Tease(33)

Fifty of them.

We wrote notes for most of the flowers, and some we signed from real guys Emma’s already dated, like Kyle and Jacob and Tyler. A lot more of them are “from,” like, the school janitor, or the creepy guy who works at the gas station closest to school.

It’s just a prank. Obviously we’re trying to call Emma out for being a boyfriend-stealing skank, but they’re just flowers. The locker thing, though, feels like it’s kicking everything up a notch, defacing school property and everything. I mean, the sign in her yard was public, but this is right there, right where everyone can see it. Suddenly I’m scared again—terrified, really—of getting into serious trouble. Technically, Elmwood has this big anti-bullying policy. None of us have ever seen it in action, but they like to talk about it at assemblies and stuff, and Principal Schoen’s words at our post-Facebook-page meeting ring in my ears again. If anyone figures out that all those roses are from me and Brielle, they’ll definitely assume we’re the ones who wrote on her locker, too.

Brielle and I keep walking down the hall like we haven’t seen anything, though Brielle is smirking. The first bell hasn’t even rung yet.

And for the rest of the day, Emma gets roses.

In every class, a student council member comes in at the beginning with everyone’s delivery. In a regular class, they have maybe a dozen roses total. But if you’re in a classroom with Emma, the student council person comes in with an armload, because she gets almost ten every single time. Deliveries only come to real sit-down classes, not gym or whatever, so Emma’s desks are pretty obviously piled high with flowers. I hear people from her first period class talking about how popular she is all of a sudden, but by lunch everyone knows that it’s all a big joke. And by lunch, Emma can’t even walk down the hall where her locker is. The SLUT letters must’ve been written in permanent ink or something, because they’re still on it, and other people have started piling their own roses on the floor in front of it. They’re tossing flowers at her in the hallways, too, when there aren’t any teachers around.

I only end up really seeing her once, from way down the hall, right after fourth period. She’s throwing an armful of flowers away in the big trashcan outside the cafeteria. Jacob and Tyler walk by her, and I see Jacob clutch his chest over his heart, all fake-dramatic wounded. From all the way at my end of the hall I hear him exclaim, “Don’t you love me anymore?” and then he and Tyler are cracking up, walking away.

After that, I hear, Emma spends the rest of the day in the nurse’s office. I figure that’s why I don’t see her in History, which is my last class of the day and the only one I have with her besides gym.

When the last bell rings, Brielle and I walk down the hall past the SLUT locker, almost defiantly. That’s when we see Emma again.

“God, of course,” Brielle mutters as we spot her sitting down on the floor in front of her locker, huddled in a ball, crying. Megan Corley is kneeling down next to her and holding some tissues. The SLUT letters are all smeared from where Emma or the janitor or whoever has obviously tried to wipe them off with bleach or whatever. Now it looks like something out of a horror movie, just a bloody red mess. The whole door is obviously going to need to be repainted.

I hear a snort on my other side and turn to see Beth rolling her eyes and smirking at me and Brielle all confidentially, like we’re the Three Musketeers all of a sudden. Didn’t I just see her hanging out with Emma? I guess they’re already not friends anymore, because Beth goes, “What a freaking drama queen.” The words are barely out of her mouth before Brielle snaps, “You’re one to talk.” Beth’s face freezes. Brielle has already turned away, pulling me down the rest of the hallway, out into the colorless February afternoon.

“We are not calling your parents—yet. But we are taking this very, very seriously. Girls, I cannot tell you how disappointed I am.”

Principal Schoen is leaning over her desk, trying to look us in the eye and clearly wishing she could scare us. It’s working on me—I’m staring at the floor and wishing I was dead.

Brielle, not so much.

“I wish you would call our parents,” Brielle says evenly. “I think you know that my mother is an attorney and that my father has invested heavily in this school. I’m sure they would both find this all very interesting. I don’t see how you have any evidence that implicates me or Sara.”

I glance up and see Schoen narrow her eyes at Brielle. Shit. The Greggs family might be rich and powerful and legal-minded, but the Elmwood principal is no fool. Plus she probably knows that Mrs. Greggs is an attorney—for an insurance company. Not, like, the take-you-to-court-for-harassing-my-daughter kind. Though it’s true that Mr. Greggs is crazy rich.

“Miss Greggs,” Schoen says, her voice just as even as Brielle’s, “this is not the first time you’ve been in my office this semester. Your name seems to be coming up quite a lot these days, and I am not pleased. The Putnams are also not pleased. And no matter what you think, this is not a court of law. I have complete authority to mete out punishment as I see fit. Therefore, you and Miss Wharton here are banned from attending the Valentine’s dance this Friday.”

“What!” Brielle yelps, bolting forward in her chair like she’s been electrocuted. “That’s ridiculous! We didn’t do anything!”