Tease(66)

He shrugs again and says, “You still don’t know me that well.”

My cheeks burn, and suddenly I wish I had just gone to my car and left this alone. I can’t see my life past next week—past that courtroom I’ll be standing in, speaking in. I can’t see how life is going to keep going after this. I know we’re settling the case, but part of me still feels like the judge is going to hear what I say and go, “Never mind, put her in jail.”

And maybe that would be easier. Because what do I do here? Make new friends? Figure out how to be someone that people can actually forgive?

Be someone that Carmichael can forgive? That would be a start, I guess. I think that’s what I’m trying to do.

“There’s time, though, right?” I say finally. “I could still know you. If you want.”

It’s the craziest, bravest thing I’ve ever said to a boy. I think I’m going to fall over right there on the pavement and die of embarrassment.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Carmichael says. “So I’ll pick you up on Saturday, okay? Take you out for a last meal.”

I smile at his joke, at his offer. “Okay,” I say.

“Okay. I’m gonna go now,” he adds, gesturing back at his bike. “You all right here?”

I nod, watching as he unlocks the bike and pulls it off the rack. “See you later,” he says, and pedals away.

My heart is still thumping away in my chest, practically kicking me, but I feel calmer, too. I feel like I’ve just accomplished something.

I look toward the parking lot, wondering if it’s too late to hide in my car for a while. And right then a group of girls, including Alison Stipe, walks past me. I start to lift my hand to wave at Alison, but then I see her turn to one of the other girls. Lindsay something. Alison whispers to Lindsay and Lindsay looks over at me. They both laugh. The sound sends a shiver up my spine.

I drop my head, staring at my shoes, wishing my hair were longer and covered my face more. I don’t know what to do here.

“Slut,” one of the girls hisses.

I feel like I’ve been slapped, but I keep my head down and wait for them to pass.

If survival instincts were worth anything, I would run away now. But there’s a different set of rules in high school. And then a whole other set for me. If you’re me, you just stand still while the wolves circle, licking their chops.

Even if there’s life after my court date, I don’t think I’m gonna make it.

But I have to. I can’t just give up. Like Emma did. That’s not the answer.

Keeping my head down, I turn and walk back in to school, back to my locker. I can feel the stares, but I think about Carmichael instead, about how I’m going to get to know him better. Because he’s giving me the chance. Behind my curtain of hair, I find myself smiling, just a tiny bit.

Something about this small glimmer of happiness feels wrong, but I can’t think about that. I just hold onto the glimmer, the shred. I let myself feel a tiny bit happy. Even though it kind of hurts.





March


omg, you missed everything.

u didnt rlly leave with man-ho dylan?

text me back, stupid.

???

god, whats yr problem?

emma is fuh. reaking. out.

kyle says she went apeshit on d-bag.

where the forks are you?????

I roll over in bed, ignoring the five-millionth buzzing of my phone. It’s almost noon and I’ve already been up for a whole day, practically—Alex needed a ride to his game, Tommy needed help with a diorama thing for his science project, Mom needed me to go to the store for the bananas she forgot to buy—but now they’re all having lunch and I’ve escaped back to my room. Of course my bed hasn’t been made, which just means it was that much easier to crawl back into it. I didn’t even bother to take off my jeans first.

I figure the buzzes are texts from Brielle. I should’ve told her why I disappeared last night, but whatever, she shouldn’t’ve left me alone with Dylan. I’m sick of being her charity case. Or, like, the diorama thing in her science project. Social science. I tried to do what she told me to do, and look how well it turned out.

I just want to sleep, but every time another text comes through I wonder what’s going to happen at school on Monday. If I can even manage to drag myself there, I mean. Obviously I’m not going to tell anyone what happened, and obviously Dylan doesn’t want anyone to know. He wishes it hadn’t happened at all—or at least, not with me. Is he not sleeping with Emma already? I mean, that’s why he wanted to sleep with me, right? I guess I don’t actually know that. But I thought that’s what was going on. What the hell were we doing, anyway?

Whatever it was, it’s a secret. It’ll stay a secret. If Dylan doesn’t want to break up with Emma and be with me now, he’s not going to tell anyone. Especially Emma.

Right?

If he tells Emma I’m so, so screwed. She’s the one who’s the slut—she’s the one whose fault this is in the first place. But if Dylan doesn’t want to leave her, then people are just going to think I’m the slut now.

I’m the most recent slut, so I automatically lose.

God, this is so humiliating. I am never leaving this bed again.

When I first started dating Dylan I used to like how people suddenly knew who I was, how I could talk to senior guys and they were nice—or nice enough—and I felt less like Brielle’s plus-one and more like an actual popular girl, a girl who’d be in those pages in the yearbook with the photos of people just having fun. Those photos are always of the same few groups, the kids who have shiny hair and nice cars and letter jackets. Brielle ends up on those pages sometimes, but the closest I’ve come was sophomore year, when half of my head was in one photo. Next to Brielle’s smiling face, but cut off, because there was a big group of us, with Alison and some of the guys we used to hang out with before Rob and Dylan and all them. Being Brielle’s BFF has always made me more popular, but I’ve never really been in.