She Drives Me Crazy(64)
Which, go figure, is the exact thing I’m thinking when Charlotte Pascal slithers up with her cronies.
“Oh god,” Danielle says, forgetting herself. “Come back later, Pascal, we’re closed to bullshit right now.”
My group snickers with laughter. Charlotte’s cheeks color pink, but her vicious eyes stay planted on us. “I just wanted to congratulate you, Danielle. It’s nice to see another hardworking female athlete nominated.”
My classmates, sensing a bloodbath, start to gather round. The parking lot quiets. Our circle of onlookers grows.
“You can stop baiting me with that word now,” Irene says in a bored voice. “We’re celebrating, Char. You should be doing the same thing. Go have fun.”
“I can’t believe you got a nomination,” Charlotte says in a slippery voice. “Especially when it’s clear you were trying to leverage gay points for the sympathy vote.”
A hush falls over the crowd. My pulse quickens warningly.
“I’m not interested in your opinion of my sexuality,” Irene says smoothly. “I know who I am and how I feel.”
“Yeah, see, that’s just not adding up for me. I think you were using Zajac. We all remember the tow truck incident, Irene. How do you go from terrorizing the poor girl to showing her off like arm candy? But I know how calculating you can be. You’re savvy enough to spin a story for your own gain. You took an underdog—an obviously gay underdog—and used her like an accessory to show that you learned your lesson, you could relate to everyone, you were a poor closeted gay girl—”
“That’s a complete lie!” I say, losing my temper. “God, Charlotte, why are you so hell-bent on torturing her?”
Charlotte narrows her eyes like I’m an insect that has suddenly become interesting to her. “I’m hell-bent on proving she’s a fraud. And so are you. I don’t know what’s in it for you with this whole scheme, but I do know you’re faking it. You don’t care about Irene. You’re in it for something else entirely. And I can prove it.”
She whips out her phone. Irene and I lock eyes. An infinite conversation passes between us.
“Yep, there we go,” Charlotte says. “Let me just post this little development to Instagram…”
There’s a heavy, protracted silence as everyone waits. Then one of the soccer girls looks at her phone and says, “Oh shit…”
In a flash, everyone is on their phone except for me, Irene, and our friends. We stay resolute as our peers gawk at their screens. The soccer girls roar with glee. The football guys elbow each other and laugh. The cheerleaders are silent as stone.
“Is that really true?” one of them asks Irene, thrusting her phone at her. Irene tries to look away, but the girl practically forces her to look. Irene’s jaw tightens. She digs a hand through her hair.
In spite of myself, I pull out my phone and look.
Just as Irene said, it’s a photo of Tally and me making out at the New Year’s Eve party, time-stamped with the date and location. It’s a little fuzzy from Charlotte zooming in on us, but there’s no doubt who it is. The caption overlaying the picture reads So Zajak was still hooking up with Gibson this whole time? I guess Irene really was just using her for show …
Everyone is staring when I look up. My friends’ faces are anxious. Everyone else’s is judgmental and wary. They look from me to Irene and back again. It’s dead silent until Irene finally speaks.
“You spelled Scottie’s name wrong,” she tells Charlotte, but her heart’s not in it. She turns and looks past me to Honey-Belle. “Come on, let’s hang those posters.”
“I wouldn’t bother,” Charlotte says triumphantly. “You’ve showed your true colors. I doubt anyone will vote for you now.”
There’s an outbreak of murmuring and laughter. Irene looks stricken. I feel ready to throw up. This whole fucked-up thing is my fault. I can deal with the consequences for my own life, but sabotaging Irene’s is something else entirely.
Gunther places his warm, stubby hand over mine. That’s when I realize I’m shaking. Irene and Honey-Belle retreat to their cars without a word, Charlotte and her entourage leave in triumph, and the rest of our classmates disperse. Then it’s just Danielle, Kevin, Gunther, and me, somber and silent by my car.
* * *
The next day, I seek out Charlotte after school. I literally chase her down the soccer field. I’ll be late for basketball practice, but Danielle will understand.
It’s just the two of us standing near midfield. Her teammates aren’t out of the changing rooms yet. Charlotte regards me, hands on her hips, almost like she expected me to come find her. I take a deep breath and say my piece.
“I want you to leave Irene alone,” I say without preamble. “Leave both of us alone.”
Charlotte smirks, confident that she has the upper hand. “Or what?”
I shrug. “Or nothing. I have nothing to hold over you. I’m simply asking you to stop. I get that losing her made you sad or bitter or whatever, but for fuck’s sake, find a healthier way to cope.”
She stares at me like I’ve gone insane. Her laugh is mechanical. “Losing her? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I stare at her. “Yes you do. You lost someone you loved, and you’re not even sure what kind of love it was in the first place, so now you’re turning into a manipulative narcissist who can’t stop craving Irene’s attention.”