Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(38)

She looked sidelong at me. “You never ask me about drama.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Indulge me.”

“Well, there are different methods, I guess. The main ones we’ve learned about are Stanislavski’s system—that’s when an actor draws on his own emotional memory to portray a character’s emotions on stage. The actor focuses internally. Like, if you wanted to depict a happy character, you’d call upon memories in which you were really happy and try to channel that outward,” she explained. “And then there’s Method acting. The two are really closely related, I guess. Only with Method acting, you don’t just use your own memories. You kind of imagine memories, I think, using the circumstances of the scene. Mrs. White says that Method acting is more honest so it looks more believable on stage.”

I jutted my lower lip out thoughtfully, only partially focusing on the road in front of me. “Interesting.”

Honor perked up. “I’m a Method actor, you know,” she said, not bothering to conceal the pride behind that statement.

My chest throbbed with love for my little sister. “I think I am, too,” I replied. We pulled into my parking space.

She grinned back at me and unclicked her seat belt.

With the road I was going down I was in danger of losing her. I was in danger of losing all of this. She started to open the door. I stopped her. I reached across the center console and wrapped her in a tight hug. “Have a good day, okay?”

Honor was never skeptical of anything. In this moment, I loved that about her. She hugged me back, kissed me on the cheek, and then scrambled off to her first class.

Meanwhile, I prepared to spend the next seven hours Method acting.

Like when Ava and Erica sat down at our lunch table to talk about whether we should have matching hairstyles for tomorrow’s game, I thought about what the character Cassidy Hyde would do, channeled it, and flipped through a dozen pictures on celebrity tabloid websites until we settled on a half-up, half-down look, light curls, lots of hair spray.

Or when the class president asked if I’d volunteer for prom committee, I pretended to be super flattered. In fact, I pretended so well, I nearly convinced myself. I even affected a slight strut in my step as my wedges clacked down the hall. Prom committee, here I come.

When I had the opportunity in class to drop the act, I got busy devising a concrete plan. I figured, at the end of the day, it was a bit like an exorcism. I needed to follow the steps to banish whoever I was at night. I had to stop myself.

This past week it was like a light switch had flipped on. What had I been doing the past few months? It was as though I hadn’t realized how fragile the balance of everything was and how much I really had to lose.

So what if those boys had taken something from me? Was I prepared to throw my whole life down the drain after it? I had best friends, an enviable position as the head of the most popular group in school, good grades, and a sister that looked up to me. That was worth something.

I should have been smarter than this. There was a mathematical theory in economics that said you shouldn’t consider sunk costs when making future decisions. Well, wasn’t that exactly what I’d been doing? That terrible night in Dearborn was my sunk cost, but I would be an idiot to let it dictate my entire future.

I sucked on the end of my pen, once again zoning out in Mr. Yotsuda’s class. I’d haphazardly taken down the notes on the board, not bothering to solve any of the equations this time. Below, in my notebook, I’d written a numbered list, penned neatly on the bottom half of the page.

1. Act normal, be normal





2. Stop all nighttime activity


3. Sunshine (?)

I studied the question mark. I didn’t want to believe that the drug could have anything to do with the gaps in my memory. After all, it had yanked me from the fog I’d been stumbling around inside for months. But, if I was thinking rationally—and I was determined to think rationally now—I couldn’t take the risk. Sunshine would have to go.

I took my pen and drew a hard line through the third item on my list. No more Sunshine. I felt tendrils of trepidation curling around me.

But by the end of the school day, I was still acting my way into feeling strong and capable. In fact, I was ready to nominate myself for a Golden Globe. Even Oilerettes’ practice went off without a hitch.

“So are you coming tonight?” Paisley asked as the team trickled out of the locker room and into the open evening air. “You have to.”

“Coming where?” I asked.

“To my house,” Paisley scoffed.

I felt two inches shorter and bone tired from a day spent trying to play a convincing Cassidy Hyde. I eyed the distance between me and my car longingly. “Why would I do that?” I asked, trying not to sound as exhausted as I felt.

“Hello, we talked about this last week. I sent out an e-mail. Having people over. Night before. Pregame before the big game? Any bell up in that head tower of yours to ring?”

“Oh. Um…” I shifted my weight on my feet. “I don’t know. I kind of have a lot of homework.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t hold all your AP classes over my head. Those are your problem.”

I felt the weight of my muscles dragging me down. Besides, nighttimes were tricky for me. I had to remember item number two on my list and, above all else, I absolutely could not trust myself, especially at night.