7 Clues to Winning You

by Kristin Walker

  “Obviously, we don’t want this,” he said. Judging from the bitter look on the VP’s face, she disagreed. Dad went on. “So, Vice Principal Hinkler and I have come to a possible resolution.” He glanced up at her smug face. Then back to me. “It’s obvious from this caption that the Senior Scramble has been taking place, despite being officially banned by me.”

  When he said this, everything below my neck was a buzzing ball of frenzied anxiety. Above my neck, every muscle was completely relaxed and complacent. Eighth rule of lying: Keep your poker face. Never have a “tell” or a physical gesture that will give yourself away and let your opponent know you’re bluffing.

  “Judging from this picture, it’s likely you’re even involved,” Dad said, “which I sincerely hope is not the case. At any rate, if you can point to any students involved or responsible for the illicit Senior Scramble, then Vice Principal Hinkler and I have agreed to reduce your punishment from expulsion to a two-week suspension.”

  The VP sneered, “Personally, I think it sets a dangerous precedent, but of course, I defer to Principal McKenna’s judgment.” She pursed her lips together sourly.

  The irony of it was amusing. A month ago, when I didn’t want to get anywhere near Ash Grove, I was forced to be here. Now that I wanted to stay, they were threatening to kick me out. Did they really think they could manipulate me so easily? As if they could dangle my “permanent record” in front of me like a bone for a dog and I’d dance for them?

  As if I’d betray Luke and Jenna and Cy? As if I’d turn on anyone involved in the Senior Scramble?

  As if I were that traitorous. As if I were that cruel. As if I were that weak.

  As if.

  “I can name everyone involved,” I lied plainly. I paused to let that tantalizing bit of misinformation soak into VP Hinkler’s tiny brain and make her salivate. “But I won’t. I’m not a snitch. Besides, I made the mistake of ruining the Senior Scramble once. I won’t do it again.”

  The VP’s face hardened again into sharp angles and dark chasms. “So you’re taking part in it?”

  Dad looked to me for the answer, and a shade of desperation fell across his face. I realized that he wasn’t worried about how this would look to the school board or how this would affect his authority. Dad was worried for me. He was concerned about my security and my future. Not his own. As much as it might have crushed him, if he had asked me that question, I would have been entirely truthful. I would have confessed my role and accepted the consequences.

  But it was Finkler who had asked the question. I looked straight in her dead eyes and said, “I didn’t say that. All I said was that I could name everyone involved.”

  Dad puffed out his cheeks. “Well, that’s a relief, at least,” he mumbled. He didn’t realize that I hadn’t answered her question. He’d heard what he wanted to hear. Or needed to hear.

  “We will find out,” VP Hinkler growled. “And everyone involved will be suspended, you can be sure. Juniors, seniors, everyone.” She leaned over and tapped the picture of Luke with one of her bony claws. “In fact, I think it’s pretty clear from this picture that Luke Pavel is strongly connected to it.” She narrowed her eyes at me and smiled. “Perhaps his expulsion will send a message to the rest of the insubordinate participants, and they’ll drop the whole thing.”

  My heart stopped.

  She knew. Either she figured it out from the picture, or she’d seen us in the hallways or heard rumors, but that evil witch knew Luke and I had been dating. Now she was using that against me, threatening me with Luke’s expulsion in addition to my own if I didn’t turn everyone in.

  “Perhaps Blythe needs a little time to think,” Dad said, bracing himself against his desk. “Maybe she should sleep on it.”

  VP Hinkler clenched her yellow, uneven teeth. “Fine,” she said. Her tone said the opposite.

  Dad rubbed the tops of his knees and stood up. “All right, Blythe. You have until tomorrow morning to determine your course of action. Please report here first thing, before homeroom.” He checked his watch. “You may return to class now.”

  Suddenly, he was Principal McKenna again and I was nothing more than a random anonymous student. Someone he wouldn’t see until the next day, not someone he shared a bathroom and a refrigerator and a HOME with.

  It was time for the lady look, because I had no intention of going back to class. How could I when everyone was so enraged with me? My emotions had been worn out and totally depleted from the confrontations with Dad and Luke. I didn’t have anything left to use in my defense against the slurs and sneers from everyone. I needed to get out of there. So I plastered on a solid-gold lady look, walked out of the office, turned down the hall, and kept going until I was out the door.

  I got in my car and burst into tears again. I had lost my best friend, lost Luke, lost any chance of survival at Ash Grove, and shot my future plans to hell. I cranked the ignition, but I didn’t know where to drive. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t go to Meriton. I couldn’t stay here. There was only one place left.

  CHAPTER 23

  THE MOMENT I WALKED INTO MS. FRANNY AND MS. Eulalie’s room, I knew something was wrong. Ms. Franny screamed at me, “Get the hell out!” The skin on her face was sallow and sunken. Her finger shook as she pointed at me. She was slipping off her pillow.

  “Ms. Franny, it’s me, Blythe!” I rushed over to her so she could see me. Ms. Eulalie’s bed was empty. She must have gone to get a bath or her hair done or something. She didn’t usually schedule those things on Mondays, though. “Where’s Ms. Eulalie?” I asked.

  “Is that you, Blythe?” Ms. Franny asked, peering at me through the dusky slits between her sagging eyelids. “I can’t … I can’t figure anything out. Is that you?” She seemed to be staring straight through me like the answer was across the room.

  I sat beside her on the edge of her bed. “It’s me, Ms. Franny. It’s Blythe. I’ve just been crying, and my makeup has run.” I grabbed a tissue from the box on her nightstand and tried to wipe off my smeared mascara. “It’s me.” I waited for her to ask why I was crying. She didn’t.

  Ms. Franny slowly brought my face into focus. “Oh, Blythe. When did you get here? You’re supposed to come on Mondays.” Her voice drifted off.

  What was going on? “It is Monday, Ms. Franny. Are you okay? Where’s Ms. Eulalie?”

  “Gone,” she said, indicating Ms. Eulalie’s neatly made bed. “The old nag’s finally gone.” She touched her face with her frail, trembling hand like she was checking something but couldn’t remember what.

  I gingerly took her hand in both of mine and forced her to look at me. “What do you mean, gone?”

  Strands of loose gray hair fell around Ms. Franny’s face as she turned to Ms. Eulalie’s empty bed. “A couple of nights ago she couldn’t breathe. Stopped altogether. They took her to the hospital, and she never came back. That’s what I mean, gone.” Her line of vision slipped over to the window. “I always said I wanted my own room anyway.” She squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced like she’d just been stuck in the belly with a needle. She wrenched her hand out of my grasp.

  “Ms. Franny? I’ll be right back, okay?” I slid off her bed and ran to find Darlene. I spotted her coming out of one of the resident rooms. She was shoving the end of a chocolate bar into her mouth. “Darlene!” I called. She glanced at me but didn’t acknowledge me at all. She lumbered back to her desk and sat down. I stormed up to her desk, planted both hands on it, and leaned down to her face. “When someone calls your name,” I growled, “it is impolite not to RESPOND.” My swollen eyes and smeared makeup must’ve looked pretty scary because she reared back into her squeaking chair.

  “I … I didn’t hear you,” she lied.

  “What happened to Ms. Eulalie?” I demanded.

  Darlene started rustling and straightening some of the disorganized papers on her cluttered desk. She kept her pudgy eyes off me. “She was taken to St. Michael’s Hospital on Friday with pneumonia,” she said as ea
sily as if it were the weather. “Probably got sick when you took her outside last week.”

  I glowered at Darlene like I wanted to wipe her off the bottom of my shoe after stomping her into a pulp. “No, she did not,” I said. “Insinuate that one more time, and I’ll punch you right in the face.” Where was this coming from?

  All I knew was that Darlene was an obstacle between me and the truth about Ms. Eulalie, and nothing was going to prevent me from finding out what happened. “Now, tell me how she is.” My gut was twisted into such a knot. Ms. Eulalie couldn’t be dead. It was unacceptable.

  Darlene seemed to draw a sick pleasure from my obvious concern. “It was touch and go,” she sneered. “She died.”

  My heart fell to my stomach.

  Then Darlene said, “Twice. They revived her both times. She’s in intensive care.”

  I worked very hard to keep my voice level and empty of fear. “Will she be coming back?”

  Darlene said, “From what I hear, it doesn’t look good.” She licked her lips and gave me a greasy smirk. I never wanted to slap someone so badly before. I’d never wanted to slap someone at all before. Now, it took all of my mother’s dignity training to keep my hands on top of that desk and not around Darlene’s beastly neck.

  “Does Ms. Franny know?” I asked.

  “Know what?” She popped a piece of gum in her mouth and chewed noisily.

  “That Ms. Eulalie’s NOT DEAD.”

  Darlene shrugged, looking apathetic. “How should I know?”

  Unbelievable.

  I leaned closer to her. She drew back. “You should know,” I said, “because you’re supposed to care about the welfare of the residents, not about how much candy you can steal from them while they’re asleep, you bitch.”

  Darlene crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, looking smug. “Blythe McKenna, you are officially dismissed from the volunteer program at Shady Acres. Leave your ID badge at the front desk.” She raised one hand and waved at me. “Buh-bye.”

  I tore the badge from my shirt and tossed it at her. I turned to head back to Ms. Franny. Darlene said, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I reeled around and said, “Visiting hours don’t end until seven. I’m visiting my friend.” I marched down the hall.

  “I’m calling security!” she cried after me.

  “Go ahead,” I yelled over my shoulder. I had zero doubt that she would. I knew I’d only have a couple of minutes with Ms. Franny. I veered into her room and sat on her bed again. She kept staring out the window while she plucked hairs from the shaggy braid on her shoulder.

  “Ms. Franny?” I whispered. She seemed startled and turned her head as though she’d just noticed me. “Ms. Franny, I can’t stay today. I’m sorry. I have to go, but I just want you to know that Ms. Eulalie is still in the hospital and they hope she’ll be back soon. So don’t worry about her, okay?”

  Ms. Franny’s eyes brightened a tiny bit, but she said, “Who said I was worried?” Her face darkened again. Her jaw hardened. “I don’t need that old cow.” She rolled over in bed and curled up as tightly as her stiffened joints would allow. I stroked her back, feeling the sharp edges and jagged turns of her bones beneath her nightgown.

  Soon there were heavy footsteps in the doorway. “Goodbye, Ms. Franny,” I whispered, and slipped out of the door before the security guard had a chance to say a word.

  My heart was breaking for Ms. Franny and was full of worry for Ms. Eulalie. I thought about going to the hospital to see her, but I knew they only let family visit patients in the ICU. Of course, Ms. Eulalie’s husband and children were gone and the rest of her extended family lived back in Alabama, so it was likely nobody was there for her. She and Ms. Franny were pretty much all each other had, no matter how much they bickered and fought. They were closer than sisters.

  Tara and I had been closer than sisters too. We’d keep track of each other all day so it seemed like we were never apart. We could communicate with just a gesture or an expression. We filled in the blanks of each other.

  How could she destroy all that?

  I had to know. I needed to know why Tara had done that, and I needed to know now. Immediately. Forget the fact that school hours weren’t over. I couldn’t get to Meriton High School fast enough.

  When I got there, I walked in the main entrance, which led to the front office. I acted like I was still a student there, and since the secretaries vaguely recognized me, they didn’t bat an eye when I signed a fake name into the late-student ledger. I even waved, smiled, and thanked them when they buzzed me through the inner door.

  It was 1:27. Tara would be in study hall on the second floor. I scaled the stairs and navigated the familiar turns in the hallways without even thinking. I reached the room, rapped on the door, and opened it a crack. From where I stood, the teacher, Mr. Papadopoulos, could see me, but the students couldn’t. Mr. Papadopoulos always liked me, so he smiled. Before he had a chance to say my name, I said, “I need Tara Henry, please,” as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He called her name. I stepped back from the door so she wouldn’t see me until she came out. When she shut the door and turned around, she froze and her eyes saucered. It was as good as a confession. She opened her mouth, but I didn’t let her get a sound out.

  “Have a little fun with Photoshop last night, T?” I said sarcastically. “And you compiled a nice mailing list of e-mails too. So much work, just to be malicious and cruel.”

  She looked up to the left and nibbled her pinky cuticle. I knew the move. She was feigning boredom to mask her nervousness. “It wasn’t malicious and cruel,” she imitated. “I did it for your own good.”

  “What?” I cried “How? By making Luke and everyone in Ash Grove hate me? AGAIN? They had just started to accept me!”

  “I’m not surprised they’re accepting you, because you’re changing into one of them. You’re like an Ash Grove clone. I can’t stand by and watch them turn you into white trash. Literally! You were in a garbage Dumpster, for God’s sake, Blythe, and you thought it was romantic. You know why I sent out that picture? To remind everyone at Ash Grove who you are. To remind YOU who you are. To let them know that you’re better than they are, and they’re ruining you. Luke Pavel is ruining you. Those Ash Grove assholes deserve to have everything ruined for them in return!”

  None of that was true. Tara had spun out this ludicrous story to validate her actions and conceal the fact that she was bitter and jealous and hurt. I wasn’t turning into trash. I knew that, because the people at Ash Grove weren’t trash. Even if Tara believed they were, it wouldn’t make a difference. She still based her excuse for why she did it on a pile of lies so thick that even she believed them. I’d seen her manipulate her parents like that a hundred times before.

  It was definitely a moment for profanity.

  “Bullshit,” I said. “You were mad and you wanted to hurt me. That’s all. Go ahead and justify it any way you want, but I know you, Tara, and I know exactly why you did this. Your face said everything when you walked out here. You weren’t happy to see me. You were scared. You know you screwed me over. Now you’re lying to me about it and probably lying to yourself too. Nobody at Ash Grove has ever lied to me. Not a single person. Yes, sometimes the truth hurts, but you know what? I’d rather hear the truth from my enemies than lies from my friends.”

  I spun around and left. I figured she’d shout after me. Call me back so she could apologize. So we could make up. Go back to before.

  She didn’t. Each step I took put another mile between us.

  I got in the car and drove. I couldn’t go home and face my mother. One look from her and I would splinter into a thousand pieces. I was already a spiderweb of fractures. The parts of my life seemed to be falling away from me, and the more I tried to hold them together, the worse the breaks became.

  I needed to see Luke.

  That’s the only thing I was sure of. Everything else was quicksand.

  School wouldn’t be out for half
an hour. I drove around. Somehow, I ended up at our new house. I hated that house. I’d been fooled by its promise of new beginnings. All it really stood for was the end of things I loved. My home. My friends. My future.

  Luke.

  The house had lied to me. Don’t hide, it had said. Let them see the real you, flaws and all. Well, I had. And it cost me everything. Nobody liked what they saw. Everyone preferred perfect Blythe. Cheerful, organized, put-together Blythe. Well rounded, well dressed, and well liked. It was a package deal.

  I got out of the car and stood on the landscaped paver walkway. My eyes darted from picture window to porch to eaves to roof to siding to garage to chimney and back to picture window. It was a flawless exterior. A perfect facade. Like perfect Blythe had been.

  I reached down, wrestled one of the paver stones from the edge of the walk, and hurled it as hard as I could. It smashed through the front window, sending shards of glass everywhere. It felt good to watch something shatter besides me. To hear it smash. A slab of the cracked pane dangled from the frame and then sliced through the air as it fell. “How does it feel?” I jeered at the house. The gaping hole in the window marred the house’s facade like a toothless mouth. I opened mine to mimic it.

  The window beside the picture window was still unbroken. I bent down and wrenched another paver stone loose. It was cool and dense in my hand. “This might hurt,” I sneered. I cocked back my arm, took aim at the remaining pane of glass …

  … and paused.

  I was talking to a house. I was trying to hurt a house. A house can’t feel, I said to myself. What was I doing, then? Who did I think I was hurting here? My friends? My father?

  I heard a loud BLEEP behind me. I turned and was blinded by the flashing red and blue lights of an Ash Grove police cruiser pulling in behind my car. The answer to my question instantly fell upon me like a sheet of ice water.