They Wish They Were Us(32)

“Can I ask you something?” Sierra asks. She leans in close like she’s about to tell me that she has, indeed, begun to bleed this very second.

“Sure,” I say.

“What really happens?” she asks, her eyes wide. “The challenges—”

“They’re called pops.” The condescension drips from my voice.

“Right,” she says softly. “And all the rules. Initiation. The binder.”

“What do you mean?”

“We all know about the good stuff—the app and everything, the parties, the connections—but . . .” She trails off. “I’ve heard stories.”

My heart beats fast, a quick rhythm that hurts my chest.

“I just want to know what I’m getting myself into.”

Guilt pumps through me. She’s defenseless. Like a baby deer learning to walk. She can’t be more than five feet even. I think of all the other girls, the juniors and sophomores who had asked the same questions. The ones who I had laughed at and whose concerns I had waved off. How they looked at me when they learned the truth. When the Toastmaster, always a guy, told them they had to do something, or else. How they came out either hardened or cracked after the fact. Then, how they looked at the next class of girls when it was their turn.

“You’re going to be fine,” I say with feigned disinterest. “This year will be different.”

Sierra doesn’t break her gaze, but her fingers clench around her thighs. “What does that mean?”

“Nikki’s in charge,” I say slowly, carefully. “This year will be different.”

Sierra releases her skin and leaves behind little nail marks. She leans back and I hope she knows that’s all she’s going to get from me, at least today.

“I’m gonna get a drink.” She hops off the stool and pads to the refrigerator. I look around the room again, at the nervous freshmen trying to impress us, my sweet friends trying to seem cool, elegant, old. I wonder how Jared’s faring with the boys. Henry promised to look out for him and Bryce. I wonder what our friends are saying about us, how they answer when they’re asked that same question. I hope they tell the truth.

My phone erupts without warning, a startling presence against my leg. I glance down and my breath hitches. Finally. It’s the text I’ve been waiting for, the one I sort of hoped would never come. Suddenly, I’m light-headed and need to get out of this room, away from everyone.

I push open the front door. The cool October air winds through my hair and when I sit, the marble steps are like ice against my butt. I huddle around my phone, putting my body between it and the others, the ones I’m betraying.

Can you come to the city? We need to meet in person.

A bubble emerges, a signal that Rachel is typing, but then it disappears like an unfulfilled promise.

When? I ask.

I clutch the phone close to my chest and resist the urge to gnaw on a stray cuticle. But she responds quickly.

Friday at 8 pm? 425 Ave. D. Buzz 6E when you’re here.

It’s an almost impossible ask. But my brain fizzles and my fingers feel numb as they float over the screen. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. Then I punch out the answer, knowing it will change everything.

I’ll be there.





NINE





IT’S THE LONGEST week of all time. Every class spans a century. By lunch on Friday I’m a ball of nerves, rigid and flinchy all over. When I take my seat at the Players’ Table, Henry plants a wet kiss on my cheek and I jump, nearly sending my turkey club and raw cookie dough flying off the tray.

“You okay?” he asks. His mouth turns into a frown.

I muster a smile and nod. “Just nervous for the French midterm. Last period.”

“Did you look in the Files?” he asks, ripping a bite out of his BLT.

I spent the last week cramming but had memorized an old study guide as insurance last night. “Just hoping I have it right.”

“You’ll do great, babe. You always do.” He flashes me a smile and playfully nudges my shoulder.

Robert plunks his tray down and turns to Henry without looking my way. “Dude,” he sneers. “Fresh meat are gonna get destroyed.”

Henry laughs into his sandwich. “Which one?” I elbow him in the stomach and he throws me his I’m sorry face. But I just shake my head. Whenever they talk this way it just makes me think of all the things that were probably said about me over the years. My shoulders stiffen.

“Sierra McKinley, dude. She’s totally sucking up, commenting on all my Instas. Shooting me looks in the hall.” Robert crams a French fry in his mouth. “I’m gonna make her life hell with pops. She’ll do whatever I want.”

“You sound like a dick,” I say.

Robert rolls his eyes. “What are you, a cop?”

I glance at Henry for support, but suddenly a wilted piece of lettuce becomes super interesting. “Whatever,” I mumble. I know I should push back but I’m not looking for a fight. Not today.

“Gotta do one last cram,” I say through clenched teeth. I rise and turn my back to them, wishing I had the courage to scream. To tear them both apart. Instead, I walk away.

I’ve just stepped out in the hall when I see Nikki and Quentin coming toward me. “Whoa, wait up,” Quentin says. “Where you going?”