Life Unaware (Entangled Teen) (4 page)

The freshman occupying the locker beside mine glanced up and gave a squeak of surprise when she saw me coming. She quickly slammed her locker door and scurried away with her backpack open and her books cradled in her arms. Until today, she’d always smiled at me when I approached.

I slid the backpack off my shoulder and let it fall to the ground. I needed to gather my books quickly, so I had enough time to stop by the bathroom and wash the coffee out of my tights before first period. Still, I was reluctant to go anywhere without my friends.

Where the hell were they? I couldn’t remember a time since starting high school when I’d made it as far as my locker without Payton or Amber joining me in the hall and chatting away while I gathered my books. The only exception was when they were sick. But what were the odds that both of them were sick on the same day? Unless they were puking, being sick was still no excuse for not answering my texts.

They better be puking their fucking guts up.

I ripped the pages off my locker door, hoping for a notice about drug searches or an upcoming pep rally—not that I cared about anything so stupid. I started to crumple the papers when a name in bold letters caught my attention—
my
name.

A cord of panic wove through my ribs and pulled tight. Carefully, I smoothed the paper out and read the title:

Here’s what Regan Flay thinks about YOU.

Pictured below were hundreds of screenshots of my private messages, IMs, and text messages, only everyone else’s names had been blurred out, incriminating only me. Scanning through them, I saw they went back months, a year even, including the texts I sent to Christy and the cheerleading squad only yesterday.

And right at the top, the texts Payton and I had written about Christy and how I’d use her going to rehab to secure a spot on the squad.

My knees buckled, and I leaned against my locker before my legs gave out. No wonder she was so pissed. My fingers curled, crumpling the paper’s edges. I wanted to throw it to the ground, to tear into it with my teeth and stomp on the remains. But it was like the paper had fused to my hand. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t let go and I couldn’t look away. Practically every nasty thing I’d ever written about anyone was there. From implying hookups that never happened to shit-talking and ass-kissing.

Of course, the replies back were equally bitchy, but with the sender’s name blurred out, I was the only one who could be held accountable.

My hands shook so violently that the words jumbled on the pages. I finally managed to drop them and tried to make sense of the situation. How the hell had this happened? These were
private
messages among me, Payton, Amber, and several others. Were we hacked? Or, even worse, had the messages been leaked on purpose? And if so, why? There were at least two dozen people I talked shit about on those pages—and now the entire school knew. What was I going to do? Normally, I’d deny the texts were mine, but the hacker screen-captured the messages. The proof was impossible to deny.

I tried to suck in a breath, but it was nothing more than a wheeze. I glanced around, and at least twenty people lurked nearby and watched me panic. A group of girls holding instrument cases walked by, glaring at me over their shoulders. Some girl from the softball team wadded up a piece of paper and threw it at me as she passed. The ball hit my chest and bounced to the floor. The girls beside her hooted loudly.

I wanted to scream at them, to flip them off,
something.
My muscles, however, refused to do anything but tremble.

Dark spots crept along the edge of my vision. I couldn’t squeeze enough oxygen into my tight lungs, and if I didn’t do something about it, I had no doubt I’d pass out. I needed a pill, and I needed one fast. But it wasn’t like I could slip one out of my purse with everyone watching, so there was only one place I could go. I pushed away from my locker and nearly stumbled face-first onto the ground before I caught myself.

The warning bell sounded robotically over the intercom. The students watching me shuffled away to their respective homerooms. They cast reluctant looks over their shoulders as they left. They weren’t ready to give up on their free entertainment so easily. And what would be better than to watch Regan Flay drop dead in the middle of the hall?

I pressed my hand to my chest and dug my fingers into my blouse, clawing my way to the skin as if I could rip through my sternum, into my lungs, and force air in that way. I half stumbled, half shuffled to the nurse’s office.

Around me, the hallway spun into a whirling blur of different shades of gray—gray walls, gray floor tiles, gray lockers. The shades darkened the farther I traveled, making me feel as if I were walking deeper into a tomb, one that might seal up behind me at any moment.

“What the hell’s wrong with her?” someone asked behind me.

“Who the fuck cares?” another answered.

That was the million-dollar lightning-round question.
I’ll take Caring About Regan Flay for a million dollars, Alex. I believe the answer is, Who is no one?
I was completely alone as I stumbled down the hall. Amber and Payton hadn’t bothered to show up or even text me. It didn’t really surprise me that Amber was lying low, but Payton…she was supposed to be my best friend. At least, I’d thought so until now.

Again, I wondered how someone could have gained access to our accounts. One of us might have unintentionally left the computer lab while logged in, but I knew Amber and Payton, and we all knew how to cover our tracks. Maybe one of them had accidentally left her phone somewhere?

The tardy bell sounded just as I reached the nurse’s office. My chest heaved with ragged gasps as I flung open the door.

Nurse Fuller set down the sudoku puzzle in her hand, her eyes wide as she looked me over. “What the—?” She pushed to her feet. Her glasses slipped from her nose and hung from the chain around her neck. “Already, Regan? Classes haven’t even started yet.”

With my hand still twisted into the front of my shirt, I shrugged helplessly.

“Okay. Just take it easy.” She stepped around her desk and, despite her two knee surgeries, hobbled over to me. Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, she guided me to the hard, duct-taped puke-green exam table in the corner. Nurse Fuller, who was every bit as ancient as the table, pulled her glasses on and squinted at me through the thick lenses.

“Sit, sit,” she ordered, helping me onto the paper-covered table. It crinkled in protest as I collapsed on top of it. Lines of disapproval creased the nurse’s forehead. “Relax, Regan. You’re not breathing.”

I scowled at her. I
hated
when people told me to relax. It wasn’t like I had any control over it, like I’d woken up that morning and thought,
Hey, you know what would be fun? Death by suffocation.

“Hold on.” She crossed the room to a small counter with a sink and a hand-sanitizer dispenser mounted on the wall. She opened the overhead cabinet and withdrew a small brown paper bag. After rolling the edges down, she returned to my side. “Here you go. You know the drill.”

I took the bag from her, barely managing to hold on to it with my trembling fingers.

Nurse Fuller grabbed my elbow and forced me to lift the bag up to my face. “In and out. In and out.”

With my lips pressed into the bag, I drew in a shaky breath, collapsing the bag with a crunch. When I could inhale no more, I exhaled, and the bag ballooned outward. I repeated this over and over until my chest no longer ached and the room fell into focus around me.

The nurse watched me with her lips pressed tight and her arms folded across her pink scrub top. “Are you good?”

Not by a long shot. Still, I nodded, because I didn’t want her to suggest calling my dad. If he had to pick me up, he’d call Mom, and she’d fly in from Washington just to crawl further up my ass than she already was. No thank you.

The nurse’s frown deepened, as if she could read the lie on my face. “All right then. Just lie there and focus on relaxing while I go get one of your pills. Okay?”

Still breathing into the bag, I nodded. The crinkling sound it made as it inflated and deflated nearly drowned out the sound of my heartbeat.

She snatched a pillow that felt like it was packed with cardboard and stuffed it under my head. “Hang tight. I’ll be right back.” Faster than a seventy-something-year-old woman with a knee replacement should be able to move, she spun on her heels and disappeared into the closet where she kept students’ prescription pills and EpiPens locked inside a wire-mesh case.

A minute later, she returned with a pill in one hand and a paper cup of water in the other.

It took about fifteen minutes for my body to deflate against the table like a leaky balloon. I closed my eyes and continued to breathe
. In and out. In and out.
Like I could expel the entire morning as easily as I expelled my breath.
In and out. In and out.
The more I sank against the hard cushion, the more energy bled from my body. Maybe it was the panic attack or the nightmare-fraught, sleepless night, but I could feel myself begin to drift away.
In and out.
I didn’t fight it. In fact, I welcomed it. I only wished wherever the darkness pulled me, it would be somewhere no one could find and drag me back from.

But no matter how much I wanted to stay here, I knew I couldn’t hide forever.

Only two inches of wood and a pane of glass separated me from the rest of the world waiting to watch my downfall.

And I was going to have to face them soon enough.

Chapter Four

“Regan, honey? It’s time to wake up.” A hand grabbed on to my shoulder and gave a gentle shake. “You either go to class or I need to have your dad pick you up.”

“No,” I murmured as I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want either of those things. I wanted to remain in the protective darkness of my unconscious. But despite my best effort to cling to the comfort of sleep, Nurse Fuller’s hand on my shoulder roused me awake. I blinked my eyes until a poster warning against the dangers of HPV slid into focus.

The nurse sighed. “I can’t have students spending the entire day sleeping in my office.” She gently gripped me under the arm and pulled me into a sit. “If you don’t want to go to class, I have to call your dad. Do you—”

“No.” I jerked out of her grasp, instantly awake. My tights smelled like caramel macchiato. As annoying as that was, they were the least of my worries.

The nurse frowned and took a step back.

“I’m sorry.” I forced a weak smile to my lips. “My dad is probably in surgery and Mom’s in DC. We don’t have to bother them with this, do we?”

She dipped her chin and stared at me over the rim of her glasses. “You know I have to email them about your visit, right?”

I nodded and slid to the edge of the table. “I know.” With an email, they’d be concerned, but not as freaked as they’d be receiving a call from school asking them to come pick me up because I had a massive breakdown. I could only imagine how drastically my therapy appointments would increase. Or the tone of my mother’s voice as she pointed out how pathetic I was to give in to weakness like this.

I dropped off the table. Nurse Fuller rushed to my side and held out a hand as if to catch me as I fell—a pretty bold move, considering she weighed about ninety pounds and I’d most likely break her hip if I did. I swayed but managed to keep my balance.

“Easy there,” she told me. “That was the worst attack you’ve had in a while.”

I’d say. My head felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton. Not especially awesome when you had classes to focus on, but at least it would numb the kids’ stares.

“Here.” She handed me a piece of paper, and I squinted down at it.

“It’s a hall pass,” she explained. “You’re late for second period.”

My heart skipped a beat, but thanks to the numbing power of my medication, it barely registered as a tickle inside my chest. “I slept through first period?”

She nodded. “I shouldn’t have let you, but you really looked like you needed it.” She was quiet a moment. “This is the first time you’ve needed a pill so early in the day, Regan. Is everything okay?”

The way gossip traveled through this school, I had no doubt some of the faculty had already heard about—if not seen—the papers with my private messages. But because Nurse Fuller seldom left her cave, it was a safe bet she hadn’t found out. That was a good thing, considering she had both of my parents’ numbers on an index card pinned to her message board.

I shook my head. “I have a history test today. I guess it’s got me a little stressed.”

Her frown deepened. “You’re still seeing a therapist, aren’t you?”

I nodded before dropping my gaze to my shoes.

“Good. Make sure you talk to him about this.”

I kept my eyes trained on the floor so she wouldn’t see my irritation. Therapy was not a topic of conversation I ever cared to discuss.

She walked to her office door and pulled it open, revealing the hallway beyond. My throat tightened again, and I had trouble swallowing. I couldn’t go back out there and face them. Not now. Not ever. For a split second, I considered asking her to call my dad so I could go home, but I knew that would only create more problems for me in the long run.

Nurse Fuller leaned against the door. Lines of concern pinched her forehead. I wondered if she could read the fear on my face, or maybe it was a sixth-sense nurse’s thing.

“You know, Regan, you can talk to me if something’s going on. I’ve been a nurse for almost forty years, not to mention I’ve raised six kids of my own. There’s nothing you can tell me I haven’t heard or seen before.” She offered a smile.

“Thanks.” I tried to smile back, but my muscles were slow to respond. I was pretty sure my smile came out as a grimace. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I stepped into the hall, and she shut the door behind me.

I was alone.

I hugged myself as I shuffled to class. I wasn’t in a hurry. If they didn’t take attendance each period, I’d be out the door and headed for the parking lot.

Unlike this morning when the hall felt like it was going to cave in on me, now it felt like a horror movie: dark, silent, and never-ending.

I approached my locker, which was along the way. None of the lockers I passed bore the taped sheets of paper responsible for my social ruin. Hopefully they’d been torn off by students and tucked inside lockers instead of being discovered by a teacher. A summons to the office was the last thing I needed right now. After all, more than one thousand students attended Saint Mary’s, and I had no doubt that, if they hadn’t read the pages, they’d soon hear about them. That meant one thousand students currently hated me. Well, one thousand minus my two best friends. But as the hours ticked by and my phone remained silent, I had to question even that.

I pulled out my phone and shot Payton another text.

Hey. I really need to talk to you. Just let me know you got this, k?

I pressed send and then proceeded to stare at my phone, waiting. A minute went by. Then another. And still the phone remained silent. I told myself she wasn’t answering because she was in class and didn’t want to get in trouble—not that that had ever stopped us before. I waited one more minute until it became clear she wasn’t texting back. A cord of unease pulled tight inside me, and I tucked my phone away. I refused to cry. In high school, tears might as well have been blood. Any wound, no matter how small, was a sign of weakness.

And high school destroyed the weak.

What I needed was to pull myself together and form a plan. I couldn’t go on the defensive, since I didn’t need anything else to further shred my
good girl
image. No, I needed to play the offense, to gradually win people back to my side. Right now, though, with emotions running so hot, I knew that was impossible. But maybe once people had a chance to cool down, I could begin to rebuild my reputation. Of course, I’d need my friends on my side to do that.

If only they’d text me back.

I continued walking. As my locker drew nearer, I noticed something on the door—a word written in what appeared to be black marker. A sick feeling washed over me, and I hurried over. The closer I got, the more the word fell into focus, until I stood in front of it, and it screamed at me in crystal clarity.

BITCH

My bottom lip trembled. I quickly bit down on it before my emotions got out of hand. I tried to wipe the writing off with my palm, but the letters wouldn’t fade. I rubbed harder, my palm squeaking against the metal until my hand turned red and my skin burned. The asshole must have used a Sharpie. I stopped rubbing and sagged against the locker, resting my forehead on the cool metal.

“Excuse me.”

Startled, I jerked back and found one of the school’s uniformed security guards watching me with narrowed eyes. “You okay?”

I nodded, not trusting my words to come out with any sort of confidence.

He frowned, clearly not buying it. “Why aren’t you in class?”

I held up my hall pass, and he examined it. “All right, then,” he said. “Get your things and head on to class.” His gaze drifted over my shoulder. His eyes widened in a way that told me he’d spotted the graffito. Immediately, his face softened. “I’ll call maintenance and have that taken care of by the end of the day.”

I should have told him it wasn’t necessary. Chances were, my locker would be vandalized again the second it was removed. Instead, I murmured a barely audible “thanks” and tucked the pass inside my shirt pocket.

He nodded and turned away. As he disappeared around a corner, once again I found myself alone.

I opened my locker and pulled out my books for second period. The pill might have killed my panic attack, but it didn’t touch how emotionally drained I felt. I was numb from the inside out, though all things considered, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

I slipped my books into my bag and hoisted it over my shoulder. The second I closed the door, the word scribbled on the other side glared at me again.

Just this once, I wished I could be more like my mom. She wouldn’t let something like a word scrawled in marker bother her. In fact, if someone dared to deface her property, she’d launch an investigation until the culprit was found, and then she’d sue him or her for defamation.

Not for the first time, I wondered how I could be the genetic offspring of someone so clearly made of stone, when my bones were as hollow as a bird’s. Unfortunately for me, even with bird bones, I couldn’t fly away.

I shrugged my backpack higher and started down the hall. I was almost to the door, my hand raised for the knob, when the bulletin board on the wall caught my eye.

Below the flyer for the model UN club and beside a clipboard with sign-up sheets for the school’s fall musical
Grease
, another flyer announced the results of cheerleading tryouts. I held my breath. Making the team would fix everything.

I slid my finger along the page. The JV squad was listed first, and I skimmed through the names until I came to the words “varsity cheerleading squad” in bold letters. I shuddered in apprehension as I drew my finger down the list. Christy Holder’s name was at the top, followed by a dash and the word “captain.” Next was Amber’s, followed by “co-captain.” Below her name was the list of everyone who had made the squad.

My heart climbed inside my throat as I slid my finger past each name until I came to mine, or at least what was left of it. My name was scribbled out with black ink, and a new name had been handwritten in:
Taylor Bradshaw
.

Ice shot through my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them, hoping the scribbles were a trick of light—that maybe if I blinked enough, the ink would disappear and my name would shine through. It didn’t. Not even after I mashed the heels of my hands into my eyes and rubbed furiously.

My name had been on the list. Christy had picked me for the squad. But then my private messages were plastered across the hallways and she changed her mind.

Could I really blame her?

My stomach convulsed, and for the second time that day, I thought I might be sick. I yanked my backpack off my shoulder and fumbled in the front pocket until I found my Tums. I popped two in my mouth, grimacing as the chalky cherry flavor coated my tongue.

What really stung was that Amber, who was not only the co-captain of the squad but my
friend
, had done nothing to stop her from replacing me with Taylor—a sophomore of all things.

That still, however, didn’t answer my question as to why.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

I jerked upright with a gasp.

Nolan.
He stood at the other end of the hall, leaning against a locker. He held his phone up and watched me through the screen. Anger burned through the numbness I’d taken comfort in. How long had he been recording me this time? Before I could order him to stop, he tucked it inside his book bag.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He shrugged, pushed off the row of lockers, and walked toward me. When he stopped, he was so close I had to crane my neck up to look at him. His hazel eyes projected sadness behind the lock of hair that had fallen across his face. I refused to back up, even though his nearness made me nervous. His shit-eating grin proved he knew it, too.

He leaned down, his face drawing closer to mine. He smelled good. Irritatingly good. Like pine needles and oranges instead of the overpowering scents most of the guys at school wore. For one paralyzing second, I thought he might kiss me. I inhaled sharply, making his grin widen. But instead of kissing me, his mouth bypassed my lips and hovered above my ear. “Welcome to the other side, Flay. You won’t last a week.”

Before I could respond, he strode away, leaving me trembling in his wake. I wanted to shout after him, to tell him he was wrong, but the doubt he’d stirred sealed my lips. I didn’t know how I was going to survive the day, let alone a week.