Bright Before Sunrise(44)

She resists. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Suit yourself.”

Before she follows up with another question, Jeff says, “Please tell me you work fast. Tell me there was no overlap. Carly’s been obsessed with you cheating since your move. Now you show up with a new girl hours after you broke up?”

“Wait. What?” Her hands slip from her hips and she leans back, clutching the counter behind her.

I ask Jeff, “Have you talked to Carly? Has Maya?”

“Maya’s spent half the night on the phone with her. Sasha’s with Carly at her house.” The crowd has moved, followed us. They’re hoping for a scene and waiting for a chance to spit their questions and judgments. “God, Jonah, did you have do this tonight? My parents are only out of town for one night, and Maya’s going to spend the whole time dealing with Carly’s drama.”

“She broke up with me.” My answer’s defensive, but does he really think this is what I wanted or how I expected to be spending Friday night? “Did you know she was going to? Thanks for giving me a heads-up.”

“Time-out. My turn.” Bright pushes her way between the two of us. “You and Carly broke up? Today? What?”

I don’t get to answer because Eliza invites herself into the conversation, “Can you blame her?”

“Yes!” Brighton turns toward her. “He’s crazy about her!”

I groan. She may be well intentioned, but she’s not helpful.

Eliza chokes on her indignation, and more people press around us. “You’re going to stand here—the one he cheated with—and defend that? Bingley, it’s too bad you’ve got all that money and no way to buy yourself some class.”

I’m trapped in the corner between the door and a wall of gossip-hungry ex-classmates. And Brighton.

“What?” She sputters the word, her face as red as the rooster painting hanging on the wall behind her.

“Let’s not be too hasty,” Felix adds. “She’s pretty smoking. I never would’ve thought Prentiss had it in him—juggling two of them? You’re a god.”

“So it’s true?” Maya joins the group, her cell clutched in one hand, her cheek still imprinted with its outline.

“Wait! Just wait a second,” I say. Everything’s going to hell. This is the lie I wanted to sell, yet now that people are saying it, now that Brighton’s face is crumpling under their accusations, it’s all so screwed up.

“We aren’t dating,” she protests.

Felix whistles. “A god. A god I tell you, if he can get that girl without having to date her.”

Maya’s pushing through the crowd to Jeff’s side. “Oh, Carly …,” she simpers into the phone, “No, she’s really not that pretty. Honest.”

“Is she looking at the same girl as me?” Felix asks the room.

Eliza snorts. “I bet she sleeps with anyone.”

“Shut the hell up!” I bellow. The group stands with their mouths open, fingers frozen above cell phones. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I never cheated on Carly.”

There are tears in the corners of Brighton’s eyes, but she’s blinking them away. Her voice is soft. “Jonah? I don’t understand.”

“There isn’t sex ed in Cross Pointe? What’s to understand?” Eliza’s scorn makes me want to muzzle her.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Brighton protests.

When the murmurs and doubts continue, her voice goes higher. “The idea is ridiculous. I’ve barely even spoken to him before tonight. I was babysitting his little sister.”

I turn to face her, blocking her view of the crowd and its of her. She looks like a caged animal, her eyes flickering around the room. Her posture screams panic. I keep my voice quiet and try to calm her: “Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain later.”

“No. Why would they even think that? What have you been telling people? Is this why you were so desperate to get me to come to the party?” She pushes past me. “Jonah’s not dating me. Or anyone in Cross Pointe. No one in CPHS even knows who he is.”





24

Brighton

11:11 P.M.


13 HOURS, 49 MINUTES LEFT


Jonah gapes. Someone in the crowd makes a taunting ohhhh sound. And I can’t stand to be in this crush of judgmental strangers for even another second.

“Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me.” I have to ask every person individually before they move aside and let me pass. Someone steps on my bandaged toes, and I mash my hands into fists to keep from crying out.

“Bright. Wait!”

I’m done listening to Jonah. I say, “Excuse me,” to the last girl standing between me and the front door. I know I’m demonstrating just how very “flight” I am, but I also know it’s justified.

Jonah catches up with me about seven steps into the lawn. He puts a hand on my wrist and pulls me to a stop. “Will you just wait five seconds so I can explain?”

My eyes go from his frustrated face to the open front door where a crowd waits for more drama. They’re pushing one another to have front-row viewing and actually manage to knock a kid off the steps and into the bushes.