I say hoping to end this ugly and pointless confrontation.
“Thanks, bitch! There’s only one thing I’d like to know: was Sam your first?”
I narrow my eyes:
“No, he wasn't. But what's it to you, anyway?”
Michelle's smile widens and there's a glint in her eyes but she shrugs and her tone is as nonchalant as ever.
“Was it Alex, then?”
Damn my stupid face: I blush and one corner of her mouth goes up in an evil smirk.
“I should've guessed that! After all Alex Richmond always wins his bets!”
I’m confused.
“Bets? What the fuck are you talking about now?”
She giggles.
“Oh, right! You thought the A-Team really liked you and was truly interested in a fugly, penniless Twunt like you? Did you think the most popular guys at BHPA were in love with you? It was all a bet, Ayla! They kept score cards on who did what with you! They got bonus points for doing something with you for the first time and the winner was the one who took your v-card! So Alex has won Sam’s Cessna and Tuna’s house in Barbados for getting to your skunk ugly ass first! And since you let them share you, I guess they're keeping you around until they get bored with you!”
Her words hit me with more violence than if she’d slapped me across the face a thousand times.
“No. I don't believe you! You're making this disgusting shit up! Like your stupid pros and cons list! The guys are in love with me and I love them! They’d never—”
If she’d sneer at me or laugh or insult me, it would've stung less than her soft, falsely sympathetic tone.
“Oh, darling! I’m sorry but you see, I can prove it. I got EM to hack into all of your phones and I recorded your conversations and some of your ... Private times! Listen up, if you need proof!”
She presses play on her phone and Alex’s voice is as clear as day:
“Let’s have a bet. She's a virgin and I think whoever gets her v-card should get the girl. To keep it fair, we’ll keep score.
I’ll prepare a score card with items worth points.
For example: a hand job will be worth three points, a blowjob five. Second base two points. If you go down on her five, if you finger her three. If you dry hump her four but you can add one point per item of clothing removed and if you both come, five extra points.
The first person to achieve each task, gets ten bonus points and whoever gets her v-card, is the winner. We have until the end of this semester to achieve it and each milestone has to be documented. Filmed or recorded. To make things more interesting, let's also have a material prize for the winner.
If I lose, the winner can have my Ducati.”
And then she plays a recording of me and Tuna one morning in his car: when he asked me if he could touch my boobs.
“And I could go further. They’ve recorded every single time they were with you but then they must've stopped recording because last I knew, Tuna and Alex were tied at forty points. But EM had been acting weird for a couple of weeks, so I guess he told them and they must’ve changed phones or something.”
I’ve never understood the expression ‘broken heart’ until I physically feel it shattering in my chest: but I still hold an irrational hope that this is all a complex lie that Michelle has fabricated to destroy me and the guys.
So I snatch her phone from her grasp.
“Hey, bitch! That's mine!”
I also grab her wrist and start dragging her towards the men locker room.
I’m sure there's a plausible explanation for all of this, I’m sure it's one of Michelle's schemes!
I try to keep the tears that threaten to break the floodgates and win the battle by a hairs width.
I kick the men’s locker room open and I find myself staring at a bunch of naked dudes: three of which I’ve become quite used to seeing without clothes.
Alex
“ALEX!”
The locker room door slams open and Ayla enters the room screaming like a banshee.
Some of the guys literally squeal in surprise running for cover and trying to shield their nudity from the girls who are now standing in the middle of the room: Ayla's followed by Michelle, Jenna and Char.
She’s holding a smartphone in her hand and she's pointing the screen to my face with a furious and terrified look in her green eyes.
I’ve seen Ayla angry before but never like this and before she even tells me what she's so angry about, I know.
I know from her eyes: from the hurt I see in their green depths.
If this had happened four months ago, I’d have felt satisfied and avenged for causing her the same hurt she caused me by rejecting me.
But I was a fool: this isn't the same and I didn't only hurt her.
I hurt myself and my brothers with that stupid bet because what I could've never predicted is that we all fell for her like we never thought we could.
I’ve never loved anyone like I love my fierce, hot, innocent Ayla.
She owns me and I crushed her because I was a stupid, arrogant and superficial jerk.
Tuna and Sam stand by my side like two deer caught in the headlights and they stare at her as terrified as I feel.
We’re all in different states of undress: I’m the only one wearing pants as I was trying to hurry to go and pick up Ben to take him to rehab.
I know before she tells me and I know that Michelle's responsible for her finding out, if the cruel smirk on her lips is anything to go by.
When she sees the look in my eyes, she knows that I know.
She lowers the phone and I can see the tears she's trying to push back in the vivid green of her eyes.
I can also hear them catching in her throat when her voice comes out scratchy and low.
“I was gonna ask you if it was true. I was sure that there was an explanation for this.”
Her hands are shaking and I can see how hard she's clutching Michelle’s phone in her hands by how white her knuckles are.
I only say one word:
“Ayla.”
If she only let me explain ...
I know I’m at fault, I know it’ll take time to earn her trust again but I love her with all my heart.
I would walk through fire and I’d die for her.
I would give anything to take back that stupid bet.
All I can do is tell her how sorry I am and hope for her forgiveness.
I can only try to show her how things have changed, how her love has changed me.
But she doesn't even let me talk.
“Is there any version of the truth where you didn't make a bet with Tuna and Sam on who would take my virginity? And where you added material prizes to it because my innocence wasn't enough? Because I wasn't enough? You certainly must've known that the only way I’d ever sleep with any of you would’ve been if I fell in love. Right?”
“It started like a game, Ayla. I’ve no excuse. But—”
I say quickly, trying to prevent her from interrupting me.
“But I was a fool. Soon into it, we all realised that we were all in love with you. Completely, hopelessly, desperately in love with you.”
She lets out a bitter laugh, tears are now streaming down her face and it looks like she gave up trying not to cry.
I’m losing that battle any minute now.
“Asshole!”
She screams.
“I’m in love with you too! How else did you ever think I would let you put your dick in my mouth? Why else would I let you see me naked, put your—”
Her voice breaks and I’m freaking out.
I’m trying to find the right words to make this go away, to make her see how much I love her and how I’ll spend my life trying to earn her forgiveness.
“I know. Baby, I know. You're right but please, let me—”
My voice breaks too, fading into a whisper and then Michelle intervenes, her voice soft and smooth like silk:
“It certainly was Alex’s idea but Tuna, Sam
and EM all participated more than willingly.”
Jenna's voice breaks too:
“EM? Was he in into this disgusting bet?”
Michelle smiles.
“Yes, of course! It was his initiation challenge to get into the A-Team. But he wasn't even man enough to get a kiss from this whore.”
I’ve never hit a woman but this time I’m seconds away from doing it.
But Sam’s quicker than me to come to Ayla's defence and put his ex in her place.
“Michelle, I swear to god, if you don't walk away from this locker room right now, I’ll make sure that you leave in a fucking body bag. Sugar, I’m so sorry. Please believe me, we’d give anything to take the stupid bet back. But we love you, I love you, I—”
She looks at Sam with possibly even more distaste than she was looking at me with.
“You should really shut up, Sam! You’re the worst! If I could expect some shitty thing like this from an arrogant prick like Alex or from Tuna, who let's face it, fits the douche jock stereotype to a T, from you ... you—”
Her voice breaks again and then she asks:
“Do you take every girl to your Father's grave? Was I the only one stupid enough to let you fuck me or does it work every time?”
Sam’s mouth opens but no sound comes out and Tuna comes to his rescue.
“Ayla, you were the only person he took there aside from me and Alex.”
She doesn't even acknowledge him but keeps staring at Sam.
Finally he says:
“No, I—”
Ayla throws Michelle's phone at Sam’s head, hitting him square on one cheekbone.
“You're as bad as your ex! You're actually a match made in hell, you should get back together.”
“Ew! Not after he's put his cock inside you. Sorry!”
Michelle twitters, delighted by the whole scene.
Ayla looks around the room but her eyes are especially intent on me when she says:
“Don't ever talk to me again! I hate you!”
23.
Going Down
Ayla
I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW I make it home: I can't stop crying and it feels as if someone had stuck hot, long, rusty spikes inside my flesh and was now twisting them.
I was nothing but a game to them: a way to pass the time for three rich, spoiled boys.
They even had expensive prizes for the first one who slept with me, I was worth this little to them.
When Char stops the car in my driveway, Tuna’s car pulls over right behind her and the A-Team climbs out of the SUV.
Char and Jenna stand between me and the guys like a protective barrier.
“Girls, this has nothing to do with you! We need to talk to Ayla and make this right, we love—”
“Alex, just go home. Even admitting that there was a way to undo what you three did, this isn't the time. Give her a minute to—”
“To do what? To decide that it's over? She hasn't even heard us out.”
Char shakes her head.
“I think we all heard enough. I can't believe you guys recorded everything. Just go for now. And if you couldn't respect her before, show Ayla some respect now, if it's true that you’re sorry. Just let her have a minute and don't force her to talk if she doesn't want to.”
When the guys leave, my girlfriends help me out of my uniform and into bed.
Jenna looks almost as bereft as I do: none of us expected that EM could be involved in this despicable bet.
Even if at the time they weren't even speaking, I guess this speaks volumes about his morals and obviously Jenna needs to decide if she wants to forgive him.
“Just hear him out, though, Jen. He hasn't really tried anything with me. So it might be a lame attempt by Michelle to break you up. It's clear that she wanted EM for herself.”
I get up to leave Mom a note downstairs, explaining that I’m not feeling well and I won't go to school tomorrow.
I draw the curtains and close my bedroom door: I need to leave the world outside and be alone with my pain, trying to piece together my broken heart at least enough to be able to sit in the same classroom with my three exes.
If I wanna get into Yale, leaving BHPA isn't an option: I know this school is the best possible opportunity for me and I won't let the guys and Michelle take that away from me too.
I cry for hours, until I’m about to pass out from exhaustion but my phone startles me with its FaceTime ringtone: it's Alex.
We’ve been talking every night before falling asleep, unless we were together or I was with one of the others.
I refuse the call, feeling a sliver of hope that he feels rejected right now: it won't make things right but I want him to hurt as much as he hurt me.
He calls again and I press the red button again.
When it's clear that he won't give up, I turn my phone off and retreat under the relative safety of my comforter.
I spend a fitful night, marred by nightmares where I'm standing by a church altar, in a beautiful, white wedding dress and there are three guys, all wearing identical white tuxedos.
They're all turned so I can only see their backs but by their hair and their skin tones I can tell it's my exes.
The priest asks me who I wanna marry and when I can't give him an answer, he says:
“I bet you can't choose ...”
At his words, all three men turn and they have no facial features.
I wake up with my heart beating fast in my chest and the tears come hot and fast: I want peace, I want this to end.
This heartbreak is more than I can take.
In the morning, I don't even attempt to get out of bed but at the usual time when Tuna picks me up for school, I hear the doorbell.
Then I hear some kind of commotion: Ben’s telling Tuna that I’m sick and I don't wanna see anyone but Tuna must push him aside as I hear steps coming up the stairs.
I run out of bed and lock my bedroom door just in time: the door knob turns and Tuna pleads with me:
“Ayla, please, open the door. I’m sorry. Please let's talk.”
He must be standing by my door for a long time, because after a while, I hear him say:
“I’ve gotta go to school now. I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”
The day after, I know I’ve no excuse to skip school: if I tell Mom that I’m still sick, she'll make me go to the doctor.
Char and Jenna both offer to pick me up but I tell them not to bother since I’m not on their way to school and they’d probably end up stuck in traffic anyway.
Taking the bus is good: it’ll help me prepare myself psychologically to see the A-Team at school.
However, when I lock the front door, Tuna’s SUV pulls over and he’s by my side before I can exit my driveway.
When he touches my elbow, I jump as if I’d been electrocuted.
“Don’t touch me! And what are you doing here?”
His reply sounds completely unperturbed:
“I’m here to drive you to school.”
“No, you're not.”
“I don't see your family car in the driveway, so how are you gonna get to school?”
“The same way I did before I had the misfortune of getting to know you. By bus.”
He doesn't flinch at the streak of meanness in my tone and he doesn't let go of my arm.
I hate myself for how much I love his touch, for how much I’ve missed it and when I shove past him, my body grieves the loss of the warmth of his fingers that was seeping through the fabric of my school uniform.
I walk the short distance to the bus stop and Tuna’s car follows me closely.
Luckily the bus arrives straight away but Tuna doesn't give up and flanks the bus with his car all the way to school.
By the time I walk to the main entrance, Tuna is walking quietly by my side, never averting his hazel eyes from me.
I’ve got to stop by my locker to get the notepads I need for today's classes and he stops closely behind me.
I turn and w
hen I speak, I try to sound as annoyed as possible but I hate how shaky my voice really sounds.
“Creep.”
His stony expression doesn't change.
“Yup! I seriously don't care if I look like a creep. I’ll follow you until you let me explain. Until we talk.”
“I’ve nothing to say to you.”
Our first period today is home room and while I’m reading for our next English Lit assignment, Tuna’s name gets called to report to the teacher's lounge.
With all that happened, I totally forgot that today he's supposed to sit that make up exam for Ms. Webber's class.
He looks at me on the way out of the classroom and I hate myself for caring, for still hoping that he passes.
But my eyes remain glued to my book: I need to fake it until I make it and those three boys will only be a memory.
Until I’ll be able to think about them like my first, big mistake.
Tuna passes his make up test with flying colours and I know because he texts me.
Tuna: I passed! I got an A-! It's all because of you, Ayla. Thank you. I love you.
His words are like a dagger straight to my heart: they make me happy and incredibly sad at the same time.
I can't face anyone right now: so I spend the whole lunch period crying in the girls bathroom.
The rest of the week, my life seems stuck in a repetitive loop, like Groundhog Day.
One of the guys trails me everywhere: it's as if they were doing surveillance shifts.
And while seeing them upsets me, it comforts me at the same time.
I know it's fucked up and I also know that this feeling is dangerous because it means that I haven't even started to move on but there's nothing I can do to change the situation.
A part of me hopes that sooner or later they'll be the ones to move on and another part of me dreads that moment because then I’ll have to face the music.
On Friday, we have our Latin Literature final for this first semester.
Ms. Webber personally distributes the sheets of paper with the passage assigned for translation.
It’s something talking about nature, plants and birds and their qualities and mating rituals.
It's about twenty five lines and I’m really surprised that the final consists of such an easy passage.
The Initiation: A High School Light Bully Romance (Beverly Hills Prep Academy Book 1) Page 28