“I have to—what?” I blink in surprise as I hand his glasses back. He settles them unevenly on his nose. “How do you know Knox?”
“I met him at Café Contigo. He plays Bounty Wars,” Owen says, like that’s all the explanation I should require.
Emma wrinkles her brow at me. “You and Knox Myers are friends?”
“We’re friend-adjacent,” I say.
She nods approvingly. “He seems like a good guy.”
“He is,” I say, and turn back to Owen. “Why do you want me to invite Knox over?”
“So we can play Bounty Wars. We talked about it at Café Contigo,” Owen explains, and now all of this is starting to make sense. My brother misreads social cues a lot. Knox was probably being nice, asking about Owen’s favorite game while he waited for our food to be ready. I don’t know Knox well, but he seems that type: the sort of boy parents love because he’s friendly to kids and old people. Polite, clean-cut, and completely nonthreatening.
It confused me when I realized he and Maeve were going out a while back, because they made such an odd couple. She’s the subtle kind of pretty that slides under the radar, but once you start noticing her you wonder how you missed it. Maybe it’s the eyes; I’ve never seen that dark-honey color on anyone else. Or the way she sort of glides around Bayview High like she’s just passing through and doesn’t worry about the same kind of stuff the rest of us do. No wonder Luis Santos can’t take his eyes off her. Them I can see together. They match.
It’s a shallow way to look at things, but that doesn’t make it less true.
Knox has potential, though. Add a few pounds, get a better haircut, amp up the confidence, and—wham. Knox Myers could be a heartbreaker, someday. Just not yet.
Owen is still looking at me expectantly. “Knox and I aren’t really the kind of friends who go to each other’s houses,” I tell him.
His lower lip juts out in a pout. “Why not? You let Brandon come over.”
My chest constricts at the memory of Brandon’s slimy tongue trying to invade my mouth. “That’s not—”
“Brandon Weber?” Owen and I both jump as Emma’s voice spikes an octave. “That creep was in our apartment? Why?” I don’t answer, and her expression gradually morphs from horrified to thunderous. “Oh my God. Is that who you’ve been hooking up with lately?”
“Can we not do this right now?” I say, with a pointed glance toward Owen.
But Emma’s face has gone red and splotchy, which is always a bad sign. She yanks her headphones from around her neck and stands up, stalking toward me like she’s about to shove me across my bed and into the wall. I almost flinch before she stops a foot away, hands on her hips. “Jesus Christ, Phoebe. You are such an idiot. Brandon Weber is a piece of shit who doesn’t care about anyone except himself. You know that, right?”
I gape at her, hurt and confused. I thought we were finally getting past the Derek situation, and now she’s mad at me about Brandon? Did she…Oh God. Oh please no. “Were you involved with Brandon too?” I burst out.
Emma’s mouth drops open. “Are you for real? I would never. Can you honestly think—no, of course you can’t. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t think. You just do. Whatever you want.” She goes back to her desk, piling her notebook on top of our laptop and hugging them both to her chest. “I’m going to the library. I can’t get anything done in this shithole.”
She leaves, slamming the door behind her, and Owen stares after her. “Are you guys ever gonna stop being mad at each other?” he asks.
I let my shoulders slump, too tired to pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. “Eventually. Probably.”
Owen kicks his legs back and forth so his sneakers scuff against the floor. “Everything’s ruined, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice so low it’s barely audible. “Our whole family. We have been since Dad died.”
“Owen, no!” I wrap an arm around his thin shoulders and pull him toward me, but he’s so stiff that he just leans uncomfortably against my side. Everything in me aches as it hits me, all of a sudden, how long it’s been since I hugged my brother. Or my sister. “Of course we’re not ruined. We’re fine. Emma and I are just going through a rough patch.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re too little, too late. I should’ve been comforting Owen for the past three years, not just the past three minutes.
Owen disentangles himself from my arm and gets to his feet. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Phoebe. I know when you’re lying.” He opens the door and slips through, shutting it more quietly than Emma did, but just as emphatically.
I flop down on my bed and stare at the clock on my wall. How is it only seven o’clock? This day has been going on forever.
A text tone chimes from somewhere in the depths of my tangled comforter. I don’t have the energy to sit up, so I just root around with one hand until I find my phone and drag it a few inches from my face.
Unknown: Tsk, no response from our latest player.
That means you forfeit, Maeve Rojas.
Now I get to reveal one of your secrets in true About That style.
My eyes go wide. Maeve didn’t tell me she’d been picked, even though we’ve been hanging out at school lately. That girl is either seriously reserved or has avoidance issues. Maybe both.
Still, there’s nothing to worry about. Maeve isn’t full of embarrassing secrets, like me. Unknown will probably just rehash that old story about her puking in some basketball player’s basement when she was a freshman. Or maybe it’ll be about her crush on Luis, although that’s so glaringly obvious that it doesn’t really qualify as a secret. Either way, I wish the text would come through so I can stop obsessing over this stupid game.
And then it does.
Unknown’s latest piece of gossip fills my screen. I blink five or six times, but I still can’t believe what I’m seeing. No. No way. Oh no. Oh hell no.
The omg what?!? messages start pouring in, so fast I can’t keep up with them. I bolt upright and scramble to press Maeve’s number, but she doesn’t pick up. I’m not surprised. Right now, there’s another call she’d better be making.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Knox
Tuesday, March 3
The guy in King’s Landing is sweating up a storm. Twitching, rocking, constantly rubbing one hand over his jaw while he talks with Sandeep in the closed conference room. “It’s weird how guilty innocent people can look, sometimes,” I say to Bethany Okonjo, a law student who’s one of Until Proven’s paralegals.
We’re stationed at a desk outside the conference room, collating news coverage about the D’Agostino case. Bethany shrugs and reaches into a drawer for more staples. “And vice versa, right?” she says. “Guilty people can look innocent as hell. Take our friend here.” She holds up a long feature article about Sergeant Carl D’Agostino, accompanied by a picture of him wearing his cop uniform and a big grin. His arm is around a college-aged kid who’s holding a plaque. “Funny how they use this, and not his mug shot,” she adds, tossing her braids over one shoulder. “None of the people he framed got that kind of kid-glove treatment when they were arrested.”
I glance at the caption under the photo. The week before his arrest, Sergeant Carl D’Agostino commended San Diego State University students for excellence in community peer mentoring. “I never really thought about it that way,” I say, scanning the first few paragraphs of the article. “But you’re right. This is all about what a great guy he was until—whoops, major scandal. Like he just accidentally stumbled into framing seventeen people.”
I add the article to my pile and glance at the clock on the wall next to the conference room. It’s almost seven at night. I’ve never stayed this late, but I’m starting to think I’m the only person at Until Proven who leaves on time. The office is still buzzing, every desk full and littered with empty pizza box
es and Coke cans. Bethany picks up her discarded crust and nibbles on the edge. “They gave that classmate of yours the same treatment. Jake Riordan, remember him?” Like I could forget. “Star athlete involved in Simon Kelleher case,” Bethany says in her newscaster voice. “Oh, you mean involved like how he tried to kill his girlfriend? That kind of involved?”
“That was bullshit,” I agree.
Bethany snorts. “The justice system works very differently when you’re white, male, rich, and good-looking.” She nudges the last piece of pizza toward me. “Good to know, I guess, if you ever decide to turn to a life of crime.”
I pick up the slice, but it’s so cold and congealed that I can’t bring myself to take a bite. “I’m only two of those things.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, kid.”
Eli passes by, holding a phone with a familiar case that he waves at me. “Knox. This is yours, right? You left it in the copy room. Also, Maeve is calling.” He looks at my screen. “Was calling. You just missed her.”
I thought my phone had been strangely quiet. “Sorry about that,” I say, taking it from him. I register a surprising number of texts before I lay it on my desk like a busy professional who doesn’t have time for Bayview High gossip. Eli finally knows my name and has started giving me more interesting stuff to do. I don’t want to blow it by acting like a phone-obsessed teenager in front of him. Even though I am. “Do you need anything?”
Eli runs a hand through his newly shorn hair. “I need you to go home. There are child labor laws, or so Sandeep keeps telling me, and we’re probably violating them. Especially since we’re not paying you. Anyway, call Maeve back and then get out of here, all right? Everything else can wait until tomorrow.” He glances at Bethany, who’s still stapling news articles. “Bethany, can you sit down with me and review next week’s court schedule?”
“Yeah, sure.” She gazes around the crowded office. “Should we go in Winterfell?”
Eli rolls his eyes. He’s never going to get used to those names. “Fine.”
They leave, and I eye my phone warily. I really do hate making calls, but maybe Maeve’s on her laptop again and can’t text. I press her name, and she picks up before it’s even rung once.
“Oh thank God.” Her voice is low, breathless. “I was afraid you wouldn’t call me back.”
The sweaty guy is pacing circles around Sandeep in the conference room, distracting me. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m only kidding about being allergic to phone calls. Mostly.” The line goes so silent that I think we’ve been disconnected. “Maeve? You there?”
“I…yeah. Um, what are you up to?”
“Still at work, but I’m gonna leave soon.”
“Okay. Right. Have you…” She trails off, and I think I hear an audible gulp. “Have you been checking your phone?”
“No. I left it in the copy room for, like, an hour. What’s up?” I look at the wall clock again, and it hits me. “Shit. Your Truth or Dare text came, didn’t it? What did it say? Are you all right?”
“Oh God.” Maeve’s voice thickens. “I’m sorry, Knox. I am so, so sorry.”
“What? Maeve, you’re starting to freak me out.” I pause, alarm snaking through my gut as her breath hitches. “Are you crying?”
“Um…” She definitely is. “So, I think…okay. I’m going to read you the text from Unknown because, um, I don’t want you to have to read all the comments to get to it. Because they’re stupid and pointless like always.” Maeve draws in a shaky breath. “But before I do—I need you to know I didn’t say that, okay? Not exactly that. I wouldn’t. I’ve been racking my brains and I can only come up with a single conversation that’s even a little bit pertinent but I swear to God, it was a lot more nuanced than that. And it was with Bronwyn, who would never breathe a word, so I honestly don’t know how this even happened.”
“Maeve, seriously. What’s going on? Who do I need to fight?”
“Don’t.” She groans the word. “I, okay. This is what it said. Maeve Rojas, um…” I hear a deep breath, and then the rest of the words come out in a rush. “Maeve Rojas dumped Knox Myers because he can’t get it up.”
What. The. Fuck.
I listen to Maeve’s ragged breathing for a minute. Or maybe that’s mine. When she tentatively asks, “Knox? Are you—” I disconnect. The phone drops out of my hand, bouncing lightly on the desk, and I let it stay facedown while I press my fists to my forehead.
What the fuck. My heart’s pounding out of my chest. No. No way. The entire school did not just read about the most humiliating moment of my life. Which was private. And supposed to stay that way forever.
Maeve and I—God. It was stupid. We talked about it for months, losing our virginity, like it was some project we had to finish before we could graduate high school. That should’ve been a clue, that we were so practical about it. But we thought we wanted to, and then my parents went out of town for their anniversary, so there it was: opportunity.
I was so nervous, though. I did a couple shots of my dad’s vodka before Maeve came over, because I thought that’d calm me down, but all it did was make me dizzy and a little nauseated. And then we were kissing and it just…wasn’t working. Any of it. I could tell she wasn’t into it either, but we’d, like, committed. I didn’t know how the hell I could just tap out all of a sudden. Especially since guys are supposed to be born ready.
It was a massive relief when Maeve pulled away and asked if we could take a break for a minute. Then she buttoned her shirt back up and said, “Do you ever feel like maybe we’re trying too hard to be something we’re not?”
I was grateful to her then. For getting it. For not making a big deal. For being as non-awkward as possible, both then and later, so I could pretend it hadn’t happened. I’d almost convinced myself that it didn’t. Until now.
Because she told people. More people than Bronwyn, I’m sure, because Bronwyn’s not the type to spread gossip.
It doesn’t even matter who it was. Damage done.
I turn my phone over. There are new messages from Maeve that I ignore, opening the giant group text from Unknown instead. I don’t want you to have to read all the comments to get to it, Maeve had said. Because they’re stupid and pointless like always.
And prolific. There must be a hundred of them.
Sorry about the soft serve, man.
I know a great pharmacy in Canada where you can bulk order Viagra.
Maybe it’s because she’s not a dude.
Jesus. How the hell am I supposed to show up at school tomorrow? Or ever? Or get up on a stage next month to perform Into the Woods, singing in front of everybody? Bayview High is ruthless. One incident is all it takes to define you for the rest of your life, and I just found mine. At our twentieth reunion, Brandon Weber and Sean Murdock will still be laughing about this.
“Knox?” I jump at Eli’s voice. He and Bethany are approaching my desk, laptops in hand. “I thought you were going home.” I scrape a hand across my face and he peers at me more closely, frowning. “You all right? You look sick all of a sudden.”
“Headache,” I croak. “No big deal. I’m just gonna—yeah. I’m gonna go.” I grab my phone and get unsteadily to my feet as Eli watches with an increasingly furrowed brow. He sets down his laptop on the corner of the desk.
“Let me give you a ride. You’re really pale.”
I hesitate. What’s a worse place to be while dick jokes pile up on my phone: in a car with my boss, or on a bus next to some grandmother I’ll never see again? It’s no contest. “No, I’m good,” I force out. “Totally fine. See you tomorrow.” I’m almost at the door when I feel a tug on my arm. I half turn, my temper spiking too fast to hold it in. “I said I’m fine!”
“I know,” Bethany says. “But you probably still want this.” She presses the strap of my backpack into my hand.
“Right.
Sorry.” I feel a surge of guilt, avoiding her eyes as I shoulder my backpack. I’m still pissed off, but none of this is Bethany’s fault. I wait until I’m in the elevator, doors safely shut behind me, to find a better target.
Texts from Maeve are at the top of my message list:
I’m so sorry.
I never meant to hurt you.
Can we talk?
There’s a lot I want to say, but I settle for short and to the point.
Go to hell, Maeve.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maeve
Wednesday, March 4
The first person to greet me at school Wednesday morning is Sean Murdock, and he does it by grabbing the front of his pants. “Climb on any time you want a real man,” he leers, thrusting his hips while Brandon Weber cackles behind him. “Satisfaction guaranteed.”
My face burns with the kind of combined horror and shame I haven’t felt since Simon Kelleher wrote a scathing blog post about me freshman year. This time, though, I can’t slink into the shadows to get away from it all. For one thing, my sister’s not around to fight for me. And for another, I’m not the only one affected.
“First off, gross,” I say loudly. “Second, that stupid game is lying. Nothing like that ever happened.” I spin my combination and yank the door to my locker so hard that I lose my grip and slam it into my neighbor’s. “You’re an idiot if you believe everything you read. Well, you’re an idiot regardless. But either way, it’s not true.”
That’s my story, and come hell or high water, I will stick with it.
“Sure, Maeve,” Sean smirks. This is a sucky time to find out he knows my name after all. His eyes travel up and down my body, making my skin crawl. “Offer still stands.”
Brandon laughs again. “Literally,” he says. He puts his hand up for a high five, but Sean just looks confused.
Laughter echoes in the hall, and Sean brightens as he turns in its direction. There’s a group of people clustered around the bay where Knox’s locker is. “Looks like your boyfriend’s here,” Sean says. “Well, ex-boyfriend. Can’t blame you for that. Hope he likes his present.” My heart sinks as he and Brandon saunter down the hall toward the growing crowd. I grab a random assortment of books that probably aren’t even what I need for class, stuff them into my backpack, and slam my locker door closed.
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