“Figure out a way to make it work like that,” I hiss. “Isn’t that what you told me—that ignoring things, pretending they never happened, was the way to survive this place? Pretend I never happened.”
“Jesus Christ,” he says. “You’re so damn cold.” His voice comes out different from before—more like I’m used to hearing.
I feel my heart pound. Once, then twice.
“Does anyone mean anything to you?” he asks. “Or are you always figuring out who will be most advantageous on your climb to the top?”
I suck in a breath. “We’re still in the same place we’ve always been. And it still bothers you that I won’t roll over and love you the way I’m supposed to.”
He laughs. “Of course you don’t. I’m only the guy you spent all summer fucking. Which, if we’re honest, was just another means to an end for you.”
I try and laugh back, match the cruelty. Double it. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? You’ve used so many girls for sex or approval or something. Don’t shame me for getting what I want and please, just this once, spare me your sob story, Hart. The game is over.”
I can’t stop, not now that I’ve started. “You pretend you have everything, but you just keep hoping someone will finally really love you at last. Your friends are sick of your shit, your dad can’t stand you, and your mom? Don’t even get me started on how pathetic she is. No wonder you can’t deal with a girl who has a backbone.”
I think that’s it. He’s done. I hear him swallow, and my hand is turning the door handle when he speaks softly through the darkness. “You think you’re so special.”
“Make your point.”
“I will say one thing for you, Becker. You act like you’re some paragon of being top bitch in charge but I’ve never met another girl in my life who would do the things you did. I could walk out of this door right now and tell every guy in this school what we spent the summer doing, and you’d be the biggest slut at Prep by the end of the day. Is that, like, something you’re proud of? Because it wasn’t even to please me, was it? It’s because it’s what you wanted. I could get you a couple of thousand dates if you want. You could fuck your way through the school because I can guarantee they aren’t getting that from any other girl here. An actual guarantee because I’ve done some sampling.”
I’m holding the door handle so tight, my fingers have gone numb. “You wouldn’t dare,” I say, not turning in his direction.
“There you go again. Seriously underestimating what I would dare do.”
“How much do you love that, huh? Holding it over me that you can run around doing whatever you want because you’re a boy and my reputation is a ticking time bomb.”
“More than you can imagine,” he tells me. “Are you going to let me out?”
He puts his hand on top of mine, forcing me to open the door, and then pushes past me, fading away into the distance. I feel it under my skin, the rising panic. Of what he could do. Of what he has done.
Trying to be as subtle as I can, I escape to the closest restroom—a blessedly empty restroom—stuff the janitor’s wedge under the opposite side of the door to keep everyone out, and let it all go, every ragged breath and panicked thought. I lock myself in the farthest stall, bent over with my hands on my knees. And then I throw up, which just makes me panic more. I sit on the ground catty-corner to the toilet and wrap my arms around my legs, panting.
I’m so angry he can make me feel this way. That he would call me a slut after everything he’s done—after everything he told me he’s done. There’s no consequences for him, never anything that touches him. He’ll always be everything Cedar Woods loves, no matter who he sleeps with, what he breaks. But I’ll always just be a girl. And a girl who wants sex will never be anything but a slut. Despite everything else she is.
He’s right. He can turn around and ruin my reputation without losing a step. Without suffering at all.
I’m so angry.
Someone taps on the outside of the stall and my eyes go to the door. The wedge is still jammed under the door to the bathroom. “Becker,” a voice says.
I know that voice. I get up and open the door of the stall, using the back of the same hand to wipe my mouth.
It’s Tristan Kaye, her black hair hanging limp around her pretty, perfect face.
“How did you get in here?” I ask, heading toward the sink and running the water. I look like something that was hit by a truck.
“I followed you. You suck at wedging the door and then you were vomiting so you didn’t notice,” she says cheerfully, “and then I put your sad little wedge back in place the right way so no one else will have to witness this.”
“What do you want?” I ask, wetting a paper towel and rubbing it under my eyes, dark rings reflecting in the mirror, telltale signs of my sleepless nights. I look back at Tristan, tilting my head to the side. “Just to see the show?”
“Hardly.”
“Right. Because no one wanted this to happen more than you did. So I’m sure you take zero pleasure in this.”
“Fine,” she says. “You want me to say I didn’t like you. I didn’t. But considering where we are now, I’d say that’s neither here nor there. What the hell was that?” she asks, glancing back at the bathroom stall.
I brace myself, holding on to the counter in front of me. “I believe it’s called a panic attack.”
“Look, you need to steer clear of him,” she says then, and I turn on her, my rage running over.
“So you can have him all to yourself? He’s yours.”
“Please,” she says, waving a dismissive hand. “As if I would ever do that again. That shit,” she says, pointing at the stall, “is why. You’re somebody with something in this world. He’s—I don’t know. The way he is with girls right now … He used to at least, like, pretend to date them—it was fake but he played his part.” She’s staring straight at me. “There’s nothing for you there, Nell. There never was. Whatever went down between you has made it that much worse. And trust me, you don’t want to end up being hated by every girl in this school like me. I’m giving you a damn warning before you do something you really regret.”
I stare at her, feeling smaller by the second. “Too late for that.”
If Tristan could feel pity, I imagine that’s what’s behind her eyes. But I don’t want that, either. I shoulder past her and into the hallway to face the day.
It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve seen worse.
39
The next morning, I crank up the speed on the treadmill because there’s too much space to think in my head right now. I feel like the days are running together, only they can’t be because I’ve been tallying them on my calendar, each and every one. Tracking myself. My workouts. My moods. Me. Constantly trying to grab back some control I’ve lost.
My feet pound the treadmill when I command them. They give in to me.
I try to clear my mind, keep moving, but it’s tangled up in what Jackson said in that closet. What he implied.
Boys get to have it all. Girls are either sluts or saints.
The thoughts keep pushing in. I run faster.
“Nell,” Mom said to me when I was fifteen, “did you hear what happened to Shauna Meyers this weekend?”
I looked up from my bowl of cereal. I was light-years apart from the Shauna Meyerses of the world. The parties and boats and blank, easy smiles.
“No.”
“Apparently she blacked out at Jordan Allen’s house. There’s pictures and videos of her all over social media.”
My heart clenched. “Is she okay?” I asked.
“She only made a fool of herself, thank God. Rebecca Hart took her home so no one would take advantage of her. That girl is too smart—if she hadn’t been so concerned with smoking her way through high school, she’d be on her way to Stanford and not UC Riverside.”
I continued eating my cereal, thinking about what those boys could have done to Shauna. What boys like them do every day. “Sh
e didn’t deserve that,” I said. “Shauna’s a nice girl.”
“I’ll tell you right now, my dear, being nice gets you nowhere in this world. I’ve known too many Shaunas.” She leaned down in my face, hesitating. “It’s not Shauna’s fault, but … when you’re a girl alone in this world, you have to be smart. Keep your guard up. If you let it down, they’ll always be right there, ready. They’ll always take advantage.”
My treadmill alarm goes off and I nearly jump out of my skin, my heart pounding furiously against my chest, my mom’s words singing to me across time. I wipe my hand across my cheek, clearing away the sweat. I need to take a shower and get ready for class, but I can’t stand the thought of the quiet, not when there’s a scream ripping through my chest.
Keep moving. Nell. Keep going.
I grab my towel, running it over my face as I head toward the locker room. The soccer girls have an away game tonight so it’s a ghost town, and I don’t run into anyone on my way to throw up. Again, the silence reminds me, but I ignore it as I exit the toilet stall to rinse my mouth. I stop as I see myself in the mirror above the sink, my nerves frayed to breaking point. Wide eyes, slender nose, hair flying all around me, sweaty and dark. How long had it taken me to build that confidence behind my eyes, develop that shield? It looks faded now, almost gone completely. I feel abandoned. I feel different.
My body doesn’t look any different from how it normally does, of course. Too tall with shoulders too broad. A figure that will never be petite or quite feminine enough. Before, I never particularly hated or loved my body, I just knew what it was. It was for something very particular—made to be pushed, made so I could be a winner. I loved what it did for me. Who it allowed me to be.
Ever since the thing with Jackson started—from the first time he touched my shoulder in the gym—I’d been sure. I always trusted my body completely.
Add it to growing list of things that have betrayed me.
I feel tears well up in my eyes and jump when I hear the locker room door open. “Nell,” Lia’s voice calls from the front room. “Nell, are you in here?”
I take a deep breath to calm myself, stepping out to meet her, my sweaty hair sticking to my neck. I don’t look good. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought you a biscuit from Grady’s,” she says, handing over the greasy package from my favorite diner. But she stops when she gets a better look at me. “Christ, Nell,” she says in that worried voice she’s always using, as if I am someone who must be taken care of. “Are you okay?”
I look away from her so she won’t see my eyes.
“What is it?” she asks.
I run my hand over my face.
“Is it Jackson? What did he do?” she asks, even more urgently.
“I did this,” I tell her.
“What, Nell?” she demands. The panic in her voice hurts more than anything.
A tear creeps out from under my eyelid as I say it. “I’m late,” I tell her.
She goes completely silent and another tear forms. I grab a paper towel, trying to avoid her gaze at all costs.
I can feel her working up to it. Then finally, “But you always used condoms, right?”
I look up at her, the tears flowing more freely now. “Yes, except for—” And then I completely lose it and she doesn’t make me finish but pulls me into her shoulder, letting my tears soak into her pristine light blue shirt. I don’t want to hurt like this. I want to shut it down, and it’s only a feeling—turning it off can’t be that hard.
“It’s fine. It’s going to be fine,” she says, running a hand over my back. Then she pulls away, looking up at me. “Come on. We need to go take a test right now. You should clean up.”
I stop, pause. Feel the words coming before I give them thought. “I can’t.” I go over to my locker and open it, slipping into a pair of shower flip-flops, wiping at my tear-streaked face. “I have to go to class. It’s too important.”
She stands in front of me, bewildered. “You can’t go to class. Look at you. You’re barely functional.”
“There’s nothing we can do right now,” I tell her reasonably, my back to her as I crumple up my shirt, throwing it violently into the locker on top of my running shoes. “If I’m pregnant, I’ll still be pregnant tomorrow.” I wish I hadn’t said it out loud. It seems to mar me, break down the myth I’d built for myself. Prove that I let myself lose control of my story.
My body is mine my body is mine my body is mine.
I can’t face the alternative.
“So when do you plan to deal with this?” she asks. I hear her getting angry, losing patience with me.
I grab my shower bag and turn to face her. “When we don’t have class,” I say. “Can I please just take a shower?”
I try to shut it out, but I can hear my mom’s voice pounding in my head. Smart girls don’t get pregnant. Smart girls don’t get tricked by a rich boy with a nice smile.
“I’m not stopping you,” Lia says. She shoots me a look that promises she’s not done as I turn away from her and head to the shower. But she tries one last plea. “Please don’t do this to yourself,” she calls behind me. I close my eyes, turning the spigot and letting the hot water burn everything away.
* * *
Lia catches me at my locker as I’m getting ready to leave the next afternoon. I’ve been avoiding her all day and am heading out early, our afternoon volleyball practice canceled. My avoidance has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the fact that she reminds me what I’m running from. I’ve become so adept at compartmentalizing since the end of summer, but her blue eyes burn right into me, not letting me forget or pretend any longer.
I’m getting so good at it.
As soon as I see Lia, it becomes clear she’s not willing to play this waiting game any longer. “We need to talk,” she says.
I lean into the locker next to my open one, plastering on a playful look. “Are you breaking up with me?” I ask.
Lia’s not amused. She holds a plastic bag out to me. “Take this.”
I grab it out of her hand and glance inside, closing it again just as quickly and thrusting it back to her. It’s a pregnancy test. “Are you serious?” I ask, my voice as soft as I can make it.
“Nell, take the damn test. I cannot believe you’re trying to ignore this. I haven’t seen you eat a meal since we’ve been back at school.”
I step closer to her, trying to hide the bag between the two of us. “Why are you doing this to me? What if someone saw me with this?”
“I don’t know. They’d realize you’re not fucking perfect? You think this has never happened to anyone else at this school?”
I turn away from her. “I’m not everyone else.”
She sighs, impatient. “It doesn’t suddenly become not true if you don’t think about it.”
I feel myself disappearing and try to grab hold, protect myself. “Stop it.”
“I’m just trying to help,” she says. “I don’t understand why you think you’re so much better than the rest of us. You made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes, and they deal with them.”
I close my eyes, breathe in deeply. “If you really want to help,” I say at last, “leave me the hell alone.” I slam my locker shut and turn to her.
We both go quiet, staring at each other in a face-off. I ball my fist into the edge of my skirt, holding on desperately. Holding on to everything left.
It can’t be real.
“I need to go,” I say at last.
Her eyes flash. “Goddammit, Nell.”
“Make sure no one sees you with that,” I mutter as I take off.
I’m out in the parking lot so fast, I’m not sure if I ran or not.
My instinct, as ever, is to keep moving. I’m on my way to my car to go God knows where when I spot Taylor sitting in his SUV. Through the windows, I hear the music and see him playing an imaginary drum set against his steering wheel. He doesn’t notice me as I approach and jumps when I knock on the pass
enger’s-side window. I pull open the door when he signals for me to get in, sitting next to him as he turns down the loud classic rock he’d been listening to.
“You’re good,” I tell him, eyes scanning his dash.
He shrugs. “I try.” He’s looking over at me. “You okay, Nell?”
“I’ve been better,” I admit, returning his gaze. “I’ve been doing what you said. Faking it. Putting on a show.”
“I never would’ve guessed,” he tells me, and I think it’s supposed to be a compliment. I push my hair back. “You always look perfect and that’s all he sees.”
I take a shaky breath. “What about you? What are you doing out here?”
“Killing time until practice,” he says. Taylor’s on the cross-country team in the fall—not because he’s a particularly good runner but because he needs to fill out his college résumé and it’s not a good idea for pitchers to play contact sports like football.
That’s the thing about us Prep kids—it’s not about what we like. It’s about what we have to do.
“You want to go to the river?” I ask after a minute.
Taylor turns the key in the ignition. “Let’s go,” he says.
And that’s how we end up down by the bank. We’re standing beside the water together in our uniforms. It’s still warm but there’s a breeze in the air, unusual for this late in August. I slide off my flats, poking my toes into the cold water. I shiver and pull back.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Taylor asks after a moment.
I don’t. Some part of me wants to go back to before Jackson, to before Mom, to live in that world I don’t believe in anymore. But I think about that time and wonder if it’s all the same misery with different perspectives. It’s only looking into the water that I see something like truth. I’ve lost everything; I can’t lose me.
I want to come out on the other side. Clean.
“Let’s go out to the docks,” I say, pointing to the floating dock out in the water.
Taylor glances at me with one eyebrow raised. The wind blows his curly hair into his face. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”
Winner Take All Page 23