Fine. I’d call this more humiliating than crazy, but if you’re okay with it … ”

  “What was it? Was I peeing in the creek? Because everyone’s seen me do that before.”

  “Um. No.” Emily grimaced. “But thanks for the visual.”

  “What then?”

  “You’ll see. Don’t worry about it. We all make mistakes, right?”

  “Tell me.” Schmidt’s expression morphed from defiant to worried.

  Emily paused as if considering his request. She held out her hand. “First, give me the camera.”

  Schmidt straightened his arm, holding the camera out further. He let go of the strap one finger at a time until he was holding it between only his thumb and forefinger. He began swinging it again.

  Emily held her breath and gave what she hoped came off as a carefree shrug. “Fine. Your funeral.”

  She turned to go.

  “Wait. Tell me.”

  “Not unless you give me the camera.”

  Schmidt glared, but he reeled the camera in and held it out to her.

  “Thank you.” Emily grabbed it and forced herself to walk slowly, a casual saunter, toward the entrance. “That was smart of you.”

  “So what was the picture?”

  Emily kept walking. When she reached the entrance, she turned. “What picture? I didn’t bring my camera. Don’t you know, cameras and partying don’t mix?”