B00B9FX0MA EBOK (5 page)

“Where is it?” he asked again.

I pushed the chair away from the desk. “I must have made a mistake,” I said. “I’m sorry. Sorry!” I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder and hurried out of the office, without saying good-bye to Miss Marsted. Matt’s words bubbled back up in my brain:
If you can’t remember, you must have had a really good night.

A shiver rode up my spine.

What had “Hayley” done last night?

Adam was waiting outside the guidance office, shifting from one foot to the other. I paused. Every fiber of my being wanted to hate Adam, wanted to accuse him, but he looked concerned. Vulnerable.

“Everything okay?” he asked uncertainly.

“Yeah …” I trailed off, looking up and down the hallway. Empty. “Last night, you saw the profile, right?”

“In the coffee shop, when you showed it to me, of course,” he said. “Actually, I looked when I got home, too. She really looks like you, Hayley. But …” He let the sentence hang, but I knew what he wanted to say. That he didn’t do it. And I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Even if he hadn’t, he was still my competition, and I had to remember that.

I sighed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not there anymore.”

Adam wrinkled his nose. “You mean it disappeared?”

“Yeah. It’s not there.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Adam asked.

I nodded and turned on my heel just as the bell rang. Almost eleven, and I still hadn’t gone to class. I felt like my brain was ready to burst from my skull. After all the emotional drama of the morning, spending forty minutes talking about the Treaty
of Utrecht, or whatever was on the schedule for AP Euro, sounded like a vacation.

“Wait!” Adam called.

“What?” Students were streaming around us and I felt claustrophobic, unsure what people knew about me or were thinking about me. I pressed my back against the wall.

“Want to study together sometime this weekend? For the interview? I mean, we may as well. It could be helpful for both of us.”

I thought about it. On one hand, Adam was smart, incisive, and, from years of being debate partners, I knew he could come up with killer on-point criticism. On the other hand, we weren’t partners in the Ainsworth. And even if he didn’t create the profile, telling him about it showed my weakness. I didn’t need to do that again.

“Tonight?” he pressed.

I shook my head. “Not tonight.” I was still thinking of Matt’s invite to Alyssa’s barn. Not like I would go. Or could go. And yet …

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

I nodded. “Tomorrow’s fine. Like seven at the Ugly Mug?”

“Sure,” Adam agreed. He pulled out his phone and began punching in the time, as though it was a real appointment and not just a casual study date.

“Listen, Adam …” I began, then trailed off as I saw Keely, Ingrid, and Emily saunter down the hall. But instead of ignoring me or offering a snide comment, I saw Emily offer the slightest hint of a smile.

“See you tonight,” she said under her breath as she walked by.

Clearly, Matt had told them I was coming. And I’d surprise them. I would show up. If I was at Alyssa’s, that meant that no one would believe it if the profile did resurface, saying fake Hayley was somewhere else. Somehow, being surrounded by my enemies in their element seemed less scary than sitting alone, in my room, waiting for their next move.

I
knew exactly where Alyssa lived — just a mile down the road from me. I’d been to her house before, back when her hayloft was for art projects and not truth-or-dare sessions. Back in second grade, our Girl Scout troop had come to fulfill some type of nature badge requirement. I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to learn or do. We’d spent the majority of the afternoon playing hide-and-seek in the hayloft, splashing in the stream that trickled behind Alyssa’s house, and trying to make the goats that wandered around the property eat our math textbooks. Back then, we all had the same goal: to have fun. It was so different now.

I recognized Keely’s sky-blue Prius in the line of cars along the side of the road. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going, but I saw a few kids were wandering down to a collection of trees where a cooler was half-hidden beneath a bush. Keely was in a far corner with Garret Evans. Kayla and her best friend, Alana, were huddled around one of their phones, and a few guys were sitting in a semicircle outside the barn, playing cards and talking. Their baseball caps were pulled low over their faces, making them impossible to identify.

I self-consciously tugged on my shirt. It was a plain gray V-neck underneath a Bainbridge hoodie. Based on what the pictures of the Photoshopped me was wearing, I thought I’d be underdressed, but everyone was wearing similar outfits. Weird.
From the way I’d overheard Keely, Emily, and Ingrid talking about barn parties in the past, I’d assumed that they were epic. This was tiny. It’d be impossible to talk to Keely without everyone listening.

I stepped back, my foot landing on a branch. At the crack, one of the guys looked up.

Matt.

“Westin, what are you doing here?” he asked quizzically, as if he hadn’t invited me here fewer than twelve hours ago. His tone made it sound like we’d run into each other in the guys’ locker room or somewhere similarly random.

“Hayley?” Keely pried herself away from Garret and put her hands on her hips.

No backing down.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, aware that every pair of eyes was on me.

Something — Amusement? Confusion? Fear? — flickered across her face. She shrugged, then snapped her gum.

“Okay.”

Okay?
Was it really that easy?

Keely stalked toward me, stopping several paces away from me before nodding.

“Come on,” she said finally. At that, the party resumed its low hum as Keely walked across the lawn toward the stream. Finally, she stopped near a cluster of willow trees. A few wicker lawn chairs were scattered around. Keely perched in one, then rustled through her bag and pulled out an iced tea bottle. She pried the cap open with her teeth, then took a sip. I smiled. She used to insist on buying old-fashioned Coke bottles just so she could do that trick when we were kids.

“Want one?” Keely asked in a flat voice.

“I guess?” Grabbing another, Keely repeated the process and handed it to me.

“So, I wanted to talk to you about my Facebook profile,” I said finally.

Keely wrinkled her nose. “What about it?”

“Well … it’s not me,” I said.

“Okay … do you want me to, like, defriend it or something? What’s the problem?” Keely asked, her voice edged with annoyance.

“No, it’s not online anymore. It was taken down. But I was wondering if you put it up,” I said in a rush of words. “Because it’s embarrassing. It had those pictures … and the status updates … and I feel like someone’s sabotaging me.”

“
No!”
Keely said. “No … I mean, I wouldn’t do something like
that
. I thought you’d loosened up over the summer. And I didn’t think it was embarrassing, I thought it was kind of fun. And I deleted that midweek sadness comment.” She bit her lip and shrugged. “I don’t want to, like, torment you. And I’d never have made the whole thing up. I barely have time to keep my own profile up to date. How would I have time to think up a whole, like, new life for someone I don’t even care about?”

“Right,” I said.

“No, I don’t mean it like that … I mean, I know we’ve gone through a ton of stuff, and I know you hate me, because you’re always
glaring
at me, but I wouldn’t, like, ruin your life.”

“You did once,” I said.

“You mean the HIKE thing?” Keely shook her head. “That was when we were, like, children. I was mad at you. Are you seriously still hung up on that?”

“It just seems like something you’d do. And I wanted to ask you directly. Because if it was you, and you tell me, I won’t press charges,” I said definitively.

“Press charges?” Keely raised one blond eyebrow. I remembered: I hadn’t learned the eyebrow trick from debate. I’d learned it from her. “It sounds like a stupid prank. But people liked it. Everyone was talking about it. Like, you could get rid of the sexy Santa outfit picture, but the other ones were cute. It’s not bad to be noticed for stuff beyond, like, debate skills. I mean, you aren’t ugly, you used to be fun, and probably could be again if you tried to … just live a little.” Her tone wasn’t mocking. Instead, it sounded vaguely friendly.

In the distance, an owl hooted, and then I heard a crash. Keely and I both whirled around, but nothing was there.

Keely shrugged. “Anyway, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry you’re still mad about that HIKE thing. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just mad at you.”

“Why were you mad at me?” The way I’d remembered it, she’d been so busy talking about which guys liked her, I was surprised she’d even cared whether or not I’d quit the team.

“Because …” Keely chewed on her lip. “It was like you thought you were better than all of us. And you hadn’t even told us that you were going to quit field hockey. I guess it just felt like you turned your back on us. So we turned our backs on you. But I mean, it was kid stuff. And I wouldn’t do that now. I mean, I saw that profile and thought it was cool. Like, finally, you’re chilling with the masses, you know?”

I appraised her. In the almost-darkness, her profile seemed different from that of the girl who’d spent the last three years glaring at me every chance she could get. She was biting her lip
with her front teeth, her gaze off in the distance, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if we’d stayed friends. Would we still have sleepovers and make s’mores in the microwave or would we have naturally drifted apart?

“Pinky swear you didn’t do it?” I held my hand out toward her. It was shaking slightly. It was our childhood oath, one we never backed down on.

A trace of a smile flickered across her face as she reached her hand toward mine. Her pinky hooked with mine and she squeezed.

“I wouldn’t do that. I think you know that. Or at least I hope you do.” She kept her finger entwined with mine. Silence fell between us again. But the quiet felt warmer, friendlier, like when we’d finally snuggle into our sleeping bags at five a.m. after eight hours of endless conversation. I was about to bring up an old memory, but just then, Keely shifted and turned toward me. And just like that, the spell was broken. Too much time had passed.

“Is that all you needed from me?” Keely looked over her shoulder toward the barn.

I nodded. I felt more confused than ever.

“Cool.” Keely stood up, pulling her long hair into a high ponytail on the top of her head. I couldn’t help but watch her every move. “Anyway, good luck with the profile thing. But it’s not bad for people to see you as human. It’s not, like, a scandal. It’s high school.” She cracked her knuckles and stood up. After a few steps, she looked over her shoulder. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well stay. Have fun for once.”

“Thanks.” I slowly stood up and made my way back to the kids clustered around the barn. I felt like I was an anthropologist, learning about the rituals of the American teenager.

Matt was standing by the cooler. Despite myself, I made my way over to him.

“Need another?” he asked, unearthing two bottles from the cooler. He pushed them toward me and I reflexively grabbed them.

“No!” I held the bottles as far away from me as I could, watching condensation sweat down their sides as he rooted on the ground for an opener. I didn’t want anyone to think I was drinking.

“Lighten up,” I whispered to myself.

“What?”

“Nothing!” I said, bending to put the bottles on the ground just as Matt stood up with the opener. His head collided with my chin. And then, a flash from the bushes, but I wasn’t sure if it was coming from a camera or from the pain radiating from my face. It
hurt
.

“Ow!” I gently held my hand on my chin.

“Sorry!” Matt took a few steps back.

“It’s not a big deal,” I mumbled.

“What?” he asked.

My face still hurt. “I’m fine,” I whispered under my breath, trying to convince myself.

Matt paused, then put his drink down next to mine. A half smile crossed his face.

“You do that a lot, you know?” he said finally.

“What?”

“Talk to yourself. It makes me feel left out. It’s very rude to have conversations in front of other people.”

I grinned as I tried to come up with an appropriately flirty response. But I didn’t have anything. I had no problem coming
up with things to say
to myself
, but I was fundamentally incapable of having a conversation with someone else. Awesome.

Just then, my phone quacked to signal that I’d gotten a text.
Shoot.
I’d always meant to change the sound, but I kept forgetting. Not like it mattered. It wasn’t like my phone was usually blowing up with texts.

I put one of the bottles on the ground, then slid my phone from my pocket.

It was from Adam.

“Who was that?” Matt asked curiously.

“Oh, just a friend,” I said.

“You should tell them to come!” Matt grabbed my phone as I yanked it back.

“Whoa, sorry!” Matt let go of the phone. “I didn’t realize you were texting your boyfriend.”

“What, Adam? He’s not my boyfriend!” I said quickly.

“Good for me.”

My stomach flipped. “What did you say?” I wanted to hear it again.

“He seemed to be.”

Oh.
Disappointment sliced through my stomach. “Nope, just a friend.”

“Cool,” Matt said.

“So …” I desperately racked my brain for something to say that
didn’t
involve Yearbook or Adam or the Facebook profile.

Just then, Erin hurried up to Matt and threw her skinny arms around his waist.

“I was looking for you
everywhere
. We’re about to play flip cup and you know I need your help.”

“I have to go,” I mumbled, even though it wasn’t necessary. Matt was oblivious to my presence. I put my drink down and headed home.

Once I got there, I popped
Love Actually
into the DVD player. That was why romantic comedies existed — so people could remind themselves that meet-cute situations never, ever happened in real life. Of course Matt had the attention span of a gnat. Of course he didn’t care that I left. And of course it never would have occurred to him to follow me. And the only person I should have been mad at was myself for having wanted it.