“Lindsey.” Brianna’s voice softens now. “You’re my friend. Why wouldn’t you tell me about this?”
“I don’t really see why it matters,” Lindsey says. “Everyone’s going to know sooner or later anyway.”
“Going to know what sooner or later?” Brianna persists.
“You know, Brianna, about the emails.” Lindsey’s voice is definitely slushy. “That’s all they were talking about.”
“You mean Asher and Elise were talking about the emails?” Brianna asks.
“Yesh.”
Brianna lets out another foul word. For some reason it seems such a contrast to her appearance—sweet face, wide eyes, petite figure dressed in a delicate blue dress . . . almost angelic looking. Go figure.
“What about the emails?” Bristol asks.
“You know,” Lindsey tells her. “Everyone knows.”
“Knows what?” Bristol presses her.
“That they were faked by—”
“Lindsey.” Brianna’s voice is still soft, but there’s a sharp edge to it. “Hey, Bristol, can I borrow your lip gloss? It’s such a great color and mine is all—”
“What do you mean they were faked?” Bristol asks Lindsey. “Who faked them anyway?”
Lindsey laughs. “Serioushly, Bristol, you dunno who faked ’em?”
“Lindsey, I think you’re confused,” Brianna says quickly. “Not to mention sloshed. Just how many Cosmos did you put away at Bristol’s house anyway?”
“I want to know what’s going on,” Bristol says in a firm voice. “You two are keeping something from me—now give.”
“It’s nothing,” Brianna says. “Let’s get back out there before that slut puts the move on one of our boyfriends. Better watch out, Bristol, I’m pretty sure I saw her looking at Hayward. She’s probably going after—”
“No,” Bristol interrupts. “I want the truth first.”
I’m about ready to bust out of there and tell her the truth—or what I suspect is the truth—but somehow I think it will be better coming from the source. Better for everyone. I actually bow my head and silently pray now, begging God to bring the truth to light.
“Jus’ tell her,” Lindsey urges. “No big deal.”
“I want to go dance,” Brianna says in an irritated voice.
“Not yet.” Through the crack in the door, I can see Bristol moving, and I’m guessing she’s blocking Brianna’s exit. “Tell me who faked the email first.”
“I’ll tell you,” Lindsey announces. “Brianna faked it. And she did a good job of it too. She pretended to be Asher and strung loser girl along, acting like she, I mean he, was in love with Elise. Brianna even got the slut to send photos, and she had this plan—” Lindsey laughs hard, like this is hilarious. I’m guessing Brianna is right—Lindsey probably did drink too much. “And all the time Brianna was going to blackmail her, and the slut’s such a dope, she fell for it.”
“Shut up, Lindsey,” Brianna snaps.
“Is that true, Brianna?” Bristol’s voice is icy. “Did you set Elise up like that? Pretending to be Asher?”
“What if I did?”
“And all the while you were telling me about how Elise was chasing after him?” Bristol continues. I’m thinking this girl is so smart she could probably be a great attorney. “But you were really after Elise right from the start, weren’t you?”
Brianna chuckles. “Pretty brilliant, don’t you think?”
“Pretty low-down mean, I’d say.”
“Hey, who died and made you Mother Teresa?”
“I told you about what happened to my friend in middle school.” Bristol sounds tightly wound now. “I told you that whole horrible story. About what those girls did to Rachel Snyder. I told you about how she killed herself because she couldn’t take it anymore. I told you how much I hate that kind of thing, Brianna. And then you lied to me about the emails—you lied to me about Elise! What is wrong with you?”
The room is quiet, and I think everyone has heard enough. Including me. I stand up, flush the toilet, rearrange my dress, open the door, and step out. All three of them stare at me like I’m an apparition. Pretending to ignore them, I simply wash my hands, dry them, and wad and toss the towel. Then I look directly at Bristol.
“I’m really sorry about your friend Rachel,” I tell her in a sincere tone. “My friend Hilary told me about what happened in middle school. And I can personally relate to how Rachel must’ve felt. As sad as it is, I understand why she couldn’t take it anymore. Without God’s help, I would’ve given up too.”
Then I just walk out.
17
______
“Wait,” Bristol calls out as Phillip and I are getting ready to leave the dance. It seems to me that the fun is over. But we both turn and wait as Bristol rushes toward us. “What you said in the restroom about Rachel,” she says breathlessly. “That was true, wasn’t it?”
“I never actually knew Rachel, but Hilary told me about her. And what I said about relating to her was totally true.”
She puts her hand on my arm and looks directly at me. “Elise, I’m so sorry.”
I actually feel tears coming to my eyes now.
“I’m sorry on so many accounts,” she continues. “I’m sorry I thought the worst about you. I’m sorry I tore into you today. I’m sorry I believed Brianna’s lies about you.” She shakes her head. “Really, I am just so sorry.”
“Thanks.” I nod. “I believe you. And if it makes you feel any better, I had a feeling you were just fighting Brianna’s battle for her—I mean her make-believe battle.”
“But that nude photo?” Bristol frowns. “Brianna swears she did not send it. And for some reason I think she’s telling the truth about this. I mean, yes, she obviously did everything else, which is so disgusting I don’t even want to go there. But she swears she didn’t send the photo, although she did confess to forwarding it from Asher’s phone—”
“She admitted to forwarding it?”
Bristol nods. “Only after I interrogated her about everything. We were in there for a while after you left. But Brianna totally denies having anything to do with the nude photo. She even said she was surprised when you sent it from your phone, but she was happy that you caved.”
“I didn’t cave!”
“That photo isn’t Elise,” Phillip says. “And that’s going to be proven by experts next week.”
Bristol nods. “Okay, I can accept that. But who sent that photo?”
I am totally mystified. “I was convinced that Brianna did. I even thought that maybe you and Lindsey helped her to pull it off.”
“I didn’t. And I honestly don’t think Lindsey did either.”
“Oh . . .”
“Anyway, I told Brianna that either she confesses the truth to Asher or I do. She said she’s going to tell him everything tonight. But I plan to follow it up, just in case.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Are you guys leaving?”
I glance at Phillip then shrug. “I thought it might be best.”
“Don’t go,” she urges us. “That makes it look like Brianna won.”
Phillip nods. “Good point.”
“You guys look so great tonight. And it seemed like you were having a good time. Please, don’t go because of Brianna.”
A part of me feels like this could be a trick. Seriously, what a switch from Art class today. But then I remember the conversation in the restroom . . . and I feel certain I can trust Bristol now.
“Come on,” Bristol urges me. “Stay and have fun. And I promise I’ll follow up Brianna’s confession with Asher.”
Phillip looks at me. “You want to stay?”
I nod, so we stay. As we’re dancing, I see Asher and Brianna hashing it out over in a corner. Asher looks seriously angry, so I suspect Brianna really is confessing. But it is reassuring when Bristol and her boyfriend Hayward go over and join them. It’s like having The People’s Court at the homecoming dance. I’m just glad I don
’t have to go over there and testify myself.
Before the dance is over, Asher brings Brianna over to where Phillip and I are taking a break. “Brianna has something to say to you, Elise,” he tells me in a serious tone.
Brianna won’t even look at me. I can tell this is going to be a forced apology, which seems pretty juvenile and ridiculous.
“Come on,” he tells her, “you promised.”
“Fine.” She looks up. “I’m sorry.”
“That was real heartfelt,” he says.
“It’s the best I can do at the moment.”
Asher shrugs. “And I’m sorry too, Elise. Sorry that I fell for Brianna’s lies about you. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
“So what happens next?” Phillip asks him. “It’s cool that you guys—well, at least you—apologized. But what about the criminal charges against Elise?”
“I plan to tell the police the truth,” Asher says.
“But we’re not taking the blame for that nasty photo,” Brianna says quickly. “I didn’t do that, and I’m willing to take a lie detector test if necessary to prove it.” She glares at me now. “You might’ve convinced Bristol and Asher that photo wasn’t of you and that you didn’t send it, but I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want,” I say. “The truth will come out.”
“And you did forward the photo,” Phillip reminds her. “We know that for sure.”
She frowns.
“And you sent those fake emails,” I add. “Some of those will be pretty incriminating.” I stare at her, still in partial disbelief that someone with such an innocent face could be so mean-spirited. “And you did all that just to hold on to Asher?”
“Not that it’s working,” Asher says in a tired voice. “Now, I’m going home, Brianna. You can ride with me or stay here. I don’t really care.”
Looking slightly whipped, she goes with him. I can only imagine the conversation they’ll have on the way home. I’m pretty sure she’ll try to convince him that she only did all this because she loves him, because she was looking out for his best interests, trying to protect him from me . . . whatever. But I’m sure she’ll try to spin it toward her own best interests.
Phillip and I stay for the duration of the dance. We even sit and visit with Bristol and Hayward for a while. I think both of them are really quite nice. And Bristol is actually the kind of girl I’d love to have for a good friend.
I think everyone is learning (or starting to learn) a lesson from all this. I hope so anyway. But as Phillip drives me home, I am plagued with one nagging question—if Brianna really didn’t do it, then who is responsible for that photo?
18
______
I sleep in on Saturday, but when I wake up it’s such a gorgeous, sunny day—just like summer—I decide to go down by the tiny apartment pool and just relax while I read a paperback. I have to admit it feels a bit lonely down there—and I really do miss having Stacie around to joke with—but I decide not to obsess over it.
Instead, I’m obsessing over the photo question—asking myself over and over what other enemies I can possibly have. Who could hate me that much? Who would stoop to such nastiness? Besides the whole Brianna crowd, which seems fairly cleared, I honestly can’t think of anyone. It’s just too weird. But if I can just prove I’m not the girl in the photo, at least I can put this thing to rest. Or so I hope.
I hear footsteps and notice Stacie’s sister walking through the courtyard around the pool, probably coming to beg money from her poor mom again. According to Stacie, this is the usual reason for Leslie’s sporadic and brief visits.
Then suddenly it hits me.
Leslie looks a lot like me. Both Stacie and her mom have pointed this out more than once. As I watch Leslie going up the stairs, I realize that they’re right. We’re about the same height, same build, same hair length and color—seriously, one of us could be a stand-in if the other one was starring in a film. Except for one thing.
I stand up and follow Leslie, calling out to her, “Hey, wait a minute.”
She turns and looks at me. “Oh, Elise, I didn’t see you there. What’s up?”
“Just catching some sun.” I lift my sunglasses and squint at her.
“Using your sunscreen, I hope.”
I force a laugh. “Oh, you know me, I go for the low SPF numbers.”
“Then you’ll probably look like dried-up beef jerky by the time you’re my age,” she says.
I nod. “Maybe so. I’ll bet you never go out in the sun without sunscreen.”
“I never go out in the sun—period.”
“Right . . .” The skanky image of the nude, pale-skinned girl feels like it’s been indelibly imprinted into my brain so that, even as I’m talking to her, I can see it. “I want to talk to Stacie. Mind if I follow you in?” I ask as she opens their door.
Now she gives me a slightly suspicious look. Ignoring her, I push right past, nodding at their mom, who is in her usual position on the couch with the TV blaring. “Stacie,” I call out, “where are you?”
Stacie emerges from her bedroom with a curious expression. “What’s going—”
“We need to talk,” I tell her. I pick up the remote from the coffee table and turn off the TV.
Their mom stares at me. “What are you do—”
“You need to hear this,” I tell her. I point to Stacie and Leslie. “You both sit down.”
As they do, I proceed to tell their mother about what happened to me, how someone sent a photo and said it was me, but she interrupts. “I know all about that nasty little incident,” she says with a wave of her hand.
“You know all about it?” I demand.
“Oh, sure, Stacie told me the whole thing.”
“The whole thing?” I glance at Stacie and can tell by her expression that she didn’t tell her mother everything. “That photo of the nude girl,” I say, “was a photo of Leslie, and—”
“What?” Their mother’s eyes grow wide. “Are you crazy?”
“No, but apparently your daughters might be.”
“What are you saying?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“I’m saying that your daughters are not who you think they are.” I pause to look at both Stacie and Leslie now. Their faces pretty much proclaim their guilt. Not that Leslie seems overly concerned. If anything, she’s amused. But I use this dramatic break to reconstruct what happened—how it went down, the order of events. Not that it takes a genius to figure it out. “And I’m saying that Stacie,” I continue slowly, “who is always getting into my purse and going through my things like she thinks she’s my little sister . . . I’m suggesting that Stacie snatched my phone. And she somehow talked Leslie into—”
“Try bribed,” Leslie offers with a sly smile. “Money talks, you know.”
“Fine, Stacie bribed Leslie to pose nude, and Stacie snapped a photo on my phone and then sent it to Asher’s phone. Thanks to Asher’s jealous girlfriend, that photo got forwarded to the whole school, and I got arrested on child porn charges. And that’s why Stacie has been avoiding me like the plague for the past week. Right?” I ask Stacie.
Now she’s crying. She buries her head in her hands and just starts sobbing. She shakes her head and mutters, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again.
“Is that true?” their mom demands of Leslie.
“Hey, I didn’t know what was going on,” Leslie tells her. “Stacie told me she was going to do a favor for someone, and she offered me ten bucks to—”
“Get out of here,” her mom yells at Leslie.
“Hey, don’t blame me, I was just—”
“Get out!” Her mom points to the door. “Stacie is fourteen years old. What on earth do you think you’re doing posing in the nude for a fourteen-year-old to photograph? Don’t come back here until you can grow up.”
“Fine!” Leslie yells as she grabs her purse. She pauses to glare at me like I’m the spoiler in her little game. “I won’t come back—ever!
”
“I’m sorry,” I say to Stacie’s mom. “But I had to get to the bottom of this. I was arrested and I need to clear my—”
“You’re not the one who should be sorry,” her mom says.
“I said I’m sorry,” Stacie tells us both with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m really sorry. I wanted to tell you the truth, Elise, but I didn’t know how. I never knew it would turn out like it did. And then it just got worse and worse.”
“All I want to know is why.” I watch her face. “What made you do it?”
“Because I saw how much you loved Asher—”
“But that’s no reason to—”
“I could tell how much he liked you. And I thought you’d get him if you just sent him one photo. I thought for sure he’d dump Brianna if he could see how hot you are.”
“You mean how hot Leslie is,” I correct her.
“You know what I mean.” She takes in a shaky breath. “I thought I was helping you. You were so worried that it was over—that he wasn’t going to email you anymore and—”
“But what you didn’t know—or me either at the time—was that Brianna was the one writing those emails.”
“No way!”
“It was Brianna the whole time. She pretended to be Asher to keep me away from him. It was her way of keeping us apart. And you sending that photo played right into her hands.”
“I’m sorry, Elise!”
Her mom is shaking her head hopelessly. “How did I manage to raise two total idiots for daughters?”
“She’s not an idiot,” I say in defense of Stacie. “But she was foolish and immature, and she fell into a trap and dragged me along with her.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” she mutters again.
“I know you are,” I tell her. “But I blame Leslie even more than you. She’s older, she should’ve known better.”
Her mom just laughs, but it’s not a happy laugh.
I ignore her. “I understand that you thought you were helping me, Stacie, but you have to see how stupid that was—”
“I do see. And I’ll never do anything like that again.” She wipes her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt. “Do you think I’ll be arrested now?”
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