Tease(47)

So before she can answer my question, I go, “Maybe we should follow her home?”

Something that looks like pride flashes in Brielle’s eyes. “Yeah, okay,” she says, nodding. “Let’s go.”

I follow her to the Mercedes and climb into the passenger seat, bouncing a little with nervous excitement. Brielle screeches out of her parking spot, barely missing about half the freshman class walking to the bus stop, but instead of heading toward the exit she peels around to the next row of student cars.

“What the—” I start to say, but then I see what she’s doing.

Emma is just walking up to her Audi when she sees it, too. Brielle has pulled her SUV up so we’re right behind Emma’s car, blocking her in. It’s colder today than it was this weekend, but Brielle rolls down her window and casually dangles her arm outside.

“Oh, hey, slutty!” she calls to Emma, waving. If you hadn’t heard the words you’d think she was talking to a friend. “Nice car. I guess Stepdaddy thinks you’re really pretty.”

Emma has frozen in place, still standing at the front corner of her car, not even on the driver’s side yet. She’s looking at me and Brielle like she doesn’t know what’s going to happen next.

A few other people are looking at us too, and I see a couple of guys from our class laughing. I turn a little and see Megan Corley walking the other way. I guess she doesn’t feel like being on Emma’s Only Friend Duty this time.

“What’s wrong?” I say loudly, leaning over the center console so I can see her better. “Didn’t anyone else’s boyfriend want to give you a ride today?”

Brielle’s laugh is short and sharp.

And it seems to break Emma out of her trance. Smoothly, as if we haven’t said anything at all, she continues walking around to her car door and beeps it open. Then she looks right at us, her chin lifted a little, and goes, “Actually, I think that’s your problem. But at least you have each other, right? Lez be friends.”

“Oh, you little c—” Brielle is cursing and unbuckling her seat belt and opening her door all at once, but just in time I see Mr. Jansen, the guidance counselor, walking toward us. That explains why Emma thought she could talk to us that way.

I grab Brielle’s arm and say, “We gotta go.”

She looks at me like I’m crazy, but I point at the teacher, who definitely sees us now, and she slams her door back shut and puts the SUV in gear.

“You better watch your ass!” she yells at Emma, and we drive away.

“Why can’t you just leave her alone?”

“Who?”

“Don’t be like that. You know who.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on. You and Brielle are being total—” Dylan cuts himself off, his head jerking to the side, his lips pressed tightly together. Keeping the rest of his sentence unsaid.

“We’re being what?” I demand. “Total what?” I’m trying to keep my voice down, since we’re in a corner of the library during study hall, and Ms. Hillman can hear the slightest whisper anywhere in here. But Dylan started this; he came over to me and started talking. And I know he’s about to call me and Brielle bitches. Which is so completely unfair I can barely see straight.

“Whatever. Just leave Emma out of this.”

“You brought her into it,” I snap. “I didn’t want to be anywhere near her, but you—” I throw up my hands. Now I’m the one who can’t finish a sentence.

A look crosses Dylan’s face. I think it might be regret. He reaches out and touches my shoulder and says, “Sara, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

It’s such a cliché, such a Lifetime movie moment, I don’t even know what to do at first. Tears leap into my eyes and they sting. Everything about this stings. He doesn’t deserve to see me cry. He doesn’t deserve for his apology to be accepted.

He definitely doesn’t deserve for me to want him to kiss me right now. But that is totally what I want. I want him to wrap his arms around me and lean us into the Earth Science shelves and forget any of this ever happened.

Instead I say, pathetically, “Don’t you like me anymore?”

He drops his hand back to his side and looks away again. Guys hate this kind of thing, I know that. Brielle has told me a hundred times, and I know I should just shut up. But I can’t help it; if he can answer this question, maybe I can stop lying awake every night wondering about it. Maybe the knot in my stomach will unwind a little bit.

“You just . . . I dunno, Sara, did you even like me? It’s not like you were ever around that much.”

I don’t know what to say to this. I want to scream or cry or something, say anything, if only to keep him talking. But I can’t figure out how to respond. I hold my breath, literally, hoping he’ll say more.

Dylan shifts from foot to foot, like he’d really like to run away now, but finally he adds, “I mean, you were always with Brielle. You didn’t really need me.”

“I needed you to not cheat on me.” The words pop out, angry and hot, before I think better of it.

The look of regret—or something—comes back to his face. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry about that.”

We’re both silent again. I don’t know what we’re supposed to be saying. I was hoping he’d say he misses me and wants me back, but obviously that’s not happening. Obviously he expects me to accept this apology, to believe him. And to understand.