No One Needs to Know (3 page)

“When?”

“The Industrial Revolution,” I say. “The changes would’ve had a big impact on daily lives, both in a factory and at home. Think of the ways the workplace must have changed. Imagine the new inventions rich people could buy. There’s a lot to work with. The compare and contrast practically writes itself.”

Olivia’s finally warming up to the idea, nodding her head and flipping to the corresponding section in our text. “Who writes about which viewpoint?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “You can relate to receiving new inventions the second they’re available, right?” I ask, glancing down at the iPhone sitting at the edge of her desk. “So you take the yuppie and I’ll cover a factory worker.”

Olivia makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “Just because my family’s wealthy doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s like to be a hard worker.”

“Right. Next time you want to cover my double shift in place of your little tumbling events, just let me know.”

She narrows her eyes and opens her mouth, as if to argue, but I cut her off.

“I think we covered that we’re not going to be friends, so what do you care what I think of you?”

She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, like she’s just remembered that we hate each other. “I don’t.”

“Exactly. You’re more into ruling with an iron fist.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I scoff. “You know, stomp on people? Rule through fear? Instead of earning respect, you demand it.”

She snorts. “Oh please. You’re the one being judgmental and rude.”

“I’m serious. When you walk out of this classroom, take a look around. Look at the people who will avert their eyes just because you look their way. Walk right up to someone less popular, less perfect, and see if they smile at you or shrink away.”

“Oh come on. People aren’t
afraid
of me.”

“Right.”

She stares right at me, her jaw line tight, and I know I’ve annoyed her, pushed her just far enough that she’s going to bite back. “Fine. Know what? I’ll do it. But you have to too.”

“No one’s afraid of me,” I say, rolling my eyes at the mere suggestion. “I’m a joke to them.”

“That’s exactly my point. You’re totally paranoid because you’re stuck in the past. Newsflash, nobody cares anymore, but you still skulk around this school like a kicked dog.”

I swallow. She doesn’t know the extent of what Ava put me through.

She leans back, smiling at my obvious unease. “Talk to a few people. I bet you could be normal if you weren’t so paranoid that people are making fun of you behind your back.”

“Fine. You know what? You’re on.” I yank my desk away from her and pull out a blank sheet of paper, quickly scrawling down a bullet-point list of ideas and topics to cover for my side of our essay.

And for the rest of the class, Olivia doesn’t say a word.

An hour later, before my last class of the day, I pull myself up onto the window ledge and slide my crappy old phone out of the front pocket of my backpack. I can’t remember whether I’m supposed to work today, but I’ve got it programmed into my calendar.

Just as I unlock the screen, Olivia rounds the corner, all smiles. With the way she curled her hair today, it’s really bouncing around her shoulders. She’s alone, her thumbs hooked into her backpack straps as she meanders down the hall like she’s got all the time in the world. I bet she could show up late to any class and get out of a tardy.

As her eyes leisurely rove the faces of our classmates, it hits me.

My jaw drops. She’s actually doing what I dared her to do. Olivia freaking Reynolds, who hardly even spoke to me until today, is actually rising to my challenge.

Holy shit.

My mouth goes dry as I watch her pause, scanning the hall. There are two girls from the school band in the corner, gripping instrument cases as they lean up against their lockers, lost in conversation.

I grin as Olivia sets her eyes on them and then clicks into motion, heading their way. I’m dumbfounded—not just that she’s doing what I told her to do, but that she has no idea what’s about to happen. My only regret is that I’m way too far away to hear, because this is bound to be some damn good entertainment.

She walks up, and one girl’s eyes widen. Her face pales as she glances over at her friend.

When the friend turns to see Olivia Reynolds standing directly in front of her, she sort of jumps, and the back of her head knocks into the locker.

I don’t have to be an expert lip reader to make out
Oh, uh, hi,
coming out in a desperate jumble of words.

I grin and drop my feet down, then jump off the window ledge and inch closer to the action as Olivia tips her head to the side. She must be speaking, but her back is to me and the crowded hallway drowns out her voice. The two girls nod, their expressions serious, and then Olivia turns around just as the two girls share nervous glances.

Olivia takes two steps and then stops short, staring across the hall at me.

I grin, pop a hand on my hip, and mouth
I told you so.

Something flares to life in her eyes, but I don’t know what it is. Surprise, anger … confusion? I blow her a teasing kiss and then turn and walk away, feeling stupidly triumphant.

Olivia just got one rude wake-up call. I can hardly believe she even attempted that, but those two girls, their reaction … so flawless.

I’m around the corner, still grinning to myself, when I remember her own challenge to me. Her preposterous assertion that people don’t even care about my reputation as a boyfriend-stealing slutbag. I’d dismissed the whole conversation about three and a half seconds after we’d finished it. But now I’ve seen Olivia living up to her side of the bargain. And maybe I have to return the favor and actually talk to someone.

Or not, and just say I did. I don’t have to tell her who I supposedly talked to.

I push my way through the crowded halls, my eyes trained on the floor, as always, and make my way to my final class, Spanish. No one should be made to conjugate verbs at this time of day, when we’re all brain dead after five other classes, but some part of me actually likes Spanish. It takes every ounce of willpower to follow our instructor, who insists on speaking
only
Spanish inside the classroom, despite the fact that this is only a second-year class and sometimes none of it makes any sense. Then she’s forced to write out the instructions in English on the board, like somehow that doesn’t count since she didn’t speak the words aloud.

We have assigned seating, alphabetically by our Spanish names. I picked Rosa on the first day, for no other reason than that the name reminded me of Rosa Parks, and she was a pretty badass chick.

I slide into my chair and pull out the homework we were assigned yesterday, glancing over the worksheet. It had been an easy task, really, writing the Spanish words next to a variety of modes of transportation.

Samantha, a girl I used to do projects with during freshman year, drops into her seat beside me.

I swallow. “Hey, Sofia,” I say, using her Spanish name.

She blinks and meets my eyes, like she just realized I was sitting here. We’ve been sitting beside one another for two weeks. Have I not even said hello to her yet?

“Uh,” I say, suddenly realizing I have nothing intelligent to say. “What did you get for number ten? It was totally hard, right?”

She glances down at her homework, and then opens her mouth to say something, when her friend “Camila” sits down in the row in front of us.

“Zorra,” Camila quips. Sofia tries not to laugh, but it comes out like a strangled cough.

Slut.

Camila just called me a fucking slut. In Spanish.

My cheeks burn and I try to come up with something to say—some way to burn her back—but I come up empty. So I jerk my gaze away, staring down my homework.

Slut.

I am never going to live it down. No matter what Olivia has to say about it.

I was right about her, and I’m right about
me.

OLIVIA

He forgot.

I can’t believe he forgot.

I’m sitting on the curb in front of the Grand Cinema, trying to ignore the clouds that have rolled in and the raindrop that just fell on my cheek. Rope lights outline movie posters behind me, but it’s not dark enough yet to cast shadows.

He forgot.

I don’t know why it burns like this, like some deep, lingering betrayal, but as I glance at my phone again and confirm that the movie started ten minutes ago, I can’t escape the way my chest hurts.

We haven’t missed a Friday night independent movie in … two years?

I text him for a third time:
Where are you?

I count to thirty before tucking the phone back into my purse. Liam is completely MIA. I pull the two tickets out of my pocket and rip them, again and again and again, growing even more upset as I shred them so many times, they’re pretty much dust when I’m done. I hold my hands out to the breeze and let the paper flutter to the cement at my feet.

That’s my day, right there, ripped to shreds and forgotten in the gutter. Between stupid Zoey Thomasson and those two girls in the hall and my brother’s failure to show, this is officially the worst day ever.

There’s no way Zoey’s right. I know she thinks she was, based on that little show in the hall, but they could’ve just been surprised, not afraid. If they were
actually
afraid of me, they would’ve, like, run or something. It’s not as if I can even be intimidating. I’m five foot four. And no one clad in a schoolgirl uniform is scary looking. It’s physically impossible.

I stand up and step onto the sidewalk. I walked up here after gymnastics practice. It’s like a mile and a half, but it was such a pretty afternoon, the late-summer sun waning, and I thought the fresh air would help me unwind.

But I’d planned on having a ride home, since our condo it a full three miles away. I could call a cab, but I’m so angry … so wound up … that I don’t want to bother.

Instead I dig into my purse, pulling out the purple pill box that Zoey almost saw. I fish out one pill, pop it in my mouth, and swallow without needing a sip from the water bottle buried somewhere in my enormous handbag.

I know it’s not instantaneous. Xanax doesn’t work like that. But just knowing it’s in my stomach, that it’ll kick in fifteen minutes or so from now, is enough to let me rake in a long breath and feel my shoulders unwind.

I stomp away from the theater and head toward Stadium Way, wondering if my brother somehow lost track of time and is still at school. But that’s ridiculous. Classes at Stadium High end about the same time as they do at Annie Wright.

For the millionth time, I wish Annie Wright were coed at the high school level. It’s coed up to junior high, but after that, boys aren’t allowed. Since there aren’t any good private schools for boys around here, Liam goes to public school, but my mom insisted I finish out my education at Annie Wright.

So this is our fourth year apart, and every year, I swear, it’s like Liam and I grow a little more in opposite directions.

He used to be more like me, kinda preppy or whatever, but now he’s hanging out with all these skater kids and going to the skate park, and he downloads all this weird music I’ve never even heard of. If you saw us standing next to one another, you’d never think we were related, with the way he dresses.

I don’t know if it’s because I don’t fit in with his new group of friends, but I’m not automatically invited to stuff anymore. He has this
entire life
outside me now, and it freaks me out.

I pass his school, with its enormous turrets and gothic lines, all made famous in the movie
10 Things I Hate About You
. It looks more like a castle than a public high school.

It’s quiet. If my brother decided to hang around after class with his buddies, he’s gone now.

So I get to walk home.

Alone.

ZOEY

I’m in the kitchen, my arms covered in bubbles as I scrub the last dirty pan, when the door flies open and Carolyn bursts in. I twist around to yell at her—there’s already a hole in the drywall from the door knob—but when I see her, I freeze.

Tears are streaming down her face, her nose is bright red and snotty, and she’s got a black eye.

Someone gave my ten-year-old sister a fucking black eye.

I rush over, water and soap creating a trail behind me, and reach out to touch her cheek. She flinches away, but I follow her and wrap her up in a hug. “Oh Carolyn, what happened?”

“T-t-t-t,” she stutters, choking through the tears.

“Take a deep breath,” I say, rubbing her back.

She obliges, raking in big lungfuls of air as her trembling shoulders calm. I wait in silence, my arms still wrapped around her, until she’s ready to talk, and then I lean back and rest on my heels.