by Anna Davies
I put the key in the ignition and turned on the radio. A cheesy Madonna song from the eighties filled the car, its techno-pop beat at odds with my mood.
I’m a failure. The thought came, unbidden, to my mind. I’d worked so hard, for so long. I’d missed out on field hockey, on friendships, on parties, on everything. And now, because of holding a drink, not even sipping it — the one time in my life that I’d acted like a normal high schooler — everything was falling apart. I wasn’t like my mom, who people just liked. People didn’t like me. They respected me. But they wouldn’t, not anymore.
I cried harder, resting my head against the steering wheel. Then, the song “Forever Young” came on. I recognized it from the soundtrack to the movie Listen to Me. It’s one of those movies hardly anyone knows, about a group of college debaters whose hyperambition serves as the basis for their friendships. Of course, it’s full of eighties hairstyles and earnest dialogue, but it was one of my favorites. Before I knew about the Ainsworth or about UPenn, I knew that was what I wanted my future to be like — full of fiercely intelligent people having all-night conversations and pushing themselves to be the best they could be. But now, the future was so close to slipping from my grasp. Losing the Yearbook job chipped away at my identity as the girl who did everything.
A sob of self-pity escaped my lips.
Pull it together, Westin. I was still in the game.
For now. A voice inside my head responded. It wasn’t my voice. It was small, scared, full of self-doubt. And I knew that from now on, that voice would be a part of me.
By Sunday, the Facebook profile had once again disappeared into the Internet ether. If that didn’t prove Jess’s guilt, I wasn’t sure what would. But at least she could put her well-honed Photoshop skills to good use on Yearbook, I thought grimly, as I made my way to Monday morning’s meeting, where I was about to follow Jess’s blackmail instructions and resign. I’d even practiced a resignation speech. That was just the type of person I was. I couldn’t even be blackmailed without significant prep.
I felt like I was marching to my execution as I walked up the stairs to room 201. And the worst thing was that none of the other Yearbook staffers seemed to notice or care. They climbed up the stairs in groups of two or three. None of them said hi to me.
I caught a glance of myself in the glass that surrounded the stairwell. I was wearing a black knee-length skirt, a white sweater, and my knee-high leather boots. It was professional, but not over-the-top, and somber without being ridiculous. Focusing on my outfit was the only way I could face the task ahead of me. Inside, I might have been falling apart, but at least I looked pulled together.
I walked to the podium at the front of the classroom, surveying the staff. Some girls, like Andrea Faville and Marisa Ollins, were animatedly talking and laughing while others, like Pauline Millard and Kristen McGonigle, shuffled into the room in their Uggs and sweatpants, their eyes glued to their tiny iPhone screens. They wouldn’t care. Which only made me feel worse.
The bell rang, and Mrs. Ross nodded at me. So did Jess. I turned away from her. As if I needed her permission to speak.
“Okay, let’s start,” I said in a small voice, not making eye contact with anyone.
“So, I think, personally, that we should do, like, a shirtless soccer spread,” Pauline said loudly, ignoring me.
Marisa wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t that kind of sexist? Besides, I don’t think any of them are that hot. I’d prefer doing a shirtless spread of the marching band. At least that’s making a statement, you know? Some of them are pretty hot.”
“Um, guys?” I tried again.
Just then, the door opened and Matt sauntered in.
“Sorry, Westin!” he stage-whispered as he walked in front of me.
“It’s fine. So, like I was saying,” I tried again.
“Is everyone listening?” Mrs. Ross interrupted. I glared at her, annoyed at her help. I had this. Or, I would.
The room quieted down. To avoid eye contact, I looked at the poster across the room. It was of a mountain at sunset, with one lone hiker at the top. SOMETIMES, WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE DARKNESS IS APPROACHING, ALL YOU NEED IS A SHIFT IN PERSPECTIVE. Thank you, inspirational poster. I shifted my focus to Matt, who was gazing at me curiously.
I took a deep breath. “After much consideration, I’ve decided to step down from my role as editor in chief of the Spectrum. Thank you so much for the opportunity, and I look forward to enjoying the Spectrum as a reader. I’m sure it’ll be great.”
Silence. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. A protest? A walkout?
Finally, Mrs. Ross spoke up. “Well, this is unexpected, Miss Westin. Do you have a successor?”
I nodded. “AndJessicaAdamsonistheneweditorinchiefpleasedirectquestionstoher,” I said in a rush of words. Then, I bolted out the door. A group of junior girls were clapping for Jess, and she was eagerly making her way up to the front of the classroom as though she’d just won an Oscar. I didn’t need to watch.
I sat down on the dirty linoleum floor and rested my cheek against a metal locker. I could hear Jess’s saccharine voice seeping underneath the doorway, talking reelections for class-section editors. Hearing her made everything worse. I knew I should stand up and get out, but I was so tired.
Just then, I heard footfalls. I glanced up at Matt peering down at me.
“Hey,” he said.
“I’m fine,” I said mechanically.
“I didn’t ask how you were. I assume it’s somewhere between crappy and sucky. Am I right?”
I took a deep breath and nodded.
“Here.” Matt offered his hand to me. I scrambled up on my own, not wanting his help. Then, he pulled me toward him into a hug. I could feel his heart pounding inside his chest. When I pulled away, there was a wet splotch on his blue-and-green button-down.
Matt took a step back.
“Sorry I got your shirt wet.” I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. “It’s just … a tough morning.”
“No worries,” Matt said, a crooked grin crossing his face. “It’s good to see that you’re human.”
“I’m really fine,” I said stiffly. “You should go back to the meeting.”
“Nah.” Matt shook his head. “Yearbook’s for losers.”
“Are you quitting?” I asked.
“No …” Matt trailed off.
“Well, you shouldn’t!” I said quickly, hating how presumptuous I must have sounded. Of course he wasn’t quitting just because I’d resigned. “Anyway, thanks for checking on me!” I said quickly.
“Wait!” Matt called. “Where are you going?”
“Coffee.” The word hung between us, not quite an invitation. “You can come if you want,” I added awkwardly.
“Cool. Let’s do it,” Matt said. And even though I’d suggested it, it was clear he was in charge. I didn’t mind. It was nice to finally follow someone else’s lead.
Together, we walked down the stairs and into the bright September sunshine. The air smelled like wood smoke, burning leaves, and freshly cut grass. I took a deep breath. I already felt better.
“Where’s your ride?” Matt asked, scanning the parking lot.
“Over there,” I admitted, pointing to my ugly brown Cougar. I’d kind of hoped Matt would drive.
He let himself into the passenger door, throwing my pile of books and binders into the backseat. “Ugly Mug?” he asked expectedly.
“Nah.” Memories of Jess’s blackmail were still too fresh. “Coffee Hut.” It was a generic chain in the strip mall at the other end of town. The coffee tasted like sugary dirt, but at least it wouldn’t lead to some post-traumatic episode.
“Cool,” he said. I started the ignition and he turned on the radio, jumping back when Bon Jovi blasted over the ancient sound system.
“Someone loves their eighties rock,” he murmured, fiddling with the dials until he came across an acoustic rock guitar song.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” I hadn’t adjusted the rad
io since my Saturday night cry fest.
“It’s so weird that you have, like, a tape player in your car. It’s like, beyond retro,” he said, examining the ancient dashboard and piles of mix tapes left over from my mother’s own adolescence that were spread across the floor.
“It’s a retro car,” I said awkwardly. I knew he was just trying to make conversation, but it was hard not to take his comment as an attack against the Cougar.
“Cool.” Matt drummed his fingers along to the beat.
We parked and walked into the Coffee Hut together. It was in the middle of the early-morning rush. As we got in line, part of me hoped the customers surrounding us would look at Matt and me and assume we were a couple.
When it was our turn to order, Matt stepped in front of me.
“I’ll get a hot chocolate. And it’d be awesome if the whipped cream was epic,” he said, immediately moving to the coffee pickup area.
“You?” the barista asked.
“A vanilla latte,” I decided. I deserved it.
“That’ll be ten dollars even,” she said. Clearly, Matt’s epic hot chocolate came with an epic price tag.
But Matt was at the other end of the store, and I didn’t want to call him out to pay. “Fine.” I pulled out a ten, passed it to the cashier, then headed over to wait with Matt.
“Yo,” Matt said. Clearly, the fact that he had to pay hadn’t even crossed his mind. And while it wasn’t like I was going to bring it up or anything, I couldn’t help but note that our coffees were the equivalent of an hour and a half of my own barista-ing.
As soon as we got our drinks, we went outside. Matt sat on the bench and I joined him, even though I was worried about being late for first period. How didn’t he worry?
“You know, I didn’t get captain of the hockey team last year,” Matt said out of the blue.
“Oh?” I glanced sharply at him. His seemingly random conversation made it feel like he’d read my mind.
“Yup. I was bummed. Coach gave it to Dave Fowler. He told me that I was more talented, but Dave wanted it more. And according to Coach, passion always wins. Of course, that’s what they always tell the losers, right?”
“Well, I guess that’s good for Dave,” I said, not quite willing to explain the real situation about what had gone down between me and Jess.
“Wasn’t that what happened with you? Ross made you give it to Jess?”
“Not exactly.” I paused. “I just have a lot of stuff going on. I’m applying for this scholarship, and it’s kind of a big deal….”
“Yeah,” Matt interrupted. “Well, whatever, at least now you get to sleep in, right?”
“I guess so,” I hedged.
“Meanwhile, I’ll be toiling away at the crack of dawn, bribing Jess for more sports pages and trying to sneak party photos past Ross.” He took another sip of his hot chocolate, then wiped away his whipped cream mustache. It was so weird how Matt was, like, the big man on campus and he didn’t drink coffee. I thought everyone did.
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” I asked, laughing a little despite myself.
“Maybe.” Matt stretched his arms to the sky, and I caught a glimpse of his tan, buff abs. “Depends on what you do for guys you feel sorry for.”
I stiffened. Was he flirting with me? He couldn’t be. And yet everything — his smile, his abs, his easygoing attitude — made everything extremely confusing. I averted my gaze up to his watch. It was already seven forty.
“We should go.” I took a few final gulps of my coffee and threw the empty cup toward the metal trashcan at the edge of the curb. If I make this shot, then everything will be all right. The paper cup hit the rim before rolling onto the pavement.
“Damn it,” I exhaled, before I realized that I’d spoken out loud to myself — again. I glanced up, and saw Matt giving me a knowing smile. I shrugged as he picked up the cup from the pavement and threw it away.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Dude, I wouldn’t let you litter,” he laughed.
“No.” I shook my head. “I mean, for everything. You kinda saved the day.”
“Just call me Superman,” he said as he let himself into my car.
And something had shifted. I was still hurt, but I no longer felt like I was on the verge of tears. I was able to take notes in class and go over a few Ainsworth questions during lunch. I was okay.
Or, I would have been okay if Jessica hadn’t appeared at my locker at the end of the day.
“Hey,” she said in a small voice.
“What?” I snapped.
“Um … I was just supposed to ask you for the budget stuff. Mrs. Ross told me to.”
“I’ll give it to you tomorrow. Is that all?” I asked crisply, slamming my locker shut.
“You don’t have to hate me, you know. If anything, I did you a favor.”
“Right. Because setting up a fake profile, then stalking someone until she does something incriminating is really philanthropic. Don’t have time to volunteer at an animal shelter? Ruin someone’s life! It all helps save the world,” I said sarcastically.
“What are you talking about?” Jess asked. “Your profile had public settings. All I did was find it.”
Around us a cluster of kids had paused to listen. Even Dr. Osborn had stopped in the middle of the hallway.
I lowered my voice. “Don’t play dumb, Jess. You made the Facebook profile, and you framed me. You took the picture, you uploaded it, and you smeared my character. Yes, I was at the party. And yes, I was holding a drink. Was that a bad decision? Yes. Do I regret it? Yes. Was it normal teenage behavior? Yes. Meanwhile you were hiding in the woods, spying and taking pictures of me. That is insane.” I was shouting now, but I didn’t care.
Her freckled face drained of color and she took a few steps back. She was afraid of me. I felt a sliver of satisfaction.
“Hayley, listen. I didn’t upload anything. I found your profile, and felt it was inappropriate. But the picture was there. I didn’t take it. Do I look like a girl who would run around the woods when I have a boyfriend to hang out with?”
“I don’t know. You look like a blackmailing backstabber,” I said tightly.
“Oooh!” a freshman yelled.
“Catfight!” another cheered.
Jessica shook her head. “You’re calling me crazy, but I really think you should listen to yourself, Hayley. Look, I care about the Spectrum. But not enough to, like, sabotage you.”
I looked into her eyes. They were small and narrow and her face was birdlike, with a thin, pointy nose and eyebrows that sloped upward, giving her a permanently suspicious look. She stared back at me.
I mashed my lips together. “I’ll give the budget and the other materials to Mrs. Ross tomorrow,” I said for the benefit of our audience.
When I got home, I immediately went to my bedroom and flopped onto my bed. Then, I abruptly sat up. The faintest trace of smoke seemed to waft through the air. It wasn’t fiery; it was as if someone who’d just smoked a cigarette had walked through the room very recently. But Mom and Geoff were out. And neither were smokers.
“Sadie?” I called.
Immediately, I heard her running up the stairs. She paused at the threshold, panting hard and staring at me.
“Sadie!” I clapped my hands against the tops of my thighs. At this, she ran toward me, hurling herself into my lap before licking my face.
“Everything all right, girl?” I whispered. I glanced around the room. From the neat shelf of DVDs to the framed Starry Night print to my open closet, where all my clothes hung in order of color and length, everything was the same.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, as if answering myself. Sadie cocked her head, as though she were agreeing with me.
I opened the window to get rid of the scent, then pulled out my laptop, sat cross-legged on my bed, and began to work on my Ainsworth bio. Now that I didn’t have the Spectrum editor position to talk up, I needed to make sure it was perfect; that every sentence painte
d me as the serious, ambitious student who was going places.
Hayley Kathryn Westin has always looked around the corner for answers, I began. I chewed my lip, erased the sentence, then wrote it again. But I wasn’t stressed out. This was something I could control.
The profile remained down. But there were a few small things — an all-out search for my Bainbridge student card, a mysterious “no ID available” missed call, and a temporary lockout to my e-mail address — that made me feel like I was going crazy.
“Have you seen my bracelet?” I yelled to my mom before I combed my fingers through my jewelry tray. It was the Friday night before the Ainsworth interview, my clothes were all laid out, and the only thing I was missing was my — or rather, my mom’s — bracelet. A thin chain with an engraved silver-plated ID, it had been a present from her parents upon her acceptance to Harvard. She’d given it to me when I’d advanced to the state finals of the fourth-grade spelling bee. Ever since then, I’d always worn it for luck. But now, it was nowhere to be found.
From the doorway, Mom cocked her head in concern. “No. Is it missing?” Mom was wearing a sky-blue cocktail dress that hit midknee and hugged her curves. I knew that she was going out with Geofferson tonight. I knew she’d cancel that in a heartbeat if she thought I needed her to stay home with me. And I didn’t want her to have to do that.
“I’m sure it’s somewhere,” I mumbled. It was just one more not-quite-right thing to add to the list of odd occurences. The Facebook profile hadn’t come back. There hadn’t been any random texts. But there’d been the vaguely smoky scent that seemed to linger in my bedroom coupled with the feeling that something wasn’t right.
“Things always turn up,” Mom agreed. She let her gaze linger on me. I knew she wanted me to open up and tell her what was wrong. But what could I say when I wasn’t even sure myself?
“Anyway … good night. I’m just going to read, then try to fall asleep early,” I said, as if I was talking to a stranger.
“All right. I’ll just be in town with Geoff, but I’ll be coming home tonight. I love you, Hayley bunny.” She walked into the room and planted a kiss on top of my head. “Think about the bracelet before you go to bed. Maybe you’ll dream about where you left it.” She nodded as if she were willing herself to believe her hippie-tastic rhetoric.