Starry Eyes(45)

Oh, God. It is true.

“You two are together? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She lifts a hand to gesture and then lets it fall back down to her side and shakes her head. “I don’t know. Because.”

“Because why?”

“I knew you’d flip out, okay?” she says, suddenly defensive.

“I’m not—”

“You are doing it right now. Don’t you see? You always get freaked out when things don’t go exactly the way you’ve planned, with all your stupid blueprints and checklists, and maybe I just didn’t want to deal with that.”

I’m humiliated. And confused. If she was seeing Brett, why did she encourage me to go after him back after the kiss at that party? “How long have . . . ? I mean, since when?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Why?” she says, exasperated. “Don’t you get it? I was trying to spare your feelings. That’s why I made Brett invite Lennon along.”

“What are you taking about?”

“I know you guys dated last fall. One of Summer’s friends saw you guys mauling each other’s faces near the skate park. Everyone knows!”

Oh, God. I want to die. I can’t even look at Lennon. I’m utterly humiliated.

“And the thing is,” she continues, “you insisted that the two of you were just friends, even when I asked you point-blank if you were seeing each other. I even asked Avani—because God knows you tell her more secrets than you’ve ever told me—but she covered for you and said nothing was going on.”

This is impossible. Avani never knew, so there was no reason for her to “cover” for anything.

Reagan crosses her arms. “Apparently, I’m not part of the inner circle anymore. I’m just someone you use when it’s convenient, like when you need a place to sit at lunch.”

“That’s not true!” Right? I’m not using Reagan—at least not more than she uses me. She cheats off my tests in class. She calls to ask for help with homework. Do I not help her?

“Clearly you don’t trust me with your secrets,” she says. “So why should I trust you with mine?”

I want to respond, but I’m stuck in place, dumbly staring.

“Reagan . . . ,” Summer says in a tentative voice.

“You just couldn’t keep quiet, could you?” Reagan says, turning on Summer. “A couple more days, and she would be gone on her stupid astronomy club meet-up. All I asked was that you not say anything about Brett and me until after she’d left, but you couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“I—”

“I just wanted one nice thing this summer. Just one!” Reagan’s eyes gloss over with tears. “None of you has any idea what I’m going through. You have no idea what’s it like to train every single day for years—years! Then my foot slips for a fraction of a second and I have to give up on my dreams.”

“You aren’t the only person here with dreams,” I tell her.

“But I’m the only person here with the talent to back them up.”

“Christ,” Kendrick says. “Listen to yourself, Reagan.”

“I don’t care what you think of me,” Reagan says, giving him a defiant shrug as she swipes away tears. “Your family has money—big deal. So does mine. But I don’t see you trying to do something big with your life. I was headed to the Olympics, okay? The goddamn Olympics!”

“We know you were,” Summer says, sympathetic. “And we’re sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Reagan tells her. “The only reason Kendrick is interested in you is because you piss off his parents.”

“Hey!” Kendrick says, agitated.

“This is my trip,” she says, thumping her chest. “I paid for all this stuff and I arranged everything. This was supposed to make me feel better. It wasn’t about any of you.”

“You’re being a huge asshole, you know that?” Lennon tells Reagan.

“I’m being real,” she says. “And while we’re getting everything out in the open, let me just say what a complete and utter dick you’ve been to Brett on this trip. He wanted you to come.”

“Did he? Because he wants to glom onto my dad’s fame? Or to distract Zorie from the fact you and Brett are seeing each other because you knew she’d be hurt by this? Either reason is shitty.”

“Really uncool, man,” Brett says. “I was just trying to help Reagan play Cupid. Everyone knows you’re carrying a massive torch for Zorie, so why are you complaining?”

What? No way is that true.

Reagan points at Lennon. “See? Brett likes you, and you’ve been nothing but a prick to him since we left Melita Hills. You should be grateful he’s impressed by your has-been punk-rock father.”

Lennon’s lips thin into a straight line. “Keep my father’s name out of your mouth.”

“No one cares! No one even remembers him.”

I’ve seen Lennon angry plenty of times. But right now, he’s furious. He never used to be so defensive about his father. His moms, yes, but every time someone has brought up his dad, a storm cloud drops over his head.