She handed me the mics. “Do you think you could get these set up?” She nodded toward the podium standing in the middle of the stage. A giant arch of red and blue balloons loomed overhead.
“Of course I can.” I liked being useful, and tonight was like the tech theatre Olympics. She blew me a kiss and rushed off to take care of probably a hundred more things. I walked to the podium, thankful that I’d worn flat knee-high boots instead of the three inch-heeled ones I almost put on. All this running around was exhausting, but thrilling at the same time. I slid the first microphone into its holster and switched it on.
“Testing, testing.”
Ivan magically appeared in the very last row of the auditorium and gave me an approving nod. Satisfied that the audience would be able to hear Omar’s speech loud and clear, I shoved the second mic in the back pocket of my black skinnies to hold in case two people wanted to talk at the same time. I walked off into the opposite wing, where I was greeted by hushed, angry voices. I ducked behind a curtain so they wouldn’t see me.
“Then how did he get it? You always have it, Darce. Always.” Omar. And he was pissed. Was he mad Ivan had the scarf? It was an honest mistake. I thought about intervening for a hot second but then Darcy spoke up.
“Honestly, I have no idea. I hung it on the hooks in the locker room while I was fixing my hair and changing into my suit, so it wouldn’t fall on the floor, and when I came back, literally ten minutes later, it was gone.” It was so like Darcy to treat the scarf like precious cargo rather than risk it contracting some fatal disease from the girls’ locker room. But then how did Ivan get it? My brows furrowed. Maybe someone else saw it and didn’t realize Darcy was in there? I nodded to myself. That had to be it. And they probably gave it to Ivan because they knew he could get it to her quickly. Complete sense.
“You expect me to buy that? This is like a smoking gun. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before now.” Lower, so I almost couldn’t hear him. “An effing slap in the face, Darce.” Shadow Omar crossed his arms across his broad chest, and turned from Darcy. I knew she was panicking, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, from the movement of her own shadows on the floor.
“There’s nothing to see, O. You have to believe me.” Her voice caught; Darcy wasn’t a crier, but I could hear the sadness so deeply in her tone, I knew the tears were inevitable.
The shadows shifted again slightly as Omar shook his head. “No. I actually don’t. The only thing I have to believe is that you and my good friend have been hooking up behind my back. I’m such an idiot. I should have connected the dots weeks ago.”
Um, what? Was he talking about Ivan? The “good friend” supposedly creeping on Darcy? My cheeks burned and my heart literally stopped. Was that true? Was I that blind too? I mean, Omar had plenty of “good friends” but Ivan was the one I saw with the scarf. Goosebumps spread down my bare arms as I remained frozen in place.
“What dots are you talking about?” Darcy was frantic. The curtain where she stood waved as she rocked back and forth on her toes and heels more quickly.
Omar cleared his throat and continued on with a formal list. “You’ve been spending a lot of time at school in the evening.”
“That’s BS,” Darcy hissed. “We’ve been on deadline. This is no different than any other publication month and you know it.” Darcy was editor-in-chief of the literary magazine. Late nights were normal.
“How do I know that?”
“It’s called trust, Omar.”
“Fine. You’ve also cancelled on me several times in the last few weeks.”
“I was sick. And I’ve had a lot of projects for class. Would you like to call my mother to verify?” It was clear Darcy had moved from scared to pissed.
Omar’s voice was tinged with ice as he practically spat, “But it’s not like any other month, is it Darce?”
She sighed. “I told you it is. What else do you want me to say?”
“How about admitting that you only published Neighbors’ essay because you wanted to go behind my back with him? Did you think I wouldn’t figure that out?”
He was sarcastic and cruel, two traits I’d never assign to him. I replayed what he said in my head because I felt like I must have misheard him, and suddenly my mind stumbled on one word. Correction, one name. Neighbors. Not Veselov. Not Ivan. He wasn’t talking about my boyfriend, thank the lord. Selfishly I let out a silent breath of relief. Not me. My world was still intact. I felt silly for even jumping to the conclusion that my boyfriend would do something so devious. I smiled at the floor and fanned the heat out of my cheeks.
Oh but Caleb Neighbors. Not just any other guy. The running mate. How perfectly awful, and what the heck was Darcy thinking? My cheeks colored again at my automatic assumption that Omar’s cuckold cry was the truth. Omar had to be wrong. I couldn’t imagine my sweet and dedicated friend throwing away her relationship with arguably the best catch in the school for a younger, greener guy.
I mean, Caleb was okay. If you liked social climbers who loved to hear themselves talk. He also had boy band hair and was forever flipping his head to the side to get it out of his eyes. Caleb got the job of running mate because he won practically every award Model UN had to offer last year—as a sophomore no less—and one of his research essays was accepted into the lit mag. Omar decided he needed a hot shot writer and speaker on his team to win. He didn’t actually need Caleb, but it probably helped him sleep better at night. Or not, according to Darcy.
“I thought you were more creative than that, Darce. I mean, it’s the same move you used on me. Offer to print my work in the magazine so you could spend more time with me. It was cute once, but twice? And now this.” Omar said it like it he was hammering the final nail into the coffin of his and Darcy’s relationship.
Her shadows suggested she threw her hands up in exasperation. “This?”
“It’s not like I make you wear the scarf, Darce. If it felt so much like a noose that you had to fool around with Neighbors, you could’ve just taken it off and told me. You didn’t need to shove it in his bag to make a statement.”
“There is nothing going on between Caleb and me. Nothing. You’re the only one I want. You know that. I love you.”
I didn’t hear anything more after Darcy reminded Omar of her feelings for him and could only hope he’d suddenly seen the error of his thoughts and was kissing her senseless as an apology. I didn’t the chance to find out, though, as Mrs. Sharma banged through the double doors on our side of the stage with Ruby Dwyer hot on her heels. The opponent. The soon-to-be former competition.
“But Mrs. Sharma, are you sure the microphones are working?”
“Of course they are, Ruby. Emerson checked them herself.”
I stepped out of the wing as naturally as I could. “Sorry to butt in, but I overheard you. The mics are both working perfectly. If you need the extra one in case you can’t reach the podium, Ruby, you just let me know.” I smiled sweetly at her. She scowled back. Ruby and I hadn’t gotten along since she flirted ridiculously with Darcy freshman year and couldn’t take a hint, so I told her to back off because Darcy didn’t want to hurt Ruby’s feelings. It dawned on me that maybe Ruby—in an effort to throw Omar off his game and bonus, somehow win Darcy’s affection—might have been behind planting the seed in his head that all might not be what it seems. I could easily picture her that desperate.
“I just hope you washed your hands before you touched it,” Ruby threw back at me. Lame.
I rolled my eyes at her and checked my watch. “Well, time to get started. Mrs. Sharma, are the results ready?”
“Yes, I’ll just go grab the envelope. Can you round up the candidates, Emerson?”
“Of course. Ruby, go get your sidekick and I’ll find Omar and Caleb. And may the best man win.” I winked at her and Ruby snorted, but scurried off. I strode into the men’s dressing room, where Omar stood, arms still crossed, on one end and Caleb sat, slouched and sad, tapping his heel rapidly on the fl
oor. Not unlike Darcy was earlier.
I put on my game face and smiled at Omar. “Ready to look shocked that you won?”
Silence. Alrighty then. I wondered if Omar had just confronted Caleb about the supposed infidelity and the breaking of man code, but decided it was better to just pretend I hadn’t heard the conversation in the wings. No need for me to get in the middle of this when there were too many people involved already.
“Come on boys,” I said and gestured for them to follow. I pointed to where they should stand once Mrs. Sharma finished her welcome speech and let them be. I hoped they wouldn’t self-destruct if left alone. I hurried behind the stage’s backdrop to the opposite side and rested against the sound board to watch the results.
“How are they?” Ivan appeared next to me, seemingly totally relaxed. He never blushed, and he had no other tells, he was always perfectly calm and collected, so I could never judge if he was nervous or agitated or overjoyed. Unlike the rest of us tonight. He would’ve made a great candidate too, I thought absently, impressed by his coolness.
“Omar looks like he’s ready to kill someone actually. And Caleb looks scared.”
I thought I detected the smallest hint of a smile on Ivan’s face, but couldn’t be sure. Why would that make him smile anyway?
“Jitters, I suppose. Everyone reacts differently when they’re uncertain.”
“Didn’t you coach them on how to act when others are watching?” As the campaign manager, Ivan was in charge of making sure the candidates were audience-ready.
“They’re big boys. They know how to behave.” I was glad he was confident, because I wasn’t so sure.
Mrs. Sharma, having changed from her tennis shoes into a pair of red patent leather pumps, took the floor with a dazzling white smile, as everyone seated braced themselves for the big news. She adjusted the podium mic and the room went silent.
“Marlow High, welcome to Election Night!” The crowd cheered. It was cheesy, but it was also tradition. “Without further ado, I present your candidates.” When everyone applauded again, I grabbed Ivan’s hand, but he snatched it away, head facing forward, eyes glued to the podium. Well. People do react differently, don’t they? I blinked and looked into the audience, spotting the side of Darcy’s head in the very front row.
Omar, Caleb, Ruby, and Candice—Ruby’s running mate—filed onto the stage, while Mrs. Sharma beamed at them and then the audience. “One quick thank you. To you.” She stretched her hand out to the students seated. “We had a record number of votes cast this year and I am incredibly proud of you all. You may not be electing the president of our country, but you are taking the steps to ensure that your school is run the way you think it should be. You’re exercising your rights as Marlow students and for that you should be commended.”
“Do you think she actually means what she says?” Ivan whispered in my ear. His breath tickled my skin and I shivered. From his warmth or the icy tone of his words, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t answer him.
“So now, the reason you came. I am pleased to announce the new president and vice president of Marlow High School, Omar Blakely and Caleb Neighbors!” Of course. I clapped loudly along with everyone else and, despite the dubious eavesdropping, I smiled. Omar would make a good president and Caleb would be just fine if he could keep his hair out of his eyes.
As Ruby shook Omar’s hand and took her place at the podium to make her speech, where she would no doubt wish Omar well with a sneer, I said quietly, half to myself and half to Ivan, “I hope Omar can relax now.”
Ivan turned to me and took my hand, making lazy circles with his thumb on my palm. That was better. “How do you mean?”
“He’s been really on edge lately. Haven’t you noticed? I accidentally overheard him earlier tonight, laying into Darcy about lying to him. He insinuated she was cheating with Caleb. Can you believe him? That’s nuts, right? There’s no way. Has he said anything to you about her?”
“Well, of course I can believe it. Neighbors is shady. And selfish. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.” Ivan’s voice dripped with superiority and disdain.
“Maybe.” I didn’t know Caleb well enough to make that kind of judgment about him. “But Darcy?”
“Who knows? You can never really know someone, can you?”
What the heck did that mean? I felt like we were venturing into a more abstract topic than where we started. Or were we?
I repeated my question. “Has Omar said anything to you? Have you seen anything that makes you think he’s right?”
Ivan dropped my hand. “She did misplace her precious scarf earlier. And when I went to see her after we spoke, she was nowhere to be found. And neither was Neighbors. Think about that, Em.” He was so sure of himself, and of Darcy’s and Caleb’s deviance, my breath caught in my throat. How could he be so cold? Where was this coming from?
Before I could censor myself, I whispered, “Where did the scarf end up, Ivan? If you didn’t see Darcy to give it to her.” No response.
My eyes flickered to Darcy in the front row. If I leaned a little bit to the left, I could plainly see that her neck was still bare. Just to be sure of the scary thought that had just popped into my head, I replayed the conversation I’d had with Darcy and then the one I’d overheard in the wings. I counted back the minutes and tried to reconcile all the information I had on the situation. It didn’t make sense.
Ruby finished up her short speech by thanking her supporters and walked off stage hand in hand with Candice. Huh. Maybe Ruby wasn’t pining for Darcy after all. Scratch that idea. Which just made me even more confused. And nervous.
I watched, my face void of affect, as Omar took his place in front of his podium and Caleb joined him. Caleb stood just that much apart from Omar—close enough that no one else would notice but far enough away that I did. So much discomfort for a moment that should have been happy and amazing and completely wonderful. It just wasn’t right. I looked over at Ivan and he was positively gleeful.
“Why are you smiling?”
He laughed, low and throaty. Evil almost. A chill ran up my back. “They look like they hate each other, don’t they?” Before I could ask him why he was thrilled about that, he muttered almost imperceptibly, “Serves him right.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing, nothing at all, Em.” He kept on grinning and watching the stage. Omar, always composed and charismatic, was practically tripping over his words. Like the hinges of his brain had gotten stuck and he was in need of an oil can. Poor Caleb, also a seasoned public speaker and someone who could probably make conversation with a door knob, looked upset and out of place. He kept clasping his hands in front and then behind. In front and then behind.
And like someone had tipped the first in a chain of dominos, everything came together for me. Ivan’s odd behavior just confirmed what I’d been suspecting. And was trying to talk myself out of believing. Realization coupled with rage, redder than Darcy’s scarf, flooded my cheeks, and I clamped down on my jaw to keep from screaming. This mess was no one’s fault but the world class calculating jerk standing next to me.
I supposed the signs were always there, but maybe I had too many stars in my eyes to really see them. When Ivan first asked me out, after I’d had the biggest crush on him for forever, I couldn’t believe it. He’d picked me. The golden boy with the bright blue eyes who always seemed to know the right thing to say in class and who got invited to all the right parties. He was well-spoken. He carried himself with confidence. Ivan was going places. I spent more than a few minutes daydreaming that one day he and I would get married and we’d live next door to Omar and Darcy, also married, and we’d be best friends forever. Dumb? Yep. And clearly never going to happen. I felt like such an fool for mistaking his ability to manipulate for intelligence.
It was time to flip the switch. Literally and figuratively. Slowly, I reached behind me to flick on the wireless mic in my back pocket. If I leaned forward a bit and angled my hip towa
rd Ivan, it would pick up his voice.
“It serves who right? Caleb? Are you mad at him or something?” I made sure my leading question was clear and steady.
Ivan turned his blond head and gave me a cruel look. “I knew you weren’t the sharpest, Em, but really? Is that what you think?” My mouth gaped. He’d never been outright rude to me before. “Caleb Neighbors is an unfortunate casualty here. Sucks to be him, but that’s his problem.”
I did my best to remain calm and stay the course. “So you’re mad at Omar? What did he ever do to you?”
Ivan laughed, the same almost-cackle he let out earlier, and I rubbed my bare arms. He was making me anxious, but I was too far in it now. No backing down. “What hasn’t he done, Emerson?” He said all three syllables of my name separately. Condescendingly. I bit my tongue. “That asshole gets every single thing he wants. Without even trying. Did you know that when he asked Darcy out, I was thinking of asking her out too?”
“Did he know that?” I bet not. I also imagined Darcy kindly telling Ivan she wasn’t interested.
“We both tried out for the football team freshman year. He made the team, I got cut.”
“Weren’t you the manager?”
He scoffed. “A consolation prize.” Ivan was getting louder now and I knew the mic was carrying our conversation through the speakers along with Omar’s stilted speech. I prayed Omar would stop and let his rogue “friend” sink his own ship. The kids sitting in the front few rows were looking around, trying to figure out who was talking. “He won Homecoming King.” As a junior, no less. That had been a big deal as far as high school social politics went last year. “He’s captain of the debate team.” Hence why Omar was a good speaker. “He writes award-winning poetry.” Also true. Darcy may have had a hand in publishing Omar’s work, but a national lit mag picked it all on their own for their top prize a few months ago.
To hear Ivan list it all out, Omar seemed like some kind of demi-god. There were equal parts admiration and hate in his voice. By the time he finished, the audience and Omar had gone silent, but Ivan was so wrapped up in himself that he didn’t notice. So I pretended I didn’t either.
Never Be Younger: A YA Anthology Page 5