15
______
When I get out of my car, which, like me, is marked—but hopefully not scarred for life—Phillip walks across the school parking lot toward me.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“Okay.”
“What happened to your car?” he asks when he notices the mark.
“I think someone keyed it.”
“Did you report it to the police?”
“I told my lawyer about it and it’s included in the report.”
“Because traces of paint can stay on a key for a long time.”
“Really?” I look curiously at him. “Are you seriously considering a career in crime prevention or something?”
“I like cop shows.”
I laugh as I sling the handle of my bag over my shoulder.
“I tried to call you, but I’m guessing your cell phone is still in jail.”
I nod. “I’m just starting to get used to being without it.”
“Anyway, I was thinking about the dance tonight . . .”
“The homecoming dance?” Okay, this is like duh obvious, but I can’t think of any other response.
“Well, I asked you to go with me and you said you would . . . but then all that mess happened . . . and I was thinking it’s not fair that we let whoever did this to you dictate our lives. Seriously, Elise, why should we let them spoil our fun? So, I know it’s late notice and you’ll probably say no, but will you go to the dance with me?” He smiles hopefully.
“Seriously?”
“Absolutely.”
“Sure. Why not?” Then I question myself. “But isn’t it a formal dance?”
“We don’t have to go formal. I’m open to whatever.”
I consider this. Do I want to show up at this dance as a misfit? Considering all the attention I’ve had this week, I don’t think so. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“Sure.” He pulls it out of his pocket and hands it over. I call my grandma and quickly explain the situation.
“Oh, Elise, that’s wonderful. But what will you wear?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, I’m just full of ideas. How about you meet me at Macy’s after school? I’ll get there early and do some scouting around.”
“It’s a date.” I hand the phone back to Phillip. “Okay, I guess it really is a date. And I expect to have a formal dress. Do you have something to wear?”
“Just this old tux of my dad’s—kind of retro, you know. My mom had it altered to fit me. It looks okay.”
“I’ll bet it looks better than okay.”
He grins. “This is going to be fun.”
“I hope so.” So I pray that it will be fun . . . and a normal evening. But as messed up as my life has been lately, I wonder what the chances are.
As soon as Spanish class ends, I head straight for Asher. “We need to talk,” I tell him in a no-nonsense voice.
“What?” He looks suspiciously at me.
“I need to ask you some questions.”
“Why?” His eyes narrow. “So you can tell the police more lies about me?”
“Lies?” I glare at him. “You should talk about lies.”
“I so don’t get you, Elise.” He makes a fist then relaxes it. “You seemed so nice at first, but Brianna’s right, you’re a total b—”
“You seemed nice too, Asher. You wrote me a whole bunch of really nice emails and—”
“I’ve never emailed you in my life.”
“Really?” I look curiously at him and almost believe he’s telling the truth. But my plan is to get him to figure it out himself. “Then who was it who emailed me over and over in your name? Who pretended to be madly in love with me? Who insisted we have a secret romance so Brianna didn’t find out about us? Who asked me to avoid you or to treat you like a sworn enemy whenever we were in public?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t you remember the times I ignored you? Or said mean things to you? Or acted like I hated your guts?”
“I thought you did hate me.”
“It was our cover-up.”
“Our cover-up?” He looks really confused now.
“Yes. You asked me in email after email to keep our love secret from Brianna—you said you couldn’t break up with her until after the homecoming dance. Remember?”
He blinks then shakes his head. “What?”
“You emailed about how much you missed me and begged me to send photos of myself. You even sent a photo of yourself. A beach shot—you were shirtless and showing off your muscles.”
His frowns. “And did you? Did you send photos of yourself?”
“Just online. The first one was a normal shot—as in fully clothed. And then, only because you begged, I eventually sent you a swimsuit photo. But that’s where I drew the line. I never sent a naked photo to you or anyone else. And I never will.”
“Then who sent your photo to me?”
“It wasn’t my photo. Don’t you get it? It wasn’t me.”
“Who was it then?”
“Good question. But I can prove it wasn’t me. My attorney is getting everything set up to do just that. And then my case will be dismissed. Unfortunately, it won’t be so easy for you and Brianna, because you really did distribute child porn, Asher. When you forwarded that photo—supposedly of me—you became a real criminal. And when you—through your email—begged me to send naked photos of myself, you incriminated yourself even more. The police have all this evidence in my computer—”
“I know,” he says quickly. “They already came to my house and took my computer and my cell phone.”
I feel a wave of relief.
“But, honest, Elise, I didn’t do that. I never emailed you. I swear. Not once. And I wasn’t the one who forwarded the photo either.”
“But it was on your phone.”
“And it was sent from your phone.”
“Then we’ve both been framed,” I tell him. “Three guesses as to who was involved.” I glance over to the restroom, the same one Bristol popped out of the other day. I hold up one finger. “Brianna is suspect number one. But it’s possible she had accomplices.” I hold up another finger. “Bristol is number two.” I hold up all three fingers now. “And I’ll bet Lindsey is number three.” I shrug and put my hand down. “But I’m just guessing.”
“But why? Why would Brianna do something like this?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Why? Are you serious?”
“Yes. This whole thing is so extreme. So over the top.”
“Not to mention middle school.”
“Yeah. I don’t get it. Why would Brianna do this? If she actually did it . . . and I still have a hard time believing that. But she’s not stupid. She must’ve known she’d get caught. Why would she push things so far—and where would she get that nude photo?” I can tell by his face that he wants to believe Brianna’s incapable of something like this. Who can blame him? “Tell me why she would do something like this.”
“To hold on to you.” I sigh. “So she decided to play this internet game—a game she thought she could win. Her goal was to keep you guys together until the homecoming dance. What she planned to do beyond that was—oh yeah, her plan didn’t end there, did it? She also wanted to humiliate me so completely that I’d be too embarrassed to show my face here again. Well, she was wrong about that.”
“But why did she target you?”
I hold up my hands like this is one of life’s great mysteries. “I don’t know. Somehow Brianna got the crazy idea that you were interested in me.” Okay, as I say this, I realize how I’m leaving myself wide open because I bought into Brianna’s little scam. Like a gullible sap, I responded to those emails. I admitted I loved him—or so I thought—and Brianna probably intended to use those emails to humiliate me.
“But how do you know for sure it was Brianna?” he challenges me. “How can you prove it?”
I shrug. “It’s just that she’s the most obvious suspect.”
“Just like you were the most obvious suspect for sending that photo?” He scowls now, like he thinks I’m trying to scam him. Whatever.
“Anyway,” I say quickly, “I just thought you should know. At least when the police start to question you, you’ll have a little heads-up about the emails. Whereas I had no warning—I was totally blindsided.” I turn to leave.
“Wait,” he calls, following me.
“Why?” I ask in exasperation.
“Because Brianna was right about one thing.”
“What?” I fold my arms and wait.
“Actually, two things.”
“Yes?” I let my impatience show.
“I was into you.”
“Oh . . . and the other thing?”
“I was going to break up with her.”
I shrug. “Too bad you didn’t, huh? You could’ve saved us all a whole lot of pain. And jail time.” Now I walk away. Really, it’s all I can do. Having him standing there, saying that, with that expression . . . well, it could almost undo me. Except that I remember too well how he spoke to me in front of his friends, believing the worst of me, condemning me, humiliating me. Really, I am so over him. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. A small part of me pities him.
As I walk to the cafeteria, I decide that the ball is in his court now. What he’ll do with it is anyone’s guess. I can tell he’s not convinced that Brianna is behind all this. Still, I think he might have a better chance of extracting the truth from her than I would. Although that girl is as slick as Teflon—nothing seems to stick to her. I’m pretty sure that Asher, to spare his own name and reputation, will have to bring her down.
Instead of getting some lunch, which I so could not eat right now, I head for the library, where I find a vacant table and sit down to write out all the things I said to Asher, as well as the things Mom and I put together last night. I know it’s not real evidence, but perhaps it will help my case. Anyway, I will hand this all over to Grandma to give to Wally.
“What’s up?” Phillip asks quietly as he sits down beside me at the table in the library. “I was looking everywhere for you.”
“Why?”
He frowns. “I thought Brianna might’ve hired a hit person to take you out.”
“Very funny.” I kind of laugh.
“I’m not kidding.”
“Oh . . .” I glance around to see if anyone is listening, then, in a hushed voice, I replay my confrontation with Asher.
“Wow.” Phillip nods. “Impressive.”
“We’ll see. The big question is will he believe me? Or will he remain under Brianna’s spell?”
He shrugs. “Hard to say.”
“And hard to imagine that he’ll stand up to Brianna. I’m afraid he might try to take the fall for her.”
Phillip frowns. “You honestly think he’d take the fall for her—after the way she’s tricked him and lied and everything?”
I chuckle. “Well, the guy who was writing me those emails—aka Brianna Cole—sounded like he might. He sounded so noble and heroic and devoted, unwilling to break his promise to his girlfriend.”
“Except that he was having an online affair behind her back,” Phillip reminds me.
“Good point. And if it makes you feel any better, I’m not too proud of myself for getting pulled into that scheme.”
“But you’re out now?”
I nod. But the look on Asher’s face (when he told me the two things Brianna was right about) is stuck in my head. It seemed he was telling the truth. Still, I believe it’s a case of too little too late.
“So are we still on for tonight?”
“Totally,” I assure him.
“I wonder if Asher and Brianna will still go.”
“That would be ironic, wouldn’t it? I mean either way—whether they go or don’t go.”
“How’s that?”
“Ironic if they didn’t go after how much effort Brianna invested in keeping them together, and ironic if they did go after all the stunts she pulled on him.”
Phillip nods. “I can’t wait to find out how the story ends.”
“Now I want to see if I can get any information out of Bristol in Art. I can’t help but think her friends are in on this game. So no matter what happens between us, just stay cool, okay?”
“Sounds like fun.”
Bristol is clearly ticked at me when she walks into Art. Her eyes are narrowed, locking onto me as she makes her way across the room, almost like she’s stalking her prey. I vaguely wonder if she could be carrying a weapon.
Like Phillip and me, she’s here a few minutes early—as if on a mission to hunt and destroy. “So there you are.” She glares at me as she sets her bag on the table. “I don’t blame you for hiding out, you little coward.”
“I’m not a coward,” I respond calmly.
“I know what you’re trying to do to Brianna. Everyone does now.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve been trying to break up their relationship. Right from the start too.”
I roll my eyes. “So says Brianna.”
“She showed me the emails you wrote to him. I saw for myself how much you wanted him. It made me sick . . . and then I just had to laugh. You are pathetic.”
“How did Brianna get into Asher’s email?” I ask as Katie comes in and takes her regular seat. As usual, she’s early, but I can tell she’s having second thoughts now. Phillip just tosses her an understanding smile.
“News flash, moron. They happen to be going together,” Bristol says in a hostile tone. “They know each other’s passwords.”
“And how does Asher feel about Brianna sharing his personal email with her friends?” I ask.
Bristol laughs in a mean way. “Considering that Asher was cheating on her—or at least thinking about it—I don’t think that boy has much of a leg to stand on.”
“Interesting.” And it actually is interesting. Because it almost seems like Bristol has bought into this whole thing, like she actually believes Brianna’s twisted reality.
“What’s even more interesting is that you were the slut who was emailing Asher all this time. I didn’t really believe it at first. When Brianna said she thought it was you, I told her she was wrong. But it seems I was the one who was wrong. You’ve obviously been hitting on him online for weeks now, sending him photos and promising to do all kinds of slutty things if he’ll just break up with Brianna. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about this when I honestly can’t stand to look at you.”
“I don’t know why you’re talking to me either. But if you want to find out the real truth, you should talk to Asher. Ask him about those emails and how he felt when he was writing them.”
“Right.” She looks like she’s ready to really tear into me now. “I’ll just run down to city hall and do that.”
“City hall?”
“Oh, yeah, the innocent act again. I suppose you didn’t know that Asher was just picked up by the police—right in front of the whole school. You didn’t see that, did you? Not that it would bother you much, being a jailbird and all yourself. And I’m sure you didn’t have anything to do with his arrest either.”
Okay, this one catches me off guard. But I maintain my poker face and just study her. She seems genuinely upset by this latest development, which convinces me that she really doesn’t know the truth. I mean, she’s into drama and all that, but this seems very real. It’s like she’s worried about Asher and trying to protect Brianna. Sweet, but sad.
“You really make me sick, Elise. You’re a disease—like swine flu. You come into our school and you contaminate everything you touch. We even tried to befriend you, which was total stupidity, and this is how you thank us. You stab Brianna in the back, you try to steal her boyfriend. And then when that doesn’t work out, you turn him in to the police and accuse him of . . . what exactly? He gets arrested on the day of the homecoming dance, almost like you planned it from the start—like if you can’t have him, no one can
. You should see how devastated Brianna is right now. No, you shouldn’t see . . . because you wouldn’t care. You’d probably just laugh. Seriously, why don’t you just go back to wherever it was you crawled out—”
“That’s enough,” Phillip says quietly.
“And you!” Bristol says to him as she gathers her things. “I don’t know how you can stand to be around her, but I’m done. I refuse to be exposed to her disgusting filth anymore. She’s worse than a disease—she’s a monster.” Bristol storms off to a solitary table in the back of the room.
“Good riddance,” Katie says quietly.
I blink in surprise. “You don’t like her?”
Katie shakes her head.
“But you sit with her?”
“She sits with me.”
Phillip chuckles. “I think Bristol was hoping artistic talent might rub off, and since you’re the best around, she chose to sit by you.”
Katie gives him a half smile.
I settle back down to work, but my hands are too shaky for pen and ink today. Instead I go back to pencil sketching, trying to duplicate a photo of a lonely old shack in the middle of a scrubby field.
As I sketch, I try to remember that Bristol wasn’t really talking about me when she said all those mean things. She doesn’t even know who I am. Not really. She was talking about the person Brianna has tried to make me out to be—a fictional character who would be a monster if she really existed. I realize again that Bristol’s venom was her way of showing loyalty to a friend she believes I’ve betrayed. I just hope it won’t be long until the truth comes out. Otherwise, I might start to believe that I really am the one to blame for this big mess.
16
______
Phillip and I are out in the school parking lot, making last-minute plans for the dance tonight.
“I’ll pick you up at 6:30,” he tells me. “I actually got a reservation for us at L’astrance for 7:15.”
I blink in astonishment. I’ve heard my mom mention this French restaurant before—as in it’s fantastic but hard to get into. “No way! You got us in there? How is that even possible?”
He grins. “With God all things are possible.”
“Wow, your connection to him must be stronger than mine.”
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