Shut Out(35)

“Oh my f*cking God.”

“Lissa,” Randy gasped, his mouth still only inches from The Blonde’s. I hated that he said my name so close to her lips. Hated that he said my name at all. It wasn’t his to say. Not anymore.

I turned and hurried out of the bathroom, back into the gymnasium.

“Lissa, hold up!”

I don’t know how Randy managed to disentangle himself from The Blonde so quickly, but suddenly he was there behind me, grabbing my arm and turning me to face him.

“Don’t touch me,” I said, jerking out of his grip. “Just leave me alone, Randy.”

“Lissa, don’t be mad.”

“I don’t want to talk about this here,” I hissed, knowing we’d already attracted the attention of a few bystanders. Deep down, I wanted to scream, How could you? What the f*ck is wrong with you? But my instincts kicked in before I could do anything so dramatic. Instead, I was stiff, cut off. Chloe called me Little Miss Ice Queen, and that’s how I felt. Emotionless. I was safer that way.

“You brought this on yourself, you know. I didn’t have a choice,” Randy snapped, not letting me go. “What was I supposed to do? Keep waiting for you? Been there, done that.”

“Randy, stop.”

But he didn’t. He was in a rage now. Whether at me for catching him or at himself for getting caught, I don’t know, but while I closed myself off, he exploded.

“You promised,” Randy reminded me. I was painfully aware of how loudly he was speaking. “When we got back together at the end of the summer, you promised you’d stop being such a prude. That we’d do it. And then you went and started this stupid-ass sex strike, and what am I supposed to do? Keep waiting?”

I felt my cheeks burning, but my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t believe he was saying this. Saying it in front of everyone.

“Hey,” Randy called, looking away from me, his eyes searching the group around us, “just so all you girls know”—his eyes focused on me again, steely and meaner than I’d ever seen them—“your ringleader here is a hypocrite. She’s making all of you give up sex, but really, she’s not giving up anything. Lissa is a virgin.” It was the most spiteful look he had ever given me.

I expected there to be an audible gasp—like in movies—but there wasn’t. The only sounds were the fading pulse of a techno song and a screech of feedback as the Spanish teacher, Mrs. Romali, took the stage. “Time to announce the winners of this year’s Homecoming Court!” she yelled cheerfully, unaware of the humiliation I was facing.

I turned slowly away from Randy, hoping only freshmen and sophomores had gathered to witness my embarrassment. Not my friends. Not the girls. Not people I knew.

But of course I’d never get that lucky.

Among the faces staring back at me were Ellen, Kelsey, Susan, Mary, Chloe… and Cash. They’d all heard. They all knew that I was a liar.

Like I was playing Red Rover on the playground, I hurtled through the wall of people in front of me.

Red Rover, Red Rover, send Virgin right over.

This time, Randy didn’t stop me. He was done embarrassing me for the night. I ran despite my heels. Despite the crowd. Despite the pain searing my calves. I ran out of the gym and through the empty hall and out the blue-and-orange double doors into the warm, welcoming arms of the parking lot.

Only it wasn’t warm or welcoming. Not at all. The parking lot was chilly, a cool September breeze wafting past me, and it was empty and dark. It looked like the set of a horror film. In the dark with all the abandoned cars, it seemed like the kind of place you’d find a dead body.

And what made it worse?

Randy had been my ride.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

Then, slowly, the ice around me melted. I slammed a fist into the brick wall of the school building and choked back a burst of tears as all the emotions I’d pushed away burned through me like a wildfire.

“Lissa?”

I looked over at the exit, expecting to find Randy coming after me again, to apologize or grovel or maybe just to hurt me some more.

Instead, it was Cash.

“Leave me alone,” I said automatically. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know,” he said. He looked so nice in his semiformal clothes—black dress pants and a red button-up—and I knew that his appearance wasn’t what I should have been thinking about at that moment.

“What do you want?” I asked.

He hesitated. I watched as he ran a nervous hand over his cropped brown hair. “Do you need a ride home?”

I stared at him for a moment. He’d just seen an epic, soap opera–esque reveal about my love life and one of the most public breakups in Hamilton High history, yet all he could say was, Do you need a ride home?

“No.”

“Lissa,” he said doubtfully.

“I’ll walk.”

“You live six miles from here.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“I took you home after Vikki’s party this summer….”

I stared at him in the dim light of the parking lot, waiting for him to finish that thought. He’d almost brought it up once before, in the library elevator, but he’d never really crossed into that territory. I wondered if he would now, if maybe he’d bring it up and I’d get the answers I’d been waiting for.