by Balog, Cyn
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Peyton
My jaw drops. Neither of us speaks for a long moment as I study the tears streaming down Jess’ face, leaving tiny mascara trails. Standing there, her hair its natural shade, her dress so pretty and feminine like my own, it’s like I’m seeing Jess from four years ago.
It’s like she’s my best friend again, and there haven’t been a hundred mean pranks and rude comments thrown back and forth, and we haven’t tried so hard to destroy each other. It gives me the overwhelming urge to hug her, to pretend nothing’s gotten between us.
She’s the Jess who scoured Ivy League admissions books with me. She’s the Jess who helped formulate a game plan we jokingly called Operation Harvard. She’s the Jess who, at thirteen, crammed fourteen Oreos in her mouth and then burst out laughing and spit chocolate crumbs all over me.
I’m standing here, searching my memory, and trying to figure out how something so small has spiraled into such epically tragic proportions. I’d wanted to ruin her. I’d wanted blood and tears, and I’d thought it would make me feel better than her. Thought it would make me feel better about losing Harvard.
And I’m suddenly filled with such overwhelming regret my stomach feels a thousand pounds heavier, and I want to burst into tears with her, and hug her, and grovel at her feet for forgiveness.
“How much did you hear?” I say quietly.
“Enough,” she says, her voice even and laced with anger so deep I take a step back.
“I…I don’t know…” I’m not sure what I’d planned to say, but my opportunity disappears as she spins on the heel of her black boot and hurries away.
I rush after her and grab her shoulder, and for a moment, I think she might just clock me in the face. I have to force myself to stand tall in front of her.
As I stand there, looking her in the eyes, I realize how much I want this to be over. How much I want to undo what has just happened. Defeating her is not going to give me Harvard. It’s just going to leave us both unhappy.
And in the last three years, my sole purpose—other than Harvard—was in making her unhappy.
“Please. I don’t know what you heard, but you have to give him another chance.”
She looks up at the ceiling and wipes away the tears. “What was I thinking? That someone like him would really date me, because he wanted to? He belongs with some snotty bitch like you,” she says, crossing her arms.
I can’t even be mad at her for what she says. “It’s not like that. Yes, I asked him to date you. I wanted him to dump you and I wanted to watch you crumble. You took Harvard and turned it into a joke, so I was going to use the only thing I had against you.”
She makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a groan and a whine and starts to leave again, but I grab her elbow. “But you don’t get it. He was so reluctant. He didn’t want anything to do with it. I had to call in a favor just to convince him.
“And…” I stop for a second and give her a sad smile. “Jeez, for someone really smart I can be pretty stupid. He tried to tell me before. Twice. What he has for you is real. Whatever you heard, it was probably only half the conversation. He told me he can’t go through with it. He wants you. He loves you.”
She’s still staring at me, but her face doesn’t have that twist of pain. It’s empty of all emotion.
“Don’t you get it? You win. You get everything. It’s over.”
And then I walk away, because I can’t stand next to her anymore while she gets everything she ever wanted, and I get the opposite.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jess
Peyton’s words echo in my ears long after she’s left, but I can only stand there, wondering if I should trust her, wondering if she’s speaking the truth. So much of what she’s told me in the past has been two-faced. Has he really, truly fallen for me?
Even though she’s dressed in a beautiful gown and her hair is in elaborate updo, the entire time she talked to me her skin was the color of eggshells and her eyes were red-rimmed. I’m pretty sure she and I both look like extras from Prom Night Massacre.
I don’t know if I believe her rant about Dave’s feelings being real, but if it’s just part of the prank…then why is she crying?
I push my way into the crowd. I have to find her. I’m ready to explain about the Harvard acceptance and put an end to the insanity. I see her for one quick moment, her face framed by dozens of others who are oblivious to what’s going on. She turns for a second, gives me a look of wild, unfocused pain and vanishes so quickly I barely have time to form the words, “Peyton, wait!” before I’m completely alone, the pulsing beat of the music echoing my own heartbeat.
I turn quickly and see Dave sidling back from the refreshment stand with two cups of Coke. He starts to say something, but then stops when he takes in my hair. “What hap—” he begins, but the truth must occur to him before he can say anymore.
“I know about Peyton’s prank,” I say quietly. “Switzerland. What a bunch of crap. You were never neutral.” I wanted to yell it at him, to be angry and back in my comfort zone, but I couldn’t even fake the fury I know I should feel. Instead I feel empty and alone, and I wish I’d never put up that Princess Peyton poster in ninth grade, the one that started this whole crazy thing, the reason Peyton was so mad and pushed me in the pool.
He gives me the Coke, reaches into my hair, and gently pulls out a stray bobby pin. “I can explain.”
“Look, I don’t want a long, dramatic thing here,” I say as toughly as I can, trying to sip my soda casually, even though my hands are still shaking. “Were you really planning to dump me tonight?”
I take a deep breath and wait for the answer.
He takes the soda out of my hands and puts both of them on a nearby table. Then he shakes his head. “I agreed to help her because she once helped me, but as soon as it began, I regretted it. I tried to tell her before tonight. There was more to you than I’d expected. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”
I shake my head, not believing him. This was all a lie…every date, every kiss, every word. This perfect guy wasn’t perfect.
I step back, but he grabs my hand, stopping me. “Please. You have to give me another chance.” His voice sounds desperate, pleading. “You have no idea how guilty I’ve felt through all this. It’s why I kept pushing you to prank her—just knowing what she wanted me to do, how much she wanted me to hurt you—it’s been eating at me for months. I’d been trying to ignore it. Trying to pretend this hadn’t started as a prank. But every time I saw her it would gnaw at me. You have to let me prove it to you.”
“But how can I trust you? How can I believe—” I’m interrupted when he weaves his fingers into my tangled mess of hair and kisses me, and I’m breathless when he pulls away and rests his lips on my forehead.
“Oh,” I say with a shaky smile. “Good answer. But this isn’t over, you know. You’re going to have to earn it.”
“I look forward to it.” He starts to wrap his arms around my shoulders, but I put my hands on his chest and pull away.
“What?” he asks, confused.
“We’ve got to find Peyton,” I say quickly, scanning the crowd. “I have to tell her about Harvard.”
His eyes bulge. “You mean, you didn’t tell her?”
“I meant to. Tonight. I figured if I waited until tonight, she couldn’t retaliate by graduation, and I would win.”
He gives me a stern look. “When are you guys going to give this up? It’s not a joke anymore. You’re killing each other.”
“I know, I know,” I sigh, feeling like a child who has just been slapped on the wrist. The truth is, Peyton didn’t have to tell me that Dave had fallen for me. She knew I’d fallen for the prank, hook, line, and sinker. She could have just let me go on, thinking he’d only dated me because she’d forced it on him. She could have still whipped me good and won the prank war. But she didn’t. For some reason, she’d called it quits and told me the truth.
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nbsp; Suddenly, I’m hit with the stinging memory of going through Harvard catalogs with Peyton, watching her bite her lip in anticipation all those years ago. I remember mapping it out, her road that would take her to Harvard, lined with AP courses and thousands of hours of studying and homework. But it had never fazed her. She’d wanted this forever. And I was the only one keeping her from it. Me. Stealing her dreams to win a stupid game.
I hear Dave clear his throat. “Um, Houston, we have a problem.”
I turn around and follow his line of vision. I have to blink twice. I can’t be seeing what I think I’m seeing.
Peyton looks…drunk. Her cheeks are ruddy and she’s actually stumbling through the crowd. She yells at a sophomore for stepping on her dress and then trips and bumps into a table, sending a bunch of prom queen and king voting slips fluttering to the floor.
“I think you’d better go intercept,” Dave says, nudging me towards her.
I nod and move purposefully through the crowd, toward the doors. Neither of us had to say it, but we both know what this means. If Peyton gets caught drinking, she’ll get expelled.
And getting expelled means losing Harvard.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Peyton
Getting vodka from Tim is the best thing I’ve done all night. I don’t even care anymore that I lost Harvard. I don’t care that Jess won the prank war and Dave all in one night. I don’t care that Bryn keeps giving me dirty looks and trying to take the flask away, and she’s still furious at Tim for giving it to me in the first place.
Actually, Tim looks a little annoyed too. I think he’s mad I’m hogging it all or something. Or maybe they’re both mad because I interrupted their full-frontal snogging. Who knew Bryn would finally notice someone other than Ken? At any other time, I’d be excited for her.
I don’t understand how life went so terribly wrong. Three months ago, I had everything—I was about to be admitted to Harvard, and I had a plan that would win me the prank war. Now I can’t figure out why I’d thought the stupid war had ever been a good idea. All it had done is succeed in humiliating me and in hurting Jess.
And suddenly I feel all nostalgic, like I wish I could rewind and fix whatever had been creating the rift between Jess and me almost four years ago. There’ll always be this hole left behind. It wasn’t until she was gone that I went into full-on Peyton-must-be-perfect mode. Maybe if I’d kept her around, she would have kept me grounded.
I pull Bryn towards the center of the room because I suddenly feel like dancing. I do my best imitation of my drop it like it’s hot dance, and it must be really good since people are staring at me. I wish it were easier to keep my balance, but my heels must be too tall. I keep scrambling around in an effort to keep my feet underneath me.
When I go to dirty dance with Bryn, she pushes me gently away, but it’s enough to throw me completely off-kilter. I stumble back and knock straight into someone.
When I turn around, I see Jess. And she’s the last person I want to see. “What, didja come to gloat or something?”
She grimaces. “Can we go outside?”
I cross my arms. “Why?”
“Just come on. I need to talk to you.” She’s looking over my shoulder at something. She looks worried, like she’s afraid to be seen with me, but I don’t care.
“No, thank you,” I say, my voice saccharine. “You’ve done quite enough for me. And my brother, too.”
Jess narrows her eyes. “What’s your brother got to do with it?”
I laugh, so much louder than I’d meant to, and a few people give me an odd look. “I saw you send the cops over to arrest him. I saw you do it. You ruined his life.”
Jess is staring at me with her jaw dropped so low, it practically rests on the toe of her combat boots.
“Oh my God. You thought—you think—so that day at Ken’s house, you were pissed off… Oh my God.”
I try really hard to stop swaying and get a good look at her, because something is really, really wrong.
“Don’t you remember, Peyton? Tina had taken all your house numbers down and was painting those horrible flamingos all over them. The cops came to my door because they were already looking for your brother. Not because I called them.”
I take a step backward, away from Jess and her lies, and nearly trip over a girl’s long emerald dress. “Oops!”
It can’t be true. She’s lying.
Or else everything I’ve done…all those mean pranks…
It started so small. A poster. A kick me sign. And it spiraled, one prank at a time.
Suddenly she grabs my elbow and starts pushing me across the floor, towards the exit, her pace so fast I can barely keep up.
“Let go!” I yank my arm away from her. My purse whips around on my arm, and Tim’s flask drops out. Some one walks by and accidentally kicks it, and it skids a good twenty feet, only stopping when it hits a shiny black shoe.
I follow a pair of gray slacks upwards, past a matching jacket, to the stern eyes of Mr. Vaughn, our principal. My jaw drops as he reaches down, slowly picks up the flask, and walks towards Jess and me. I’m scanning my brain for excuses, for something brilliant to say, but I’m coming up empty. There’s no way to explain away a flask, no matter how good you are at debate.
I have to do something; I have to say something. I can tell he’s not sure where it came from but he’s heading straight for me. And he’ll smell it. He’ll know it was me, that I was drinking.
Alcohol on school campus is an expellable offense. I’m about to be kicked out of high school three days before I get my diploma. Now even Pizza Hut and Willow Valley Community College are disappearing. I’ll be spending the summer at Willow High, repeating the second semester.
Before I can figure out what’s happening, Jess is shoving me towards Bryn and muttering something, and Bryn and Tim are dragging me out the door faster than my feet can possibly carry me. I glance back just in time to see Jess walk up to the principal, nod her head slowly, and then follow him across the crowded gym.
Even though it’s not her fault, Jess Hill just got caught.
Chapter Thirty
Jess
I spend a full three hours in the principal’s office, so by the time I come out, Dave is pacing the deserted hallways in his tuxedo, looking more than a little worried. The prom is over, everyone has gone home, and I’m sure it didn’t help soothe his nerves when the two police officers showed up.
I give him a little grin. “Everything’s fine.”
He heaves a sigh of relief. “I thought they were going to arrest you.”
“They couldn’t. They did a breath test and obviously I passed. Then I told them the reason I had the bottle was because I’d found it in the hallway and was looking for some way to dispose of it.”
He raises his eyebrow. “Vaughn bought that?”
I shrug. “I’ve never been caught drinking before.”
“So they let you off? All free and clear?”
“Um, not exactly. He’ll let me walk at graduation, but I have to retake my spring classes over the summer. I’m sort of expelled. That means I don’t get credit for courses I didn’t complete.”
“But why? You didn’t do anything!”
I look at the ground. “Actually…”
He grins. “You called him a fascist, didn’t you?”
I give him a sheepish look. “He ruined our night.”
“No.” He takes off his jacket and puts it gently on my shoulders. “Peyton ruined our night.”
I shake my head. “It’s not her fault. I knew we just needed to end it. She knew it, too. She didn’t have to try to put us back together again. And I didn’t have to take the blame for her drinking. But that’s the only way we’ll ever just stop.”
“It would have stopped after graduation.”
“Maybe. But…I just didn’t want to end it like that. I mean, she lives next door to me. Can you imagine us being thirty and giving each other nasty looks every time we came home to vi
sit our parents? I wanted it to end on a positive note…” My voice trails off. I’m not even sure where I’m going with this. I just know I’m glad it ended the way it did and not the way it could have.
The hallways are dark, and we take the route past the gymnasium, toward the parking lot. Dave wraps his arms around me as we step into the cool night and head to his Nova, the only car left in the lot.
Before he opens the door for me, he pulls me to him and kisses me on the nose. “So, it’s over.”
I shake my head. “It will be. Tomorrow. I have a letter to deliver.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Peyton
Even though my head is aching and my balance is shot, after Hugh drops me off, I spend the next few hours going through my room, destroying any trace of Harvard. The pennant I’d bought when I was ten, the catalogs, the picture Bryn gave me from Cosmo of the girl in the Harvard hoodie. Before I tear the picture into a thousand pieces, I look at it, thinking, that will never be me.
When I wake the next morning, head still aching, I open one eye and read the clock. It’s barely after six in the morning. I open both eyes, slowly, and behold the disaster. The signs of destruction are everywhere. My room looks like it’s been hit by a cyclone. Paper and shreds of Harvard burgundy are everywhere. I run to the kitchen to get a trash bag and, in between dry-heaves, load it with garbage. Nobody in the house is awake yet, so I quickly tiptoe outside and lay the trash down at the curb, next to the usual pile of garbage my dad must have brought out the night before.