Sorry, Not Sorry: A Young Adult Novel

by Rachel Shane

  ShadowGirl: Let me guess…you’ve found some new way for Cressida to be resurrected so she and Adora can be the OTP and kick Prince Rupert to the curb.

  BlakeSpacey239: Not even close. Give up?

  ShadowGirl: I don’t give up that easily. ;-)

  BlakeSpacey239: So I’ve learned! A certain refusal to admit Cressida did NOT sacrifice herself to Adora on purpose but that Adora won fair and square comes to mind.

  Harper plucked one of her well-worn hardcovers of The Gorgeous Games series off the shelf above her desk and hugged it to her chest, grinning about their year-long argument over a decision Cressida, one of the protagonists of the series, may not have made that was left intentionally vague at the end of book three. Harper was firmly in camp: Cressida sacrificed herself to save her true love Adora from perishing in the deadly competition for the prince’s heart while Blake was in camp: Adora bested Cressida on her own merit.

  They were both in camp: Cressida was definitely not actually dead.

  Harper’s fingers started typing another entry into their long argument over what might happen in book four when she abruptly smashed her finger on the delete key. They always started like this, talking about the books before they delved into deeper topics. Forbidden topics. She sucked in a deep breath while grabbing her mini-soccer squeeze ball from beside her computer. Her left hand pumped while her right hand revealed her secrets.

  ShadowGirl: Is your theory about how long my jerk of an asshole boyfriend’s been cheating on me? Because my guess is the whole damn time.

  BlakeSpacey239: Not cool, jerk of an asshole boyfriend. No one messes with my Shadow Girl.

  Harper flew back from the screen, her heart pounding. She dropped the soccer ball to the floor.

  ShadowGirl: …YOUR Shadow Girl?

  BlakeSpacey239: …um…pretend I’m not rubbing the back of my neck in embarrassment and instead I’m saying something super cool to cover.

  She blinked, reading his comment twice, something in her chest unfurling. Before she could respond, a FaceTime video from Connor appeared on her screen, blaring with an incessant bleating ring. Harper’s stomach writhed. She darted her mouse fast to close the video chat invite, panting out of breath when the window finally disappeared off her screen. Her pulse ticked, throat closing, and she hurled the book at her bed since she couldn’t aim for his face. She missed and the book struck her array of hair products, knocking them over like bowling pins. Plastic hairspray bottles and beauty blenders toppled off her dresser and rolled across her hardwood floor like shooting victims.

  An itchy crinkle of disgust crawled over her skin at the prospect of nearly coming face to face with Connor once again.

  Before she could respond to Blake, another video chat invite popped onto Harper’s screen, covering Blake’s chat window. She fumbled around her desk for something else to throw, this time whipping a pen across the room until it collided with her door. Being incessant was Connor’s favorite pastime.

  But maybe he’d listen to what she had to say. She clicked the accept button.

  “I told you,” she said when it connected. “We’re done.” She said the same thing in sign language slang with her middle finger thrust at the webcam.

  A piece of paper covered the video frame, wobbling as if someone was holding it up to the camera. Harper squinted at it, then gasped when she spotted her name. And her disease, written there as plain as day, by Dr. DiPaulo.

  Connor leaned back, arms crossed, the poster of a scantily clad female volleyball athlete visible behind him on his dorm room wall. “Actually we’re not done.” He slapped the paper loud enough to feel like a slap in the face. Harper’s skin prickled with the force of the metaphoric sting. “So what color corsage do you want for prom?”

  She scoffed, watching two incongruent images on the screen in front of her: her face morphing into disgust while a wicked grin stretched his lips, Joker-style. “I’m not going to prom with you,” she said. “You cheated on me!”

  Connor pursed his lips. “For the record, you were cheating on me first with that Blake guy.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “God, he’s just an online friend. He’s not real! I don’t even know if Blake is his real name. Besides, I’ve never kissed him!”

  “Then why do you sound so defensive?” Connor waved her away with a flick of his palm. “I’ve read the chats on your phone. Call it whatever you want but I call it flirting.”

  Pointing fingers was pointless when only one thing actually mattered here. “I broke up with you.” She hurled the words at him a second time, so they’d finally drill into his thick skull.

  “Hmmm. I think there’s been a miscommunication. What I see is that you don’t want these medical records to get back to Wisconsin State.”

  “Wait.” Harper’s blood turned ice cold. “You’re blackmailing me? So I’ll continue to go out with you?” He shook her head at him. “What about your little skank on the side?”

  He laughed, as if Harper had just told a witty joke at a party and not questioned his very motivation. “We only need to keep the ruse for your parents, sweetheart.” The word had once been a term of endearment between the two, but the way he said it now was with the venom of an insult. “Something tells me your dad won’t be so generous if we aren’t dating anymore.”

  Harper sat back in her chair, stunned. At Connor’s insistence, she’d begged her dad to give him one of the coveted internship spots at the Fortune 500 company where he was CEO, Empieria Inc. The intern slots were usually reserved for upperclassman that hailed from Ivies. Not freshman from bumblefuck Wisconsin State. Empieria hailed from the same heritage as digital startups before it that were now worth billions like Facebook and Google, except Empieria excelled in the exciting world of backend API solutions.

  Most teens itched to be far far away from their uncool parents but Harper actually liked the people who gave birth to her. Her dad was regularly featured on sites like Buzzfeed and BusinessInsider for his cutting edge approach to management. His approach to fatherhood was the same: laid back, cool, more friend than foe. For years he coached her intramural travel soccer team until she was good enough for high school varsity. Her mom was editor-in-chief at a Wisconsin lifestyle blog and got to travel all around the state, tasting new restaurants and getting free reign of boutique clothing stores—all of which she shared with Harper. So when Connor had suggested she ask her dad about the internship, she’d jumped at the chance. But now he was using her family’s awesomeness—their generosity—against her.

  “So I propose a little trade,” Connor continued, his words sounding impossibly far away, each vowel wedging more and more space between them. “You pretend to date me for your parents’ sake—prom and all since I know your mom wants to feature it on her blog—then you get to keep your position on the Wisconsin State soccer team.”

  But Harper’s eyes landed on Plan B: an invitation to an overnight at Wisconsin State for prospective students. She’d originally planned to go as an excuse to spend time with the boyfriend she loved, but now she planned to do the one thing every betrayed girl never had the guts to do: fuck him over too. All she had to do was break into his room and steal back his only collateral.

  CHAPTER 4

  BRETT

  Brett Emmich took a deep breath and twisted open the door to his house. His feet stopped in the foyer and he paused, listening. Not a peep. Not that he should have expected otherwise, but his stomach still swirled with disappointment. He took the carpeted stairs to his room two at a time and unhooked his cape. With deft fingers, he slid his shield beneath his bed, and then piled shoes in front like a barricade. Within seconds he’d shed his all black garb and shrugged on the generic Wal-Mart jeans and blue striped button down shirt his mom ordered online. A quick splash of water erased the guyliner from his face while a dunk of his head under the sink washed the black tar from his hair, returning it to the dull brown that made him feel so generic.

  He darted past the full-length m
irror in his room to avoid an accidental glance at himself like this, so empty, so vulnerable. This Mama’s boy look reminded him too much of last year, when he got both his heart and dignity broken. Well, and his wrist too.

  He rushed downstairs and across the street just in time to greet his thirteen-year-old sister Maya at the bus stop on the corner. She groaned when she spotted him and brushed past, clearly trying to appear as if she didn’t know him despite the fact that he picked her up every single day. “I’m not a child!” she snapped as her combat boots struck the pebbles on the sidewalk. Her brown ponytail swung in tune to her steps. “I can walk across the street by myself!”

  Brett hustled to keep up. “I seem to recall a time last week when I let you do that and you got ‘lost’ on the way and spent three hours at Carly’s house. With your overnight bag packed. And a goodbye-I’m-running-away letter left on the counter.”

  Maya waved this off with a dismissive brush of her hand. “That was one time. And you didn’t even tell Mom.”

  Brett’s voice went soft. “I didn’t want to worry her.”

  Maya kicked open the door with the force of a hurricane. She dropped her backpack, her purse, and her shoes in the foyer in the aftermath of her gusty winds. Brett bent down and scooped up each item before placing them neatly on the hooks next to the door and sliding her shoes onto the rack. Maya retreated to the microfiber couch where she kicked up her feet onto the coffee table.

  Brett cleared his throat. “Homework.”

  Maya let out a loud sigh before forcing herself up from the couch and trudging after Brett into the kitchen. She tapped her pencil against a notebook on the glass table while Brett propped his laptop open on the laminate counter and alternated between glancing at it and the onions he was chopping for dinner. It took all his willpower not to log onto any sites he didn’t want Maya to accidentally spy on, so he kept it open to his email. No one ever emailed him anything other than spam, but he still checked, just in case.

  “How was school?” He scooped the onions into the sizzling pan and the aroma wafted through the room.

  Maya rolled her eyes at him. “You don’t have to pretend to care.”

  “I do care!” Brett slapped three fat chicken breasts onto a cutting board, but pursed his lips and put one back in the fridge. His mother would probably miss dinner. She always did.

  “Fine. Then you tell me how yours was?” Maya crossed her arms in challenge, her dark eyes narrowing.

  “It was great, actually. I got an A on my Physics test.” He got a C. Minus. “Matty and I were picked first in gym.” Matty didn’t exist. He was a made up friend so his little sister wouldn’t realize he had no friends. So she wouldn’t blab to Mom and get him sent right back to Dr. Jenkins’s office to talk about those things he preferred to avoid: feelings. It was easier to make things up his sister couldn’t fact check. Even if it did mean he was about to turn eighteen and he still had an imaginary friend. “You?”

  Maya’s voice softened. “Carly refused to sit with me at lunch. I guess she’s mad that I told everyone she didn’t wash her jeans.”

  Brett stabbed the knife into the slimy pink chicken. “Why’d you do that?”

  Maya shrugged. “She told everyone last week that my mom doesn’t love me anymore.”

  Brett bit his lip, set down the knife, and rushed over to wrap his sister in a hug, but she swatted him away before he could. He trudged back to the counter like an obedient servant and slid the chicken breasts into the simmering pan. The slightest hum of static trilled in his chest as he washed his hands. “She loves you very much.”

  Maya clucked her tongue. “Even you don’t sound convinced.”

  He opened his mouth to respond just as a DM vibrated in his pocket. He bolted upright. “Hey, can you watch the pan for a sec?”

  Maya blew her bangs out of her face but pushed herself away from the table. Brett hustled out of the room, skidding in his socks on the hardwood floor. His heart pounded as he pulled out his phone and scrambled to find the DM.

  But it wasn’t a DM. It was a text from his mom. Staying late. Don’t make dinner.

  He’d guessed this already yet his stomach still dropped like an anchor surging toward the ocean floor. When he plodded back to the kitchen, his sister was standing at his computer, gasping with her glitter pink nails covering her mouth. “This looks fun!”

  Brett wrenched the computer away from her and hunched his shoulders defensively. “Stop touching my stuff!”

  His temples pounded as he moved the mouse back to whatever Maya had seen. He let out a breath. An email was already opened.

  TO: Brett Emmich

  FROM: Your Secret Scavenger

  SUBJECT: Complete me, then meet me!

  If you want to have fun like they did in Book One, then follow these clues. You have nothing to lose!

  At Wisconsin State, on the overnight date

  Find a canvas of brick, I recommend the Frick

  Draw me a mural out of unexpected tools. Yes, I’m talking about graffiti, you fool

  When you’re done, you must take a pic. Upload it to the Secret Scavenger app real quick.

  Once I’ve accepted your beautiful evidence, your next clue will become evident

  Complete them all and at the end of the trail, I’ll be waiting so you better not fail

  PS: Use code #639841 when uploading the evidence of your crimes.

  Brett blinked at the email, his heart pounding faster. What the hell?

  Have fun like they did in Book One.

  This could only be referring to the scavenger hunt Cressida and Adora got stuck partnering on despite their differences in the first book of The Gorgeous Games series.

  Maya hopped up and down, clapping her hands. “I want to play too! I have some spray paint upstairs!”

  Brett whipped his head toward his sister. “Why in the world do you have spray paint?”

  Maya snapped her mouth shut. “Um. For a school project?”

  Brett rolled his eyes. “You are the worst liar. And there will be no spray painting.” Not until Brett figured out who sent this email. The only possibility made his blood rush triple speed. “Actually…I’ll be right back. Keep an eye on the stove.” Brett twisted the knob to a low simmer and raced upstairs with his laptop balanced in his palms.

  His room was his sanctuary, free of the themed knick-knacks his mother curated and stuffed into each room. The living room contained zebra rugs and gazelle statues as if she’d imported a hand-carved African safari all the way to Wisconsin. Seashells lined the bathroom mirror and shell-shaped sink, both complimented by an ocean-scented air freshener. Sometimes he wondered if she loved her knickknacks more than she loved her offspring. She certainly spent more time taking care of the former.

  Brett’s room was also themed but in a way that didn’t make him cringe in embarrassment. Comic book posters purchased at Chicago Comic Con a few years ago hung in glossy frames along with drawings he’d made.

  His knee bounced while waiting for his archaic computer to boot up. The names on his alter ego’s chat list popped up and Brett could have sworn trumpets sounded in his mind when the little green dot appeared next to her name.

  BlakeSpacey239: So I’ve got a theory.

  But that wasn’t flirty enough so he added:

  BlakeSpacey239: It’s a good one, you’re going to want to hear it and bow to my genius.

  His theory: that she set up an elaborate scavenger hunt just for him, based on their mutual favorite book, and at the end of it, she’d be waiting. In person. For real.

  Except how did she get his Brett Emmich email address?

  He didn’t even know her real name, and he’d never confessed that Blake wasn’t actually his. He’d donned the moniker after his old friendships went up in flames and glitter at Prom last year. He had no one left, and he longed to talk to someone. Anyone.

  Anyone except Harper.

  Once, right after Prom, they passed by each other at CVS and he’d opened
his mouth to tell her off. Or maybe that he was sorry. But before he could make sounds come out of his throat, Harper swiftly spun on her heels and walked out of his life for a second time.

  So he created a fake account just in case she somehow stumbled onto The Gorgeous Games Wisconsin-based online discussion community and realized it was him. He’d been so terrified of that idea that he kept all personal information to himself whenever he posted and often spewed lies just to throw any lurkers that may be her off the scent. After all, she’d gotten him hooked on the book series in the first place and he even chose a name that harkened back to her old nickname for him, Blake Spacey aka blank space. She used to be the one he discussed his theories with, but now he had ShadowGirl and he was better off for it.

  Three little gray dots encased in parentheses appeared in the chat window, an indication she was typing. His favorite image. Well, second favorite. He definitely preferred seeing actual DMs on his screen. His heart was in his throat, his fingers tapping out a sixteen bar drum solo on the wooden desk.

  After a few painful seconds, a response appeared on his screen.

  ShadowGirl: Let me guess…you’ve found some new way for Cressida to be resurrected so she can Adora can be the OTP and kick Rupert to the curb.

  Brett found a happy rhythm, chatting with her about the books until she threw in a wrench:

  ShadowGirl: Is your theory about how long my jerk of an asshole boyfriend’s been cheating on me? Because my guess is the whole damn time.

  Blood pounded in Brett’s temples so hard, he felt like he was in a car spinning on black ice. His fingers started jabbing every curse word imaginable, filling the text entry box with expletives all directed at the guy who hurt ShadowGirl. He gripped the edge of his desk, torn between wanting to send her gifs of cute kittens to cheer her up and running around his room with his hands in the air, cheering that the girl he never met was no longer with the guy that was holding her back. Instead, he took a deep breath and tried to play it cool.