Be the Girl(76)

“It’s not a big deal. People get them,” he whispers, clearing his throat.

“But I don’t. She set that up!” I force through gritted teeth. Too loud, because McNair’s gaze narrows at us in warning.

Her heels click on the classroom floor as she approaches. “Okay, Marshall, what can you tell me about …” She directs everyone’s attention to a guy across the room; meanwhile, her fingers slide over my desk to discreetly pick up the tube and carry it back to her desk.

It’s too late, though—the damage has been done. How long before a cold sore turns into a high school-wide rumor of me giving Emmett an STD? It’s the oldest trick in the book, and Holly played it beautifully.

I close my eyes and spend the last fifteen minutes of class keeping my tears at bay and my body from bolting from my chair, reminding myself how good it will feel when I crush her at regionals.

I hate her, I accept.

But I will not let her get the better of me.





I struggle to slow my pace as I head for what has become our usual table in the cafeteria, the dozens of eyes crawling on my skin, their whispered giggles like the menacing buzz of wasps nearby.

“Hey.” I slide into my seat, my undivided attention on my ham-and-cheese sandwich, though my appetite was smothered hours ago by the fury and fear in the pit of my stomach. Maybe eating will help.

“Hey.” Jen avoids making eye contact as she chews on a carrot stick.

“What have you heard so far?”

She and Josie exchange a glance and I suspect the rumor is already snowballing. By the time it reaches the end of the day, I’ll have infected the entire hockey team with an incurable disease.

Rumors are just tall tales that fade with time, Dr. C. would always say.

But she was also quick to point out how cutting they can be while they’re swirling around you. And in the bubble of high school—which is an entire ecosystem for a teenager—they can sometimes suck the air out of your lungs.

Swirling around a person who is already struggling for air, they can become lethal.

“She’s out to get me because of Emmett.” I tell them about the ambush at the mini-meet on Friday, and Saturday night’s fiasco.

“Heard about Saturday night.” Jen grimaces. “What a bitch.”

“Karma will get her,” Josie offers in her naturally soft voice.

And maybe dealing with Holly’s nastiness is part of my punishment from karma. My intentions for sharing that video may have been honest. But they were also selfish.

“Speak of the devil …” Josie’s eyes narrow on the cafeteria entrance. Sure enough, Holly and Mandy are strolling in, Holly’s head held high as she approaches, moving toward her usual table of friends.

She looks my way—she knows where I am—and offers me a smug smile.

My anger flares.

What would people around school think if they knew who she really was?

I could leak that video. That’s my weapon. Nobody would be able to ignore how awful she really is. How fake those smiles and waves are. They’d start to question if she’s talking about them like she did about us.

But if Cassie were to hear it, it would hurt her. And, in turn, it would hurt Emmett. Plus, it would draw attention to Jen and her weird clothing choices—today, it’s a grossly overweight cat in a T-shirt with his belly hanging out and a bib with a turkey on it. An homage to post-Thanksgiving Day gluttony, I guess. Where does she even find these? And this one is clearly old, the print faded.

I’m not going to hurt any of them for the sake of getting revenge.

The right thing to do is ignore Holly.

But in this moment, seeing her grin and listening to her laugh, I find I can’t be the bigger person. Not for her.

I wait for her to be out of earshot, and then I say, just loud enough for the nearby tables around us to catch, “Hey, did you guys hear about Holly’s gross fetish?”





“Bye, AJ!”

I wave from the top of the stairs at Cassie, standing at the front door. “Have fun swimming.”

“Okay. Bye, Emmett! See you guys in an hour!” She slams the door shut.

I venture into Emmett’s room to find him sprawled out on his bed, his chemistry textbook within his grasp, deep concentration furrowing his brow. “Hey.”

A lazy smile spreads across his lips, those deep dimples forming as he turns to watch me approach. “Hey.” His voice has a sleepy rasp to it that I feel in my chest.

“Tired?”

“Nah. My legs are sore, though. My skating coach had me doing hard laps today.”

“Skating coach?”

“Yeah. I’ve got my regular team practices and then a skating coach and a stick-handling coach, who also does shooting practice with me. That’s why I’m on the ice every day.” He shuts his chem textbook. “Ready to work on our project?”

“No.” I laugh and toss my backpack onto the floor.

“Good.” He grabs my hand and pulls me onto the bed, much the same way as on Thanksgiving weekend, on my back with my legs slung over his. He rolls onto his side to press up close to me, and lays a lingering kiss below my earlobe. I think it’s his favorite spot to kiss me.

It’s quickly becoming my favorite spot for him to kiss me, too.