by Julia Day
Ash rode a bus today? That couldn’t be good.
I knew the exact moment when someone told him where I was. He stiffened, his gaze seeking mine. After speaking briefly to his friends, he headed for me.
“Hi,” he said.
I held out my hand to him, careful to keep the good side of my face toward him. “Why did you ride the bus?”
He hesitated a moment before taking my hand. “I’ve been grounded from using my car.”
“How long?”
“A couple of days. I hope.”
“I’m the reason.” It wasn’t a question. Of course, I was.
“Lying is the reason.”
“Lying about me.”
He shrugged. “They want to meet you.”
“I’ll bet.” I backed up, tugging him around to the far side of the tree, away from his friends and into the shadows.
A line of students streamed past on the sidewalk, laughing and talking and watching us.
I waited until no one could hear. “How pissed are your parents?”
“Pissed enough to turn on the GPS on my phone to track me.” His eyes narrowed on my face. “You put on makeup today.”
“A little.” I looked at my shoes, allowing my hair to swing forward over my bad cheek.
“And you’re wearing your hair down.”
“You like it that way.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned into him.
“Not going to work. Something’s wrong.” With one hand, he placed gentle fingers under my chin and tilted my head. With the other, he tucked a loose strand behind the ear on the sore side of my face. “Eden,” he gasped in shock and horror. “How did this happen?”
“Not saying.”
Outrage vibrated off him. “Was it your father?”
“Not. Saying.” There was a confused little girl inside me who wanted Ash to hold and kiss me until it was all better, but this wasn’t the right place for that.
“Are you going to report him?”
“Marnie has it under control.”
“I’m not impressed.”
“She couldn’t reach me in time yesterday.” I shook my head, denying the issue and its hold over me. It was more important to focus on Ash and fixing our mess. “When do I meet your folks?”
“Eden.” My name came out on an agonized groan. When his fingertips feathered over my bruised cheek, I flinched away.
He lowered his hand to cup my shoulder. “Your father hit you because of me.”
“I can take care of myself.” I nodded with confidence. Dad couldn’t compete against me and Marnie. “Do your parents want to schedule something?”
He frowned, his breathing labored.
“I’ll be okay,” I said. “We’ll be okay.”
“I don’t know if we will.”
His statement sent a ripple of dread through my body. “Don’t talk like that. It scares me.”
“Can you come over to our house tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up.”
“I’ll have to leave for the Fremonts’ by seven, so I’ll drive myself.” The first bell rang. Around us, the stampede began as students hurried inside. Standing on tiptoe, I raised my lips to a millimeter below his.
“Trying to make a point?” he murmured, his warm, minty breath enticing me.
“To you.”
He closed the distance. Our lips clung, lingered.
Our first public kiss felt more like a defeat than a victory.
* * *
Mundy plopped onto the desk beside me in English and leaned across the aisle. “How did last night go? Did your parents take it well?”
I shrugged, my face averted. “Not entirely.”
She made a kind of grunt in her throat, stood, and walked around to my other side. Lifting my hair, she hissed, “Sonofabitch.”
If I hadn’t been so tense, I might have laughed. Swearing, from Mundy, almost sounded cute.
“Eden?”
“Drop it.”
She slid back into her desk. “You haven’t reported him. Have you?”
“I haven’t told you how I got the bruise.”
“I’ll tell Cam.”
“And you’ll both be embarrassed if you press this. I’ll deny everything, and the county legal system will breathe a sigh of relief.”
“This isn’t right—”
“Mundy. Eden,” Ms. Barrie interrupted us. “Let me know when I have permission to proceed.”
We nodded and faced forward. My eyes sought Ash. For a flicker of a moment, our gazes held, sweet and tormented.
As today’s lecture wound through the twisty narrative of Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, I lost focus. When the bell rang and the classroom burst into noise, it jolted me. I clutched my backpack and headed for the teacher’s desk, hoping to get in a question between classes. The Peyton application had to be turned in by next Wednesday, and I hadn’t requested the teacher recommendation yet. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve asked Mrs. Barber, but she was the Honors Committee chair. The obvious next choice was Ms. Barrie. She might be pissed about writing one fast, but writing was her talent. I was prepared to beg.
Standing beside the desk, I turned so that my good side was toward her. While waiting for her to look up, I gave myself a mental pep rally for the coming ordeal and reflected on how odd it was that my favorite teacher could be so unapproachable.
I’d taken two classes from her: junior English in addition to this year’s English Lit. Both classes had emphasized writing, and it wasn’t enough for our essays to communicate. She inspired us to communicate beautifully. I loved how much she loved language.
Why, then, did talking to her intimidate me?
Maybe it was the contradictions in her appearance. She had to be six feet tall with the build of a weight lifter, yet she wore delicate sandals with toenails painted, this week in zebra stripes. She had iron-gray hair, cut in a no-nonsense style close to her head, while sparkly chandelier earrings dangled from her ears. It was hard to know which Ms. Barrie was the real one.
“Yes, Eden, how may I help you?” Her head remained bowed.
I clasped my hands to keep them from shaking. Why was this hard? She liked me. I knew she did.
She twirled a finger impatiently, as if to speed things up.
I spoke in a rush. “I’m applying for the Peyton Scholarship, and I was hoping … that is, it would be an honor if you would write my teacher’s rec.” I drew the instructions sheet out of my notebook and offered it to her.
She stared at it, her expression unreadable. With a sigh, she pulled off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Disbelief arced through me like an electric shock. “All right.” I returned the sheet to my backpack, my thoughts muddled.
“I’ve already written one for Ash Gupta.” She finally looked up at me. “It wouldn’t be appropriate to write one for a second student, no matter how much I admire her abilities.”
“I understand.” And I did, but I didn’t like it. After thanking her, I left, trying not think about how pissed I was for allowing this awful week to distract me to the point that I’d put my Peyton application in jeopardy.
* * *
Dr. Holt was waiting outside the door to the art room, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. When I approached, he straightened and gestured me over.
“Eden,” he said, his voice tight with concern.
“I asked Mundy not to say anything to you.”
“I’m glad she did. May I see?”
In answer, I lifted my chin and shook my hair back. Might as well have one teacher who knew the complete truth.
He exhaled an angry breath. “Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine, Dr. Holt. This is private. I have it under control.”
“There are things we can do—”
“Please. Stop. You’ve done your duty.” I looked away, hiding behind a curtain of hair again. “If you want to help, don’t let this be discussed in the teacher’s
lounge.”
The bell rang. He pulled the door almost shut, leaving us alone in the now-empty hall.
“You’re welcome to stay at our house, Eden. As much as you want. Just call, day or night. We’ll pick you up.”
“Thanks.” I forced out the word through a throat thickened by unshed tears. He was wonderful. Mundy’s whole family was wonderful.
“Art can be a tool for channeling emotion. It’s yours to use.” He opened the door and held it for me. “Okay, come in. And if you feel like you need to leave—to be by yourself—there will be a pass waiting for you.”
I took my place at a table next to Mundy and listened as he described the assignment. When he was done, he reached for a familiar green slip of paper, scrawled something on it, and pushed it to the corner of his desk.
Around me, the other students got started. I sat quietly, thinking about that pass, so very grateful that it was there while knowing I wouldn’t use it. Because this was where I wanted to be. I needed art today.
* * *
After school let out, I went straight to the computer lab. Mrs. Barber wasn’t there, so I flopped onto a computer chair and waited.
The thock-thock of wooden-heeled clogs entered the lab. I looked up to see Mrs. Barber disappear into her office. She hadn’t noticed me sitting here.
Anxiety whimpered in my gut as I stood. I had to have it out with her, since it was likely her fault that the Ash-Eden photo hit the Internet. I wanted answers.
I braced against the doorframe for support. “Got a moment?”
“Sure, what’s up?” Her tired smile flattened when I pushed the door shut with a soft click.
“Did you upload this image?” I held out a hard copy of the photo.
She glanced at it and nodded.
“Without my permission?”
“Watch the tone, Eden,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “I did have your permission. When you mailed it to me on Monday, you told me to add it to the candids page.”
“I did not send you this photo.”
Frowning, she opened the laptop and keyed in her password. “The message came from you.”
My brain whirled with this bit of information. Could someone have hacked into my account? Nah. My password was too tight. “Do you still have the e-mail?”
“Maybe.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “It’s not there. Let me see if it’s in Deleted Items.”
She typed Eden into the mail application’s search function and up popped a deleted message.
From: Eden Moore
Subject: photo of me to upload
Attachment: topsail.jpg
Please add this shot to the candids page.
Thanks, Eden
“My account was spoofed,” I said. “What is the actual address?”
She hovered over my name. [email protected].
Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble. It was disturbing. “Does the e-mail address still work?”
Mrs. Barber clicked Reply. A few seconds later, the message bounced.
Mail returned undelivered: Account Not Found.
“I apologize, Eden. I never thought to check.”
Of course she didn’t. The perpetrator had counted on that. “This is an elaborate fake out.”
“Who would’ve done such a thing?”
“I’m not sure.” I did, however, have a strong suspicion. It was too bad that Gina had overlooked the safety net we had in place. “If it had really been me, I would’ve uploaded the photo to the staging area and asked you in person to post it. You had to know that.”
“I was excited to see you and Ash together. You make a cute couple. I didn’t think about how strange it was to receive the image by e-mail.” She paled. “I’m sorry.”
I inclined my head, yet I couldn’t bring myself to say it was all right because it wasn’t.
“Will you report this?” Her eyes were anxious.
“No.”
“Thanks.” She shuddered. “Do you want me to remove the image?”
“No, ma’am. I took it down.”
After retrieving my hard copy of the photo, I left her office and sat down before one of the lab computers. My discussion with Mrs. Barber might be over, but I was hardly finished with the topic. The guilty party had to be located. I logged into the web site’s administrative account, and rechecked the opt-out list for my name. Yes, it was still there. Whoever had sent that e-mail must’ve known Mrs. Barber wouldn’t upload it otherwise.
The Webmaster’s Club and the Journalism Club had access to the opt-out list. The criminal was probably in one of those two groups.
Where had the photographer been standing when the photo was snapped? When Ash and I went to the beach, there had been no one near us. We’d been too careful. I remembered a few people farther down the shore, noisy and laughing. It must’ve been one of them. And from their distance, a normal zoom lens wouldn’t have given enough clarity.
I had to organize the available data. The criminal had:
1) Artist-quality photographic talent
2) Access to expensive camera equipment, including a telephoto lens
3) Knowledge of the opt-out list
4) A grudge against me or Ash
All clues led to Tiffany.
25
Definition of Perfect
As I walked up the sidewalk to the school on Thursday, there was a burst of familiar giggles behind me. I stopped in my tracks and spun around. Just who I wanted to see. “Tiffany.”
She and her best friend froze. Around us, our classmates slowed as if they smelled a fight.
Licking her lips nervously, Tiffany took a few steps nearer to me, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield. “What do you want?”
“Drop the act. You already know.”
Her gaze held mine for a moment before drifting to my bruise. “Did Byron do that to you?”
“What do you want the answer to be? Would it ease your guilt if I said no?” I leaned in, shaking from some emotion that I couldn’t identify. “You may have thought it was just a stupid joke, but it set off a lot of bad shit.”
Regret flickered in her eyes.
“Why did you do it, Tiffany?” Had a whimper of betrayal crept into my voice? Nope. Couldn’t allow that.
“The photographer is anonymous.”
“No, she’s not.” It overwhelmed me to think that she’d created such a spiteful plan. She might’ve fooled herself into believing she had legitimate reasons to be pissed at me, but to this level? It hardly made sense.
From a short distance away, her friend Starr watched us silently, a smug curl to her lip.
Wait. Was Starr in on it? Had this crime been an impulse that got out of hand—with Starr egging Tiffany on?
That must be it. Mean was contagious. “Whose idea was it to involve Gina?”
“I don’t—”
“You could’ve gotten her into a lot of trouble. Did Starr come up with that part?”
“Do you think I’m not smart enough to come up with this on my own?” Tiffany’s chin lifted. “You need to back off, Eden. It’s done. It’s over. You don’t have proof, and you never will.”
“I’ll find some.”
“No, you won’t.” She stepped around me.
“Really? You think you get to walk away, like nothing happened?”
She stopped to glare. “Yes, but go ahead. Do your best. It won’t matter.” She gave a spoiled-princess toss to her head and ran toward the front doors. Starr caught up in two strides.
* * *
I barely survived my first two classes, anxious that I couldn’t get Ash to do more than mumble a few words to me. By lunch, I was desperate for a break. Clarissa Cruz-Holt had been sending in good food lately, including enough for me. There seemed to be a lot of raw veggies in today’s lunch pack, which Mundy loved. She could have them. I’d eat the trail mix with M&Ms.
Mundy spoke between crunches. “You’re meeting his folks tonight?”
“Ye
ah.” I was glad for the conversation. Anything to divert my attention from dark thoughts. “I’m nervous.”
“He adores you. You adore him. His parents are bound to notice.” She made it sound easy, when I knew it wouldn’t be.
“That won’t make them like it.”
“True. It’s too bad love can’t be enough.” Mundy stared off into the cafeteria, people-watching, a bright smile on her face.
She was beautiful and fun. It surprised me she didn’t have a steady boyfriend. In fact, there was something wrong with a universe with a dating Eden and a single Mundy. Maybe it was time for a change. “Is there any guy you like?”
“I have a terrible crush on someone.”
“You’ve never told me that. How come I don’t know something so important?”
“We don’t talk about me. Your problems are much more interesting.”
“Oh, yeah. That makes me feel better.” What kind of friend was I? “Want to give me a name?”
“Sawyer Atkinson.”
How cool. They would make an adorable couple. Especially since he felt the same way …
“I’m an idiot.” My heart skipped a beat. He liked her. She liked him, and I was responsible for ensuring they hadn’t found each other yet. What kind of friend was I? “He asked me if you ever mention him, and I said no.”
“That’s true, though. I haven’t until now.” Her smile grew even brighter. “What else did he say?”
“He thinks you’re amazing.”
“He does?” Her gaze zeroed in on where Sawyer ate several tables over. “I want him badly, but I shouldn’t start something with him at this point. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Fair?” I frowned. “Why did you use that word?”
She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I don’t care. I’m going for it anyway.”
Mundy marched over to where he sat in the midst of the other popular kids. She gave a lengthy monologue in her own animated way, hands gesturing wildly. The group reacted with increasingly comical levels of shock, especially Tiffany, whose gaze bounced between Sawyer and Mundy with alarm.
Once Mundy ended her speech, Sawyer scrambled to his feet, clasped her hand, and pulled her to a corner. An intense conversation followed after which she smiled, nodded her head, kissed him on the cheek, and returned to our table. He watched her stroll away, utter worship transforming his face.