Tease(46)

Brielle seems to know exactly what to do. We wait for Emma outside school on Monday morning, even though it’s still freezing. When she finally walks by I start to step forward, but Brielle holds my arm. I wait for her to say something to Emma, but she doesn’t, she just waits. As soon as Emma has walked past us, not making eye contact, Brielle lets go of me and follows her into the building. It takes me a second to catch up, but then I see what we’re doing—Brielle walks fast and we circle around so we’re walking to Emma’s locker from the other end. By the time Emma gets there, Brielle and I are standing on either side of her locker, having a conversation, super casual. I just see the red hair and the aqua coat out of the corner of my eye as Emma pauses for a second. Then Brielle looks right at her, staring. Emma holds her gaze for a minute, and I’m almost impressed by her total poker face. But then she turns and walks away.

Brielle watches her go and says, “God, this is too easy.”

“Are you kidding?” I ask her. My stomach is a jumble of nerves and butterflies and a million other things. I’m so excited and angry and confused I would sprint down the hallway if it weren’t so crowded. “That was perfect. How did you do that?”

She rolls her eyes at me and pushes away from the lockers. “Seriously.” Her voice carries over her shoulder as she leaves me behind again, striding to her homeroom while I scramble to catch up. “Give me a challenge.”

At lunch we sit with Kyle and Jacob and talk loudly about what a loser Emma is, even though she’s sitting one table over with Megan Corley.

“I heard she’s with Dylan and Tyler,” Brielle announces. “Like, they share.”

“Dude, that’s disgusting,” Jacob declares, also at top volume.

Emma and Megan exchange a look, then get up from their table, grabbing their barely touched lunch trays. Brielle high-fives me as they leave the cafeteria.

Dating Dylan doesn’t help Emma even when we aren’t around—the whole school finds out about the Valentine’s party and now everyone thinks she’s gross. Dylan was called a man-whore on Facebook before the weekend was over. I mean, all of his best friends have already hooked up with Emma. So far Tyler’s the only one who’s still talking to both of them, but the thing Brielle says about them “sharing” becomes everyone’s favorite theory by the end of Monday.

I spent all weekend talking to Brielle about what a slut Emma is, and Brielle comments on anything Emma does on Facebook with “A slut says what?” We’re not friends with her, obviously, but she gets tagged in stuff and it’s easy enough to find her on other people’s pages.

Still, I don’t feel any better about losing Dylan. At night, alone, I have to admit that he must actually like her. I’m not Miss Universe, but I’m not a social outcast, either—or a desperate transfer student, or a slut who’s been with all his friends. I slept with him, only him. And then I followed him around like a . . . a groupie. A puppy.

But he wants her.

And we want her to suffer.

“Did you see what Emma Putnam is wearing today? What is that?” Brielle says loudly in the locker room before gym on Tuesday. As usual, we are fully aware that Emma is standing two feet away from us. That’s the whole point.

“Oh my God, I know,” I practically shout back. “Do you think she knows? Maybe someone should tell her.”

Emma, who’s wearing a sweater and jeans, no big deal at all, practically sprints out of the locker room.

“Jesus, she can’t be sick again, can she?” Brielle sneers.

“I heard she’s been to the nurse’s office every day this week,” Beth offers, eager to get in on the action.

To my surprise, Brielle doesn’t ignore her this time. “She has such a gentle soul,” she says to Beth.

“Oh, totally,” Beth says. Her sarcasm is about twenty notches too enthusiastic, but the three of us laugh anyway.

“Or maybe she’s pregnant,” I say. I don’t know what makes me think of this, but now that I’ve said it, we all realize it could totally be true.

A few other girls turn toward us, and one of them, Parker, goes, “Wow. How’s she going to figure out who the father is?”

I feel sick and satisfied, all at the same time. Like the other night, when I ate all the leftover Valentine’s candy in one sitting—it was gross, but I’d be unwrapping another piece before I’d even swallowed the one in my mouth. Like I wanted that gross feeling—like having too much was the whole point.

We’re playing volleyball in gym, and I hit the ball so hard every time, the girls on the other side of the net jump out of the way. Everyone knows I’m in a terrible mood; they all know I got cheated on and broken up with. I mean, there was no official breaking up—screaming at Dylan and Emma on Friday and then leaving with Brielle pretty much took care of it. And now I guess it looks like I want to murder the volleyball and everyone else on the court. But the yelling, the crying, the thwack of the ball on the gym floor—it’s not enough.

“What do we do next?” I ask Brielle after last period. She drove me this morning and needs to give me a lift home, too. Dylan’s at practice, so I know Emma’s on her own.

Brielle looks at me. For a second I think she’s annoyed, or maybe she’s not into this anymore—maybe it’s really not a challenge. I get scared that she’s about to back out.