Tease(67)

And I mean, I know, with Facebook and everything, it’s not like the yearbook is that big a deal. But my mom’s yearbooks are still in the basement and she’s like the star of those things. When I was little I used to flip through them and think that all that would just happen to me—that I’d just grow up to be a girl like that, a cheerleader and a girlfriend to some great guy and a smiling face in a black-and-white montage that said Seniors Rule or whatever. Except now it’s the end of junior year and I’m not a cheerleader, I’m not anyone’s girlfriend, I’m not the star of the yearbook. I’m the same nobody I was when Brielle plucked me out of nowhere in eighth grade.

Buzz.

Fine. I will read the damn messages. I’m not going to school ever again, obviously, but I’m kind of curious what’s so freaking important.

Um. What?

The phone starts buzzing again while I’m still holding it, reading the texts I missed, and I jump about a mile. It’s Brielle, but this time she’s calling—the photo of her at the pool last summer, the one that was her profile picture forever—jumps up at me. I just stare at her face for a second, my heart pounding and my thumb hesitating over the Answer button.

Right next to it, the Ignore button stares back at me. Can’t I just hit Ignore instead? Can’t this just go away?

“Hey, Brie.”

“Sara. Jesus, where have you been? You just disappear into the freaking night, apparently with Prince Charming, and then you don’t answer your phone?”

I fall back onto my bed, face-first into my pillows. “Mmph,” I say.

“Well, that is simply not good enough, missy,” Brielle says. “Why is Kyle telling me that Emma’s lost her shizznit? Where did you and D-Bag go?”

“Nowhere. Well, I mean, he brought me home,” I tell her. “I have no idea why Emma’s freaking. Isn’t that what she always does?”

Brielle makes a little pshh sound, her version of a laugh. “True,” she agrees. “And it’s her lucky drama-queen day, because she’s already grounded for, like, ever. Mama finally responded to our tip on Jacob, I guess.”

I sit up. “Is Jacob in trouble, too?”

“God, no. Weren’t you just at his house last night? I told you, nobody actually cares. Or not once they start talking to those crazy parents of his, anyway. They make mine look like normal people, for Chrissakes.”

“Oh. That’s good. I guess.”

“Yeah, it’s awesome, Jacob can live to hump minors another day,” Brielle says dismissively. I can practically see her waving a hand in the air, brushing this aside. “Anyway, you still haven’t told me what happened! Did you guys totally bone? You totally boned. You’re totally boning and back together and Emma is going to run away in shame to some girls’ boarding school, finally.”

If only I could just agree with her. But instead I’m mad that she’s making it all sound so easy. Everything is so easy, for her—she’s got plenty of other friends, she’s got all the money in the world, she’s pretty and effortless. Why did I think I could be that way too?

“Nope,” I say finally. “Nothing happened. He just took me home.”

“Boo!” Brielle yells. “Booooo. You know what would be a way better story? The boning thing. In fact, I think I’m going to make sure that Slutty Putnam hears that version of events. Let me just . . .” Her voice trails off and I hear tapping.

“Wait. What are you doing?” I ask, panic clawing its way up my throat.

“Ooh, this is good. Why didn’t we think of this before? Whatever, it’s genius now. And there’s the fact that you and D-Bag were actually hanging out last night, so she’s totally going to believe this.”

I sink my face back into my pillow. I know what Brielle is doing—maybe not exactly—but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s starting another rumor. Or maybe just emailing Emma directly, who knows. Yesterday I would’ve been helping her, too; yesterday I would’ve even made up a story that pretty much matches what I did last night, just to get back at Emma. Now I’m just . . . tired.

“Okay. I’ll pick you up at two, yeah? Wear something cute.”

“Why?” I don’t remember having plans with Brielle today. After last night I kind of figured she’d still be hungover, or still hanging out with Noelle. I feel a rush of energy all of a sudden. How does Brielle do that? Just the words I’ll pick you up, and I’m up off my bed, walking to my closet.

“Duh, the game! Jesus, what is with you today? Did D-Bag say something last night?”

“No,” I lie. I know I can’t, but suddenly I want to tell her the truth so bad. She’d think it’s awesome—but at the same time, she wouldn’t understand. And it’s too embarrassing. God, I’m such a loser. I open my closet and there it is—nothing to wear.

“Well, you can say hi to him when we get there. And Emma will find out you guys were hanging out again, and she’ll put on another freak show, and then boarding school, here we come! La la la la.”

I’m actually kind of smiling as Brielle sings out a loud “Good-bye!” and clicks off. But my sour mood rolls back as soon as her voice is gone. What is Dylan going to think when he sees us at the game? It’s totally going to look like I’m stalking him.