Winning (20 page)

She said I was going to win all along, but I never believed her. Why would I? I am Ivy Proctor. I am the basket case of Spencer High. The girl who punched through a window on school property. Who disappeared for nearly two years. Who did not have a single friend . . . until now.

“I owe you everything,” I tell Alexandra. “Everything.”

“No,” she says. “
You
did this, Ivy. I was just here for support.”

There is nothing true about that statement. Sure, I am the one who looked the part and charmed the right people and killed at the Q&A. But she was the one who taught me how to do all of it. She was the one who gave me the courage to speak up. To share my story with a room full of strangers.

“Everything,” I say again. “All you.”

Alexandra smiles warmly. She reaches for my hand, squeezes it inside of her own.

“Don't go home,” she says. “Come to my place. We'll have some low-key girl time, get you ready for tomorrow night.”

“I'd like that,” I tell her. “I've never actually been on a date before.”

She assures me there's nothing to be nervous about. Bobby, she says, is “kind of like boyfriend training wheels.”

“Plus,” she continues, “he's totally smitten with you, so the hard part's already over. Just be yourself. Well, you know. The new version of you.”

It is this last part that I find less than reassuring. I am still not entirely sure if I have become the person I am supposed to be—the person Alexandra believes I should be—or if I have gotten really good at pretending.

Maybe they are one and the same.

I wouldn't be surprised.

“Run this by me again?”

I'm sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen of one Erin Hewett, listening to her and Samantha Schnitt spin me a yarn of epic proportions. Apparently, the wisdom nugget Sam dropped on me the other day—about Alexandra running Ivy to make sure Erin didn't win—told only part of the story. Because according to her, the plot goes much deeper than that. According to her, Alexandra's scheme ends with her trashing Ivy at the eleventh hour and snatching back the Homecoming crown for herself.

With slow, methodical precision, Sam walks me through the sequence of events for a second time. Erin nods along. It all
sounds
like something Alexandra's capable of, but this is Sam we're talking about. Sam, who practically doesn't exist outside Alexandra's shadow. I mean, everyone knows she's been in love with the girl forever. That she'd do anything for her. How can I be sure this isn't part of an elaborate scheme to set me up, too?

Before I can ask the question, Erin jumps in and says, “Sam told me about some of the shit Alexandra's pulled on you over the years. So I know you understand all too well what kind of havoc that girl can wreak. But put yourself in Ivy's shoes for a minute. Think about what she's been through. How it must've felt to her, to have someone like Alexandra catapult her from high school infamy to popularity in a heartbeat.

“Now imagine how she's going to feel if we allow Alexandra to pull the rug out from under her,” she continues. “You're tough.
You
bounced back. But will Ivy?”

I don't actually know Ivy well enough to answer her, but my prediction is no. No, she won't. Because as tough as people may or may not think I am, the truth is, I bounced back out of
necessity
, not strength. Alexandra Miles came
thisclose
to destroying me entirely. But my mom works, so homeschooling wasn't an option, and she doesn't make enough to send me to private school. I am stuck in Spencer until graduation day. Then, if all goes well, I'm off to Chicago. I am literally counting down the days until I can put this place in my rearview mirror.

So, yeah, I feel for Ivy. I wouldn't wish Alexandra's wrath on anyone, but especially not her. And yet, something about what these two are proposing feels risky.

I know what you're thinking:
Sloane, this is what you wanted. And these are the exact two people you thought could help you execute your plan. So why are you hesitating for even a second?

It's one thing to fantasize about destroying a girl's life. It's another to actually get the job done.

“Here's what I don't understand,” I say. “How exactly is she planning on taking back the election in the first place?”

Sam and Erin exchange a look I can't decipher.

“Oh, god,” I say. “Is it that bad?”

“If by ‘bad' you mean ‘unknown,'” Erin says, “then yes.”

“How do you not know?” I say to Sam. “Is she keeping you in the dark? Is
that
why you're turning on her?”

She shakes her head. “It's not like that.”

“So then what is it like?” I shoot back. “There must be a reason.”

Erin reaches over and places a hand on Sam's forearm. Sam's head snaps up in her direction. Erin nods, but before either of them say a word, I know exactly what's going on.

“Holy shit,” I say. “The two of you are together. Like,
together
-together.”

Sam's face turns beet red. And are those tears filling up her eyes?

“Way to go, Schnitt,” I say, trying to convey my utter lack of disapproval. “I see your tastes are improving.”

They both smile at this, and I see Sam's stiff shoulders start to relax. “Nobody knows,” she says. “Nobody can know. Not until after Homecoming.”

“Sure,” I say. “Makes sense.”

“So you're in?” Sam asks in a hopeful lilt.

Knowing her secret—knowing
why
she's so eager to turn on
her supposed BFF—makes this entire proposition feel way more safe.

“I'm in,” I affirm. “So now what?”

“Now we need to come up with a plan.”

After a good two hours of near-fruitless brainstorming, Sloane offers to give me a ride home. I turn her down at first, imagining that once she leaves Erin and I can get down to a different kind of business. But then Erin tells me her mom's due home any minute, and I know what that means: no privacy. I manage to sneak in a super-steamy good-bye kiss while Sloane's in the powder room. It'll have to hold me until tomorrow.

In the car, Sloane says, “So why haven't either of us mentioned Alexandra's Achilles' heel?”

“I don't know what you mean,” I say, even though I do.

Sloane chooses to ignore my lie. “She thinks her mother is some kind of tragic figure. You and I know better. It's icky, going after someone's mom. But you can't deny she wouldn't hesitate to do the same thing to someone else.”

She's got a point. Yet knowing what I know, not just about Lexi but about Natalie, too, I can't sanction a plan that will torpedo them both.

“I still think Matt's the way to go,” I say, deflecting. “If he
knew what she was really like, he'd dump her in a second. And that would humiliate the hell out of her.”

“It won't work,” Sloane argues. “Not with me involved. People will think I'm making stuff up just to steal him away from her. No, it's got to be something bigger.”

I think about what Erin asked me the other night, about fighting evil with evil. Going after Natalie would be beyond evil, though, wouldn't it?

“Just think about it,” she says.

Sloane turns the corner onto my street and my heart stops cold. Lexi's car is parked in my driveway.

“Keep driving,” I tell Sloane, slinking down in the seat. “She's at my house!”

I check my phone. No missed calls. No missed texts. If Lexi's looking for me, why hasn't she let me know?

“Maybe she just got there?” Sloane guesses.

Sloane pulls into a gas station about a block outside of my neighborhood and puts the car in park. “What now?”

Lexi can't know that Sloane drove me home, or that we were even together. Talk about raising suspicions. I could have her drop me a block away and say that Erin was the one to give me a lift—I'm still on New Girl duty, after all—but then my mother will want to know why I didn't invite her in. Lexi doesn't know how much time Erin and I have been spending together in the first place. That's one enormous red flag I don't need to raise. Not now, when there's so much at stake.

Just then, my phone rings. Only, it's not Lexi. It's my mom.

“What do I do?” I ask, feeling panicky.

“Answer it!”

“Hey, Mom,” I say. “What's up?”

She's just checking in, making sure I'm okay, and asks what time I think I'll be home. I tell her soon. She says not to take too long, as she's got an apple crisp in the oven and she knows how much I like it hot and bubbly.

What she doesn't mention is Lexi. Odd.

“Oh, hey,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “Has Lexi stopped by yet? I left something in her car.”

Yes, my mother confirms. Only, she's not sure if she dropped anything off for me. She said she came by to see Wyatt, to get a little help on a project she was working on for school.

“You just missed her,” Mom says.

I should feel relieved, but I don't. Because if Lexi went to see Wyatt, it means that he's instrumental to the next part of her plan. And the fact that she didn't go through me, or even let me know she was approaching him, tells me that she is, in fact, keeping me in the dark.

“So,” I say to Sloane, “how do you feel about helping me interrogate my brother?”

Sloane and I storm into Wyatt's room, gearing up for a battle. Only, none is needed.

This time she's gone too far.

“I won't do it,” Wyatt says. “You can't make me.”

“Make you do what?”

“You know,” he says. “The pictures. I don't care what she promises me, I'm not sending them out to anyone. It's cruel.”

“Slow your roll,” Sloane says. “What exactly has Alexandra asked you to do?”

Wyatt's brow furrows. To me, he says, “Is she in on this, too?”

“
I'm
not ‘in on this,' Wyatt,” I assure him. “I have no clue what you're talking about. I swear to you.”

He chooses to believe me. Then he turns to his computer screen, clicks a few things, and brings up a series of photos starring one Ivy Proctor, passed out in Matt's parents' bathtub.

“Of course,” I say. “I should've known.”

I fill the two of them in on what happened at the Puritan Party, and how I'm pretty sure Lexi roofied Ivy's drink. “I think she put something in Erin's, too,” I say.

“She offered me one,” Sloane says. “Thank god I turned her down.”

“Well, now she wants me to hack into Spencer's database. Not just kids, either. Parents. Boosters. Everyone. She wants me to email these pictures to
everyone
.”

“What did you say?” I ask.

“Told her I'd think about it,” he says, a guilty expression plastered on his face. “She was standing, like, really close to me.”

I shake my head. How could we both be such idiots? “That's good,” I tell him. “Let her think you're going to go through with it. But you wouldn't, right?”

Wyatt shakes his head no. “I'm not a
monster
.”

“Is there a way to prove those pictures came from her phone?” I ask him.

“Yes and no.”

“Explain, please.”

He sighs heavily. “Normally there'd be no way to trace them back to a specific phone. But, um, I jailbroke hers a few months ago. There's this . . . app in there. I can see stuff. Image stuff.”

“You've been
spying
on her?” Sloane practically shrieks. “Can you, like, see her texts, too?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I can see everything.”

I simultaneously want to punch my brother and give him a hug. On the one hand, he's a disgusting perv. On the other, his disgusting perviness is about to come in real handy.

“So,” I say to Sloane, “are you still interested in going after Natalie?”

Her eyes widen.

“Do it,” I say. “Let's take this bitch down for good.”

Once Sam gives me the green light, I waste no time in plotting how I'm going to get dirt on Natalie Miles. I figure I'll start early the next morning, when I know Alexandra will be with her pageant coach and therefore out of the house. I'll go there and make up some bullshit reason why I'm worried about her. This should at least get me in the front door. Once inside, I can snoop around until I find something incriminating.

Okay, so it's not a perfect plan. But we're running out of time. And fact: my previous attempt to get some goods on Alexandra's mom turned up nothing. The woman took a cab back to her house. Big whoop.

I arrive early enough to watch Alexandra leave. I see this from a unique vantage point: hiding in a thicket of her neighbor's shrubs. I wait exactly five minutes after seeing her drive away before extricating myself from the holly bush and walking up to the front door.

I ring the bell. I knock. I ring the bell again.

Nobody answers.

Of course, Natalie wasn't at the house last Saturday morning either, was she? That's when I caught her doing the walk of shame. Now I'm faced with a dilemma: Do I stay here and wait in the bushes until Natalie cabs it home, or do I drive back downtown to see if I can catch her en route?

I opt for the bushes.

But there's still no sign of Natalie by the time nine o'clock rolls around. Alexandra could be home any minute. Staying here is about to become dangerous.

I call it a day.

When I get back to my car, parked a few streets away, I text Sam to let her know my stakeout was a bust. She writes back to tell me that according to Alexandra's calendar—which, thanks to her creepy stalker brother we now have access to—girlfriend's got a date with Matt tonight. He's picking her up at seven; I can try again then.

But the nighttime shift yields nothing either. Let's face it: I am not meant to be a private investigator. If I'm super-lucky, I might be able to play one on TV.

Sam, Erin, and I make plans to meet up the next day after church, to come up with a contingency plan. Wyatt says Alexandra wants him to email the pictures Wednesday after school. That puts a seriously tight clock on our whole operation.

But there's four of us now—Wyatt has gone all in—so the odds of us coming up with something successful have to be good, right?

Right?