#scandal (32 page)

I’d been imagining something like this all year, only in my before version, the guest list was different. Jayla wasn’t around in person, but Ellie and Griff were. We piled up on the couch, mowing down sundaes and poking fun at Angelica Darling, making outlandish predictions for next season.

In my before version, there was always a next season for the infamous Angelica Darling. Always a next season for me and Ellie and Griffin.

“Hold still.” Jayla gathers my hair in one hand and reaches for a brush with the other. As she pulls everything 396

into a twist, we meet each other’s eyes in the bathroom mirror. “Congratulations, little sister. You survived high school. Now you can forget everything you learned.”

“High school
whut
?”

Jayla smiles. “That’s my girl.”

“Hey. Mind if I borrow your girl?” Ellie joins the reflection behind us, the last person I expected to open my party invitation, the last one I expected to see.

“Ellie,” I say. Her name is strange and foreign on my lips.

In my room, beneath my pen-and-ink series of celebrity zombies, Ellie and I sit on my bed.

She hands over a large brown bag. Inside, there’s a white box stamped with Black & Brew’s logo.

“You brought Tarts of Apology?”

“Chocolate espresso bean and lemon blueberry,” she says. “I didn’t want to show up empty-handed. Actually, I didn’t want to show up at all.”

My stomach twists.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to see you again,” she says.

“It’s . . . I’m still reeling. Like, what the hell just happened?” I lean back on my elbows and close my eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“Griffin came over the other night,” she says. “She 397

confessed to posting the pictures on your Facebook. She said you had the evidence. Why didn’t you say anything?” Across the hall, through the closed door, I hear my parents getting ready, Mom sending Dad back to the closet.

Again. “The
salmon
polo shirt,” she says. “That one is orange.”

“I had this big reveal planned for graduation,” I tell Ellie. “But when I got up onstage, I kept looking at you guys and thinking about how things used to be and how screwed up everything got . . . how
I
screwed it up . . . and everything with Jayla and the paparazzi . . . Something shifted.” All along, I’d been waiting for summer to come and go, for Ellie and me to get on the road to California and our new lives. But now that high school’s officially over, it doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right.

High school might’ve been about as fun as a zombie apocalypse, but I always had Ellie. Cole and Griff too. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

“Even when I saw the pictures that first day,” Ellie says,

“I never thought our friendship would be over. I mean, it was
super
painful, but . . . it happened so fast. The Cole stuff. The secrets we kept from each other. By the time Griff told me what happened, it was like it didn’t even register. I guess I’m just . . . numb.”

After that day at the picnic, I never thought Griffin 398

would confess, but now that she has . . . maybe it
doesn’t
matter. She may have been the one who made the evidence public, but she’s not the one who created the evidence in the first place. I kissed Cole. More than once. And before that, I carried this spark, a red-hot thing that smoldered and burned for four years.

I love Ellie, but how could it
not
affect our friendship?

There was always some barely concealed part of me that resented her, the easy way she had with Cole, the almost flippant shrug of her shoulders these last few months whenever she talked about the possibility of forever with him.

If Cole were
my
forever, I wouldn’t have shrugged. I would’ve held on to it with everything I had.

“I’ve been in love with Cole Foster since he first moved here,” I finally say. “The
whole
time. Prom was the first time we kissed, but it wasn’t the first time I imagined it.

Not even close.”

Ellie’s eyes widen, but just barely, as if her initial shock is immediately replaced with comprehension, how it all makes sense now, how she should’ve guessed it all along.

“That night, he kissed me on the deck after we’d been reminiscing. I kept telling myself it was just that—prom night, everything coming to an end, drinking, some momentary flash. But it wasn’t. Later, in his room, I kissed him again. Not like the pictures made it look. But it wasn’t 399

innocent, either. I wasn’t drunk. I wanted it to happen, Ellie.”

Still Ellie doesn’t speak, but no matter how hard I try to convince myself that it’s the right thing to do, I can’t regret loving Cole, and I say as much.

“I know,” she finally says. “Neither can I. I mean, things changed after the first year—like, we both knew it wouldn’t last. But we had some good times.” We sit in silence again, not meeting each other’s eyes. I can almost see the flickering filmstrip of shared memories between us, years of stories and moments whooshing by in a heartbeat.

Between them, secrets. Assumptions. All the unsaid things, just as much a part of our story as the rest.

“Where is my brown belt?” Dad shouts from the bedroom. Footsteps follow, Mom rushing to his side.

“Black belt!” she says. “You’re wearing black shoes.

Honestly, hun.”

Ellie smiles. “Good to know some things haven’t changed.”

“Oh, yes, they have,” I say. “Jayla sent them on this couples retreat, and ever since they got back, they’re all over each other.”

“Seriously?”

“I’ve lost count how many times I’ve busted them 400

making out in the kitchen. It’s practically a health code violation.”

“Eww,” she says. “Thank God your parents aren’t on Facebook. The moms are all over it. It’s gross.” Then her smile falters, and she looks at me with watery eyes. “I was thinking we could . . . I don’t know. Try. Not today, but soon. I don’t want to start college like this. But I’m not . . . I still need time.” Her voice is a fragile whisper. “I can’t promise anything.”

“I know,” I say. “Neither can I.”

“Fair enough.” Ellie stands from the bed and smiles, and I swear it’s like the sun rises in my bedroom, lighting up the undead celebs on the wall. Zombie Taylor Kitsch looks especially cheerful.

“Sure you don’t want to stay for Angelica’s official fare-well?” I grab the Black & Brew bag. “It’s supposed to be quite dramatic.”

Ellie laughs, but shakes her head. “I’m helping the moms pack tonight. They’re taking me camping this week—they say we have to bag at least three Fourteeners before I leave for California.”

“Ellie.” It’s all I can do not to crack up. “You
hate
hiking. And the woods. And pretty much everything about being outside.”

“Hey, we summited Mount Elbert! We
sang
on Mount Elbert, remember?”

401

“And the next day you refused to come out of the tent unless Cole promised that you’d never have to hike far-ther than the car. For the rest of your life. Remember that?”

She shrugs. “Eh, my plan is to fake an injury on day one, check into a hotel, and let them carry out their midlife crisis wilderness adventure without me.”

“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”

She taps her head. “Four years of quality Lav-Oaks education at work.” Ellie gives me a quick hug. Not a bestie hug, not a
we made this mountain our bitch!
hug, but a genuine one nevertheless. “I’ll call you when we’re back to let you know I survived.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Duuuuuude. Summertime, and the livin’ is
eeee-zee
.” Under the brim of a new, bright red cap, 420 gives me his jack-o’-lantern smile and hands over a bag of Doritos, half empty.

“I think what he means,” Clarice says from the porch steps behind him, “is thanks for inviting us. I brought fruit salad. It’s the one thing I knew he wouldn’t eat on the way over.”

“Fruit and salad,” 420 says, “are not one of the four major food groups of cheesy goodness.”

402

“You’re hopeless,” Clarice says. But beneath her chunky black bangs, her eyes glitter.

Marceau shows up next, all sincere and adorable with a bouquet of store-bought, totally legal yellow daffodils.

“These are for you, to say thank you for hosting me. But I didn’t get roses because they are the flower of love and . . .

we are breaking up,
chéri
.”

I take the flowers. “Marceau, we never—”

“I don’t want to crack your heart, but I cannot go on like this. Someone else is in love to you. And I cannot be the one who stands in the way of true love.”

“Um . . .”

Marceau leans in and kisses my cheek. “You will find your heart to heal again.”

He walks into my house, introduces himself to my family as my ex-boyfriend.

“Marceau!”

“He’s right,” a boy says behind me. “Someone else is in love to you.”

I haven’t seen Cole since graduation last week.

But I turn toward the sound of his voice, and here he is again.

Straight out of my dreams again.

He’s tan from his week outdoors, scruffy around the edges. There’s a small bandage over one of his fingers, a 403

new hole in his olive cargo shorts, just beneath the left pocket.

He runs a hand through his hair, his perpetually perfect bed-head flopping back into place. “Can we skip the talking part?”

I nod vigorously.

He takes Marceau’s flowers and sets them on the wicker table next to me, captures me in his arms. “God, I missed you,” he whispers.

“Dude. I thought we were skipping the talk—” His mouth is warm on my lips, apple-sweet and full of summer, and then he pulls back. “That . . . Wait. That felt like goodbye.”

“You know what they say.” I hold his gaze, count the flecks of gold in his eyes. “One person’s goodbye is another’s hello.”

“Who says that? I’ve never heard anyone say that in my life.”

“
You’re
the one who said it felt like goodbye. That’s, like, totally unromantic.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t supposed to be goodbye. It was supposed to show you I’m seriously in love to you and also, I want to help you find your heart to heal.”

“
That’s
what you were trying to say with that kiss?” I frown. “Try again, drummer boy.”

404

Cole grabs my shoulders and pushes me against the windows, takes my breath away and the last of my strength.

His hands slide into my hair, our bodies so close I can feel the blue heartbeat just beneath his skin.

His lips melt against my throat, and I gasp.

“My parents are inside,” I say.

“Your parents love me,” he whispers, breath hot on my neck.

“That doesn’t mean they’re pro-PDA. Well, not when it comes to
me
. They don’t even know about . . .” I close my eyes. “Any of it.”

Cole shrugs. “We’ll fill them in. Or . . .” He stretches his phone out before us, poised to snap a shot. “Selfie?

We can put it online for old times, maybe tag Mom and Dad?”

I snatch his phone away. “Say it again and you’ll be singing ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’ on your drive to Boston.”

“You can’t break up with me,” he says, sparks lingering in his eyes. “Your contract is specific. I made sure this time.”

“Ten minutes to show time, y’all!” Mom ushers everyone into the TV room, leaving me and Jayla in the kitchen to wait for the next batch of microwave popcorn. When it beeps, I shake it into a bowl with cinnamon and sugar.

405

Jayla pops a handful into her mouth. “You’re really something, Luce. Have I mentioned that?” I roll my eyes. “It’s just microwave popcorn with sugar, Jay. The whole salty-sweet—”

“No, I mean the guys. Cole. Franklin. Asher. Marceau.

John. They’re all, like, wrapped around your finger, yet there’s no drama. Explain.”

“I don’t believe in love triangles. Totally unrealistic.”

“Hey, Miss I Got a Perfect Score on My Calculus Exam, that’s more like a love rhombus.”

I laugh. “Either way. Four out of five are solidly in the friend zone.”

Jayla chomps another handful of popcorn. “Angelica would totally sleep with all five, pick her favorite, and get the good one to ice the other four. In fact, she did that in season two, episode nine. Remember the lumberjacks?”

“Mmm. Who knew flannel could be so . . . inappropriate.”

“Girls!” Mom yells from the TV room. “It’s starting!” Jayla and I settle in on the floor between Cole and Tens as the opening credits roll, the anticipation in the room as thick as the early summer heat.

Angelica appears onscreen in the opening scene, checking into a romantic hotel in Spain for a prewedding getaway with her third fiancé and Lady Wiggles. There’s lots of 406

walks along cobblestone streets, shared tapas, sunsets, tiny purses for dogs. But always in the background, hidden in shadow, a dark and brooding stranger. Meaningful glances full of not-so-subtle subtext.

Cut to the in-room hot tub and champagne bucket one fateful night, Angelica getting her man so drunk he can barely hold his head up.

Next scene, he’s passed out cold in the four-poster bed, and she’s donning a little red dress, silky as water, sneaking out with Lady Wiggles to meet Mr. Dark and Brooding.

Sadly and unbeknownst to our favorite schemer, this is the day of Pamplona’s famed Running of the Bulls, and despite Lady Wiggles’s frantic yelping, Angelica ducks down an alley near her lover’s apartment and steps right into the path of the oncoming bull run.

That flowy red dress isn’t doing her any favors.

Violins and tears, a life-flashing-before-our-eyes montage, the grief-stricken wail of a tiny dog, and before anyone can say
olé!
, Angelica Darling is gored to death, then trampled by the crowd in the bulls’ wake. By the time the chaos clears, all that’s left of Miss Darling is a scrap of red silk, fluttering dramatically down the cobblestoned streets.

Violins, slow and soft. Softer. Silence.

Fade to black.

407

The credits roll, and the room erupts, all of us giving Jayla a standing ovation.

Kiara is legit jumping up and down with glee. The only time I’ve ever seen her so spazzed out was right after graduation, when we’d deemed her Sarah Palin wild-goose chase a resounding success. “Okay, this is embarrassing,” she says to Jayla, “but I totally promised my mom and my nana that I’d ask for your autograph. Is that . . . is it weird? Because if it’s too weird, I’ll just tell them no. Is it?”