Tease(42)

I spin around a little too fast and have to catch myself with one of the curtains, pulling it back. That helps me find the handle to the glass door, and it slides open easily, unlocked already.

The cold smacks me in the face as soon as I step outside, and I still have my shoes in my hand, so my feet go numb almost immediately. And then the wind is in my eyes, which fill with tears before I can even blink. So at first, I’m not actually sure that I’m seeing what I’m seeing.

But I am; I’m seeing it.

At the other end of the balcony, leaning against the wall and totally oblivious that they’re not alone, are Dylan and Emma.

I blink. Once, twice, but they don’t disappear.

And they don’t stop kissing.

One shoe has hit Emma in the back before the words are even out of my mouth.

“You f*cking slut! What the f*ck do you think you’re doing?!”

My shrieks are carried away in the icy air, leaving me breathless. And then I’m shoeless, too, as Emma turns toward me, her eyes wide and horrified. But not wide enough to dodge the second shoe—this one hits her on the shoulder, just glances it, really, but she yelps, both hands flying up to her face, like I have anything else to throw.

“I knew it!” I scream. I turn to run back into the hotel suite but the curtain is in my way and I have to shove at it, pull it—I hear a clang and realize I’ve yanked down part of the curtain rod, but it doesn’t matter because I’m inside again, I can’t see Emma anymore. Part of me wants to turn around and pull her hair out like I pulled the curtain, but most of me just wants to get away, far, far away from here.

Everything is a blur—I’m running and crying and my feet hurt and the halls in the hotel all look the same and Jesus, I really did have too much to drink, why can’t I find the elevators?—and then Brielle is there, and I’m wearing a coat. I’m in an elevator, holding on to the wall. I’m outside, I’m putting on someone’s shoes that’re too big for me. I’m waiting in the cold, the front entry lights of the hotel shining down on me, making me visible to everyone who wants to see a pathetic excuse for a girl, a walking mascara stain, a stupid, no-longer-virgin, cheated-on, worthless—

Brielle’s SUV bumps onto the curb and I have to jump out of the way. I almost lose my balance, but instead I’m able to reach out and grab the passenger-door handle. And then I’m in, on a heated seat, the same stupid Ellie Goulding song that was playing upstairs blaring from the speakers as the car bounces back off the curb and pulls out into the night.

“Blech, sorry, lemme just—” Brielle reaches over and punches the radio button off, and the car fills with silence.

It’s quiet until I choke on another sob and hear myself whispering, over and over, “I knew it. That slut. That slut. I knew it.”

“Shh, shh,” Brielle says. She reaches over and pets my hair clumsily, but with just one hand on the wheel the car yanks dangerously to the right, so she pulls her hand away quickly.

She’s drunk and she shouldn’t be driving, I think. But I don’t care.

“Don’t worry, babe,” she says. “We’ll fix this. That bitch won’t even know what hit her.”

Good, I think. I nod my head, or my head nods itself. I just keep nodding. Good, good, good, won’t know what hit her. Then she’ll know how I feel right now.





September


“IT’S EXACTLY LIKE we went over last time. You just tell me how the Valentine’s Day events were Miss Greggs’s idea. We have the Michaels receipt for the sign supplies, paid for on her MasterCard. Unfortunately the roses were bought with cash . . .” Natalie flips open a file and peers at some fine print before looking back up at me and my mom. “Then we’ll move on to March, okay?”

I nod and focus on Natalie, across the table, ignoring Mom’s jiggling foot next to me. We’re running through the testimony I’ll have to give in two weeks. Two weeks. We were in court once before, when the charges were filed and everything, but this time I’ll be in a courtroom with Emma’s parents. I’ll be on the witness stand. I’ll be talking, answering questions, getting to tell my side of the story. Natalie said it won’t be like TV, it’s just a bunch of tables and I shouldn’t talk too much or anything. I should just answer the questions like she’s telling me to. But still.

I think I’m gonna throw up.

Mom’s obviously not feeling so great, either. She’s just fidgeting, not looking at me. She has to come to the meetings because we’re so close to trial. I know she doesn’t want to be here, but Jesus, neither do I. I didn’t choose this. I didn’t even come up with any of the pranks that supposedly pushed Emma to commit suicide.

Or that’s what I’m going to testify to, anyway. That it was all Brielle. And Brielle’s probably going to testify that it was all me.

When I told Natalie how unfair that is, she shrugged. “It’s a lawsuit. You want to win.”

I guess it’s just as well that I don’t have Brielle at school anymore. I probably should have known that this whole thing wasn’t just going to take her away for the summer—I should have known I wasn’t ever getting my best friend back. She’s gone now, just like Dylan. Just like everyone.

Natalie’s running through the same questions about last February, and I’m answering them the way we practiced. Mom gets really quiet while I talk.