The Way to Game the Walk of Shame (3 page)

Evan’s grinning face popped into my head. His dark-gray eyes twinkled with amusement like he was listening to my speech. I shivered and swiped at the mirror again, hoping it would help clear my mind. “Nothing.”

*   *   *

Thank god I had Sunday to lie around and sleep, or I doubt I would have ever made it to school. Kimmy and I hung out in my room and watched movies all day long. After she finished the French toast, I brought the dirty plate out myself and pretended I’d eaten it. Luckily, Mom had errands to run that day, so she couldn’t ask me too much about the party.

I wished avoiding people at school on Monday were as easy as avoiding my parents. Everyone’s eyes were on me as I walked to class. Seriously. Heads turned, and people whispered behind their hands with every step I took. And the worst part was they weren’t even
trying
to be subtle about it.

There had to be another reason—any reason—that they would be looking at me. Maybe I had won some sort of an award. Or Brian failed a test or something, and I was the valedictorian now. (One can dream.) At this point, I wouldn’t even mind being the one who failed the hypothetical test. Anything would be better than the truth.

I fumbled with the combination on my locker. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a brunette girl in a black sophomore sweatshirt turn to some guy beside her and point at me. At first I couldn’t hear what they said, but my ears perked up at Evan’s name. Straining to hear, I leaned in closer.

“I think she’s the one who went home with Evan McKinley after the party,” she said in a hushed tone.

“No, way. Isn’t she like a nerd or something? Like a teacher’s pet?”

“Everyone calls her the Ice Queen. Now she’s just another one of his flings.”

He snickered. “Guess even queens can’t resist Evan McKinley.”

Party. Evan. Fling.

No, no, no. This had to be a dream. A really sucky, horrible nightmare.

Even though my hangover was gone, I suddenly felt like throwing up again. Forgetting why I was even at my locker, I stumbled away without opening it. Everything in front of me spun. The lockers. The other students. This couldn’t be happening. This had to be some type of
Twilight Zone
or something. Or a bad romance novel where I was the gentle, well-bred, titled daughter who had her reputation ruined because of a scandalous, notorious rake.

Reading about it was way better than experiencing it.

But damn it, how could everyone know already? And what exactly
did
they know?

It was the longest walk of my life. Like someone had decided to build an extra mile into the hallway over the weekend just to torture me.

Even Faith Watkins, whom everyone at school nicknamed the Reincarnated Mother Mary, gave me a sympathetic look when I passed her. The little Catholic girl with the white sweaters and
JESUS LOVES ME
stickers on her backpack knew. And if
she
knew, that meant
everyone
knew.

Once I was finally able to reach the safety of first period, I plopped onto my usual seat without looking at anyone around me. They were still whispering and pointing, but at least now there were only twenty-five of them instead of the entire school.

My forehead dropped into my hands, gripping it tightly as though that would help shrink my headache. God, could this day get any worse?

Mr. Peters strolled into class and closed the door behind him with a loud bang. “All right, did everyone finish the report on a significant event of the 1900s?”

There were moans and groans, and a couple of students immediately started rambling off excuses why they didn’t do their homework.

Glad for the distraction and to finally have things back to normal, I let out a sigh of relief and opened my bag to get the red folder I stuck the report in to keep the pages fresh. It took me less than a minute to realize it wasn’t there. Where was it? When I had finished, I had immediately put it in my folder … and left it on my desk at home.

Crap.

I shuffled through the loose papers in my bag again, even though I knew that the report was at home, neatly stapled and ready to go. I had finished it days ago but forgot to put it in my bag yesterday because I was so sick.

After making a couple of notes in his binder, Mr. Peters moved around the classroom to collect the papers. As he got closer and closer to my seat, the panic in my stomach grew. I prayed for a miracle, an earthquake or tsunami to suddenly hit, even though something like that had never hit Wilmington before. Or anywhere in North Carolina. But that’s what miracles were, right? I mean, if Evan McKinley and I could hook up—or whatever we did Saturday night—then that was proof enough that the impossible could happen!

Heck, I wouldn’t even have minded a meteor right now.

“Ms. Simmons?”

“Uh, yes?”

With a frown, he waved the papers in the air. “I need your report.”

My eyes lowered, and I traced the old
P
Q
carving on the corner of my desk. “Well, you see, it’s funny. Kind of. The thing is…” My voice lowered into a half whisper. “I think I left my report at home.”

“You think?”

“I mean, I know I did.” My attempt at an apologetic smile felt forced and weird. But it wasn’t my fault. I’d never been in this position before. I didn’t know what to do.

He blinked at me like he still didn’t understand. “You don’t have your report?”

“No.” Why did he keep making me repeat myself?

“You can’t blame her, Mr. Peters,” a loud voice suddenly called out from the back of the room. With a smirk, Lauren Tillman leaned back in her chair and swept her fiery-red hair over one slender shoulder. “Taylor had a really
busy
weekend.”

My weak smile melted like an icicle on the sidewalk in the middle of summer.

Even though we’d gone to school together forever, I could barely count the number of times Lauren had talked to me. Or even about me. I didn’t even know she knew my name.

Mr. Peters shook his head. “Still, this isn’t like you, Taylor. Your record is usually so impeccable.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Little Miss Perfect blemished a lot more than just her record at the party. And after,” Lauren loudly continued.

At that, the whole class snorted with laughter. A couple of guys in the back row winked and made kissy-faces at me.

“All right, that’s enough.” Mr. Peters had to smack his binder against the side of my desk to get everyone to shut up. “Let’s just start class.”

He leaned down and lowered his voice a bit. “You can bring it to me tomorrow, but I’m disappointed in you, Taylor. Really. I expected more from you. If I can’t trust you to hand in a simple paper on time, how am I supposed to let you plan Career Day? Or give the alumni presentation?”

It was as though all the blood had drained from my face. I could feel myself getting light-headed. “No, I swear I did the report. I did it on the first test-tube baby in the U.S. It was Elizabeth Carr in Virginia. If you want, I could run home and get it! Or my mom can bring it to school for me, or—”

He waved his hand to stop my defense. “Look, we’ll talk about this later. Just see me after class.”

“Yes, sir.” I made the mistake of looking behind me and locking eyes with Lauren again.

She pursed her lips in mock sympathy and wiggled her fingers at me in a half wave.

Cheeks flaming, I whipped my head back around. My fingers dug into the sides of my chair.
Gah
. I wanted to crawl beneath my desk and die. The mockery and gossiping were one thing, but I had never had a teacher be
disappointed
in me. Much less a teacher who had connections to the alumni and faculty at Columbia. This was the worst time to get on Mr. Peters’s bad side. A good word from him to the guest speaker could make all the difference in the world. Could turn my being wait-listed into an acceptance.

And now it was all slipping down the drain.

Double crap.

*   *   *

“You!”

I didn’t look up. Not even when Carly tapped the top of my head with a binder. Twice. Though it throbbed, I buried my head even deeper in my arms, trying to disappear. I didn’t want to see all the eyes around the cafeteria staring at me, like they’d been doing all morning. I thought it might die down a bit by lunch, but I couldn’t even eat my barbecued meatloaf and steamed vegetables in peace.

“First you don’t pick up my call, and now you won’t even look at me?” Carly’s voice got more high-pitched with each word. From previous experience, I knew this wasn’t a good sign. She was like a ticking time bomb, and if I didn’t respond, the lunch ladies would be scraping pieces of me out of the gravy bin. She was my best friend and I loved her, but her nosiness and booming voice were probably going to kill me. “How could you ditch me at the party?”

I turned my head and wiggled my nose when my hair flopped over my face. The strands parted with my loud sigh. Her face hovered over me with a scowl.

“Oh, hi. How was civics?”

“As exciting as a class taught by my mother could be. She called me sweetie pie and fixed my hair in front of everyone.” Carly slumped into the seat across from me and rolled her dark eyes so far back, I worried they’d get stuck. “I was tempted to stab myself with a pen just to have an excuse to leave.”

I usually didn’t bring up her mom, but I needed something to distract Carly, at least for a bit, and her mom was her kryptonite. She could complain about her all afternoon if she wanted to.

Carly’s mom was a substitute teacher, and although she promised her kids she’d never work at their schools, the economy was so bad that sometimes she couldn’t help it. It was still money, after all. This was the first time she’d taught one of Carly’s classes, though—something Carly had been dreading all week.

I liked Mrs. Winters, but that was because she spoiled me. Carly swore her mom would still love me even if I egged their house weekly, because she approved of “my career choice.” In Mrs. Winters’s mind, doctors, lawyers, and dentists were the way to go. Either to become one or to meet one—like Carly’s older sister, Nancy, did. She married an optometrist. The crème de la crème.

So her younger daughter’s love for drama and music was a touchy subject between them. Although with Carly’s over-the-top theatrics, theater was the obvious choice.

Carly opened a bag of veggies, once again on her never-ending quest to lose weight. “I’m asking again. Why did you ditch me at the party? And why did you lie to me?”

“I don’t remember leaving the party.” I squinted up at her in confusion. “And when did I lie?”

“Uh, after you disappeared, I texted you a gazillion times, and finally you texted back that you were already home, remember?” She waved a carrot stick in the air like a sword. “Imagine my surprise when your
mom
called me the next day asking about you. You’re lucky that I’m brilliant at improv and was able to cover for you.”

Chewing on my lower lip, I tugged on my ear and tried to remember texting her, but I couldn’t. I still didn’t know what happened that night. “Sorry.”

She let out a heavy sigh and poked me with her carrot stick. “Seriously, though, do you know how worried I was? Don’t disappear on me like that again! And could you please sit up? I feel like I’m talking to a corpse.”

“Sorry,” I said again, pulling myself upright and propping my chin on my palm. “But you know, none of this would have happened if you hadn’t dragged me to that party. And gotten me drunk.”

Carly scoffed and rolled her eyes. “What else was I supposed to do, let you keep moping at home and camping out by your mailbox for news from Columbia like you’ve been doing all month? You’ll get accepted. One little party isn’t going to change that. This is our senior year! We have to experience it! And it was your own fault for not eating all day. That’s why it hit you so bad. You barely drank.”

Really? I swear I must have drunk a lot more to have felt that crappy. Maybe Evan was right. Maybe I was a lightweight.

My fingers tapped against the table. I was irritated and wanted to blame someone. Anyone. But I couldn’t blame Carly. Mainly because I knew she would blow up at me if I did. But she was right. It’s not like she dragged me kicking and screaming to the party. Or poured the drinks down my throat. The wait-list letter had made me panic, and I was stupid. Really stupid.

“Sorry,” I finally said.

“I forgive you.” She dusted off her hands and picked up her Diet Coke. “So now that we’re done with all the apologies, you have to tell me. What
did
you do after you left the party with Evan?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know or won’t say?”

“I don’t
know
. Seriously.”

“Hmm.” Carly continued munching on another carrot stick.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
“As your friend, I know I’m supposed to believe you, but seeing how you and Evan were making out at the party in front of everyone makes it kind of hard. Especially when you both disappeared together afterward. It was all anyone could talk about.”

Great, my first time making out with a guy, and I can’t even remember any of it. At least now I knew how everyone found out.