Wrong About the Guy(72)

“What’s going on?” she said. “You’re scaring me. Did you hear about college? You did, didn’t you?”

“No. This is about George.”

“He told you he doesn’t like me. Oh, God. Did you bring it up? Why would you bring it up?” The hysteria in her voice was mounting.

“It’s not that!” Deep breath. “It’s just . . . he and I are sort of going out now.”

“What?” she said. Then again. “What?”

“I didn’t know,” I said. “When we talked about him and you said you were interested, I swear I wasn’t—or at least didn’t know I was—or I would have told you. But then we were running some errands together and somehow I just realized that I liked him and he realized that he liked me and things kind of went from there.”

“Let me get this straight,” she said, her voice trembling and tight at the same time. “You waited until I said I liked him to decide that you liked him? Is that what you’re saying?”

“The last thing I wanted to do was go behind your back or hurt you.”


“Oh, well, thanks,” she said. “Thanks for not wanting to hurt me.” Then, “What about everything you said? How he was too old for me? How it was weird for a guy his age to date a high school student? About how you didn’t want to date until you were in college?”

“I know, I know,” I said. “I was stupid and wrong about everything, especially about myself.”

There was a long pause. Then: “Well,” she said in a very cold, very distant voice, “I guess this proves what I’ve always known, which is that the great and powerful Ellie Withers gets everything she wants and I don’t get anything I want ever.”

“Heather—”

“I have to go,” she said, and hung up.

Once I was home, I tried texting and calling her but she wouldn’t respond, and later that night her mother answered her cell phone and told me to leave her alone, then hung up on me.

It hurt a lot. Especially since I blamed myself for her unhappiness: I’d thought she liked Aaron when she liked George, and I’d thought I didn’t like anyone when I basically worshipped George. If I’d just been more aware, less dense . . . But the damage was done.

The one thing that cheered me up a little was that Luke and Mom went out to dinner alone that night, and Mom told me after they got back that Luke had—for the first time—let her talk freely about her concerns about Jacob and told her he’d read whatever she wanted him to with an open mind. “I’ve never loved him more,” she said, and even though she said it lightly, I don’t think she was actually joking.


Tuesday was the last day of school before Thanksgiving. That afternoon the members of the Holiday-Giving Program assembled food baskets for the shelter residents. Students and their families had been donating nonperishables for the previous few weeks, and then that morning everyone brought fresh bread and frozen turkeys. Most of them were donated by school families, but Skyler’s uncle had a friend whose family owned a supermarket chain, and they had donated a few dozen turkeys, so we were in good shape.

We gathered in the student lounge to pack the baskets, which were really just cardboard boxes, also donated by the supermarket. We had the core group of me, Ben, Skyler, Riley, and Arianna, and then a bunch of volunteers to help us. It was pretty hectic, but even with all the running around and heavy lifting, I couldn’t miss the bolts of hatred Arianna was launching at me.

Yes, my self-proclaimed “best friend” (at least on Instagram) was now apparently my worst enemy. She sighed loudly when I gave directions, glowered when I thanked everyone for coming, turned her back on me whenever our paths crossed, and told everyone who would listen that I was a snob who thought that because my stepfather was famous, everyone was supposed to worship me. I knew exactly what she was saying, thanks to Riley, who spent the afternoon listening eagerly and reporting every word to me, despite my attempts to convince her that I actually didn’t want to know every single horrible thing being said about me that afternoon.

“She’s so awful,” Riley said with horrified delight. She liked drama. “She’s just tearing you apart out there. Do you want me to tell her to stop? I will if you want me to.”

“I honestly don’t care what she says about me,” I said. “I just want to get these baskets packed.”

I really didn’t care about Arianna, but I was disappointed in Ben. He had always been friendly in a businesslike kind of way. We had been good teammates. But now he was cold and standoffish, abrupt to the point of rudeness. Maybe I should have admired his loyalty to his girlfriend, but mostly I just felt disgusted with them both. Was I supposed to have tolerated her inappropriate snooping just because my stepfather was famous? I wished I hadn’t said anything about it to Ben—and I wouldn’t have if I’d known he was her boyfriend—but she was the one who had behaved badly, not me, and it bummed me out that Ben couldn’t see that at all.

We finished packing up the boxes and loaded them into Skyler’s mother’s minivan, then Skyler, Ben, and I drove them to the shelter, where people there helped us unload them. The warmth and gratitude of both the staff and the residents made me feel a lot better. This was what mattered. Even Ben seemed touched enough by it to say an almost civil “Happy Thanksgiving” to me when we parted back at school.