by Sarah Mello
Dean slowly nodded as he studied Winston’s eyes. “Sounds good.”
I broke through their awkward conversation and walked to the other end of the hall. Dean followed and we entered our history classroom. Scattered conversations of students trickling in filled the air, yet somehow the room was eerily silent.
Dean leaned against a desk, and I stood in front of him with crossed arms. The World War Two posters hung on the wall behind him; the irony was almost amusing—if it weren’t for how sad the situation was.
“I got your note.” Dean stared at the ground. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” I interrupted.
I wanted to talk to Dean on the anniversary of his mom’s passing. I had so many words for him—words I would only feel comfortable saying to him. And I wanted to face him—I did. But how do you look into the eyes of the person you love and accept that they love somebody else? You can’t. So you write them a letter instead.
He looked down for what seemed like an eternity. “Well, thank you for the things you wrote about my mom.” His blue eyes seemed sincere.
“Sure.” I paused. “I really loved her.”
“She loved you too.” Dean nodded slowly. “Listen . . . Sonny . . . I’ve been wanting to tell you something. . . .”
I hugged my arms around myself, mentally preparing for what I knew was coming next.
“I’m . . . um . . . I’m sorry for the way I ended things with you,” he said, his voice at an all-time low. “Things were getting so intense between our dads. I felt like I had to pick a side.”
“And you picked one.”
Dean dropped his chin to his chest. “Sonny . . . don’t do this. You expected me to pick you over my own dad?”
“No,” I replied. “But I wish you could understand the position my father was in. He didn’t try to ruin you, as you suggested. Your dad did some shady things.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“There was evidence, Dean.”
“Hardly.”
“There was.”
“He could have been framed.”
“By who?”
Dean tossed his hands into the air. “Anyone.”
“I don’t think so,” I replied.
“Look, I didn’t ask you to talk so we could fight about our dads.” Dean took a deep breath. “Defending my dad to the death wasn’t worth losing you. Especially not to that Jacob kid.”
I nodded. “So that’s what this is about? You’re jealous of me and Jacob?”
“Of course I am.” He shrugged.
“Big deal, Dean. I made a friend. Do you realize you dumped me for Norah?”
“I didn’t dump you for her. You and I broke up and she was . . . there.”
I placed my fingers on my forehead. “I never wanted to break up.”
“I didn’t either, Sonny. I made a mistake. I was hurt and so I hurt you. I’ve thought about it every day. I’ve thought about everything I should have done differently or could have said, but didn’t. I want to make it right. Tell me what I can do.”
My eyes locked in with Dean’s. “How could you break up with me, Dean? It’s me.”
“I know.” He searched for sympathy in my eyes. “Look, what else can I say? I was a coward. I should have never let what happened between our dads get in between us. It was the dumbest decision I’ve ever made, and I’m crazy sorry for it. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“I can’t tell you that,” I replied.
“Well, then give me a chance to figure it out. Give me until after the fall dance this Saturday.”
“Why?”
“I’m Norah’s date,” he said. “But I plan to end things with her after the dance. Just give me until then. Please.”
I paused. “Why should I trust you, Dean?”
I was strangely aware of feeling alone in that room with him; the scattered desks, the Smartboard screen, the clock on the wall all seemed to be watching us.
“You shouldn’t,” he replied. “But you know you already do.” He looked me up and down, as if he missed every inch of me. “So? Will you give me that chance?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to say no. I wasn’t sure my answer was yes. Part of me never wanted to see him again and part of me, perhaps the more hopeful part, urged me to risk it. And I guess that’s the scary thing about risks—you never really know which are good ones to take.
“Five-minute warning!” Mr. Jones stood in front of his desk. “Find your seats!”
I quickly brushed by Dean and walked to the front of the room, my hand raised and my head down. “Restroom,” I said as I walked toward the classroom door.
“Quickly, Ms. Carter,” said Mr. Jones.
I walked back into the hallway and headed toward the restroom, unsure of who I was running from—Dean or myself. I looked down as I placed one foot in front of the other on the squeaky floor, stopping just shy of turning the corner, where I heard a familiar voice. I peeked my head around the edge of the wall.
“Can we talk?”
“Ari . . . To what do I owe this pleasure?” Cliff asked.
“I thought you said you’d shut down the rumor mill,” she said, her hands on her hips. “It’s still spinning strong.”
“I did what I could do, Ziegler. People are going to believe what they want to believe.”
“Look, I need this to go away. What do I have to do?”
“Why are you asking me?” Cliff rummaged through his locker. “Go talk to Piper. I heard she leaked the video.”
“Wait, what? Piper leaked the video? My Piper?”
“Apparently. Look, what does it matter, Ari? So what if a few people think we kissed?” Cliff slid a pencil behind his ear. “As long as Kyle doesn’t suspect anything, we’re good.”
“And how are you so sure he won’t?”
“I’m not,” Cliff said.
Ari gritted her teeth, splaying her hands and then relaxing them again. “Aren’t you the least bit nervous about the fact that someone is messing with us? Why us? Why now? Especially after the SCC was changed. Whoever leaked this clearly has nothing to lose. That’s a dangerous thing. They have us on video—”
“Shut . . . the hell . . . up.” Cliff looked around the hallway. “Nobody knows about us. About any of it. Let me remind you of our deal. We deny everything. If this gets out, your relationship is done, and Kyle could turn on me. We plan to play football together at Cornell.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Ari glared at him.
“Well, so help you God if you ruin our friendship.” Cliff paused. “Stop trying to figure this out, Ari. Drop it.”
“Are you threatening me?” she asked.
Cliff ran the back of his pointer finger over his top lip, exhaling slightly. “Despite what we had, and what we had was good, I’d turn on you faster than you could say ‘Cobalt’ if it meant my relationship with Kyle, or my future.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me,” Ari said. “After everything we—”
“Jesus!” Cliff slammed his locker. “There is no we, Ari. Don’t you get that by now?”
“There could have been,” she replied.
Cliff raised his eyebrows and leaned down toward her. “Stop that.”
“You’re the one who came crawling back to me after you and Lana broke up.” Ari crossed her arms. “If you didn’t want me—”
“I never said I don’t want you.” Cliff paused. “I can’t have you.”
“All of a sudden you can’t be with me?”
“All of a sudden?” A quick, nervous laugh escaped from Cliff’s mouth. “Of course I can’t be with you, Ari! Kyle’s my best friend!”
“Right. You can only hook up with me behind his back.”
“Look, do you think this has been easy for me? Watching you and Kyle? Dating Lana last year was the only good thing that’s happened. It stopped us.”
“Just until you broke up. Then you came back to me.”
“You took m
e back! I’m a guy, Ari. What was I supposed to do?”
“Oh, so this is my fault?”
“It’s our fault,” Cliff said. “You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgement. Just drop it, okay? You don’t want to go to war with me, Ari. Believe me—you’ll lose.”
“Maybe you’ve underestimated how tough I am,” Ari retorted, stepping toward Cliff.
He leaned in closer and lowered his voice, not breaking eye contact with her—not even to blink. “Tough? One video leak and you’re crawling to my locker on shaking hands and knees. You’re weak, Ari. You always have been. Which is likely why you thought hooking up with your boyfriend’s best friend was a good idea.”
“And what does that make you?” Ari asked.
“A Violet.” Cliff rocked backward down the hall and smiled. “I’ll always be a Violet, Ari. And despite who you curl up next to at night—you’ll always be a Cobalt. Remember that.”
I peeled myself away from the edge of the wall, my hand over my mouth. And with nowhere else to run, I ran back to history class.
Thankfully, Saturday morning arrived quickly. Impatience for the weekend was an emotion most students felt—but doubly so for Westcott students.
“I hope you said no.” Jacob leaned against his kitchen counter, his hands in his jean pockets.
I mindlessly stirred my spoon around in my hot herbal tea, shoveling the honey from side to side at the bottom of the mug as I waited for my meeting with Ron. And while I thought I was paying attention to Jacob, I couldn’t be sure. My mind hadn’t quite allowed me to stop thinking about what I’d overheard in the hallway earlier in the week. I wanted to tell Kyle, or at least someone, but I couldn’t find the courage—no matter how hard I looked for it.
“Sonny?” Jacob tried again to get my attention.
I looked up. “Sorry.”
“So? Are you going to give Dean another chance?”
“It’s complicated,” I said.
“It’s actually simple.” Jacob clutched the counter with his hands and hopped backward onto it. “He’s dating Norah.”
“Just until the dance tonight. Then he’s breaking up with her.”
Confusion filled his eyes. “For you or for him?”
“Can’t it be both?” I licked the honey off my spoon in a daze.
“Is he at all concerned with your happiness?” Jacob asked, tapping his fingers on the marble countertops.
I took a sip of my tea. “Well, I’m assuming that’s why he’s breaking up with Norah.”
“No, Sonny. If he cared about you at all, he’d do what’s best for you. And what’s best for you is not dating someone who thinks it’s okay to bounce back and forth between girls.”
The urge to defend Dean suddenly kicked in. “And how would you know what’s best for me?”
“Maybe I don’t,” he replied. “But I know how good guys act. And that’s not it. Dumping her at her own dance? Who does that?”
“Technically he’s waiting until after the dance.” I looked down into my mug, continuing to stir. “Besides, like Norah will care.”
“That’s not the point, Sonny. Dean should. It’s an integrity thing.”
“Why are you getting so heated, Jacob? Isn’t this good news for you?”
“How so?”
“If Dean breaks up with Norah, it means she’s up for grabs. Wasn’t that what you wanted? Norah?”
Jacob paused for an uncomfortable amount of time. “Look, I just don’t want to see him hurt you again. That’s all.”
“Well, you didn’t see it the first time.”
“Lucky him.” Jacob stared through me.
“Look, Dean and I are just working on our friendship.”
“Is that what he told you?” Jacob hopped down off the counter, becoming antsy.
“He’s special to me, Jacob.” I tapped the top of my mug with my spoon. “That’s never going away.”
“Okay,” Jacob said as he leaned over the island in front of me. His strong arms rested just shy of the stove. “Just go to the dance with me tonight.”
“Uh, no. I don’t dance,” I said.
Jacob pushed himself off the island and back toward the countertop behind him. “Perfect,” he said. “I don’t either.”
“No, really, I can’t.”
“Go with me or dance?” he asked.
“Both.”
“I might believe you have zero rhythm, but in no way do I believe you can’t go with me.”
“Believe it.” I took another sip of tea. “And I sort of have something to do when I get there.”
“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s just one night.”
Suddenly, Ron shouted from the upstairs hallway. “Come on in, Sonny! Sorry for the delay!”
I looked toward the steps and then back at Jacob.
“Fine.” I reluctantly agreed. “But this is not a date.”
“This is most definitely a date,” he replied.
“Not a date,” I said as I hopped down from the barstool, taking one last sip of tea before walking away.
“Definitely is!” Jacob shouted as I approached the stairs. “I’ll pick you up at six thirty!”
“I’ll meet you there!” I yelled, taking back some control.
For the next two hours, Ron and I went over the Farrah Klein case as I continually beat my pencil against numerous parts of my body. I did my absolute best to pay attention to the intricate details of the trial, but the only thing on my mind was asking him one question.
“Thanks so much for today,” I said as I packed up my notepads. “I think I have enough information to begin my paper.”
“Oh, of course.” Ron came to the other side of his desk and leaned against it. “I love talking about the Klein story. It was the highlight of my career.”
“So far, I’m sure.”
“Well, I’m always working on things.” He looked around his desk at the scattered paperwork.
“Really?” I asked, intrigued by his project.
“It’s hush-hush,” he said.
I nodded. “Mr. Harrison, can I ask you something a bit more personal?”
“Certainly,” he replied.
“If I had incriminating information on someone at my school—or rather, suspicions—what should I do?”
“Well, that depends. Are you in any danger?”
“No,” I replied. “This is all hypothetical.”
He coughed into his closed fist. “Well then, hypothetically speaking, you should bring your suspicions to your principal.”
“What if I didn’t want to get my principals involved?”
“Then I suppose you’d need to bring your suspicions to someone else.”
“Someone . . . like . . .”
“Me,” he said.
His sentence shot right through me.
“Those are interesting questions, Sonny. Is there anything you’d like to share with me?”
“Possibly,” I replied. “But there’s something I need to do first.”
Questions. Some are silly and harmless. Others are powerful and meaningful. Perhaps the most powerful one of them all is this: Are we ever really ready for the answers?
10
masks
Masks—those dangerous things we slip on when we’re tired of being our true, authentic selves. We will all wear one at some point in life. Sometimes we wear them to hide, other times to escape. If you’re one of the lucky ones, you’ll always be able to differentiate between you and the charade. And if you aren’t so lucky, in the most unfortunate way, the charade will become you.
“Where the hell is she? It’s seven thirty.” Buckets’s eyes roamed the dark courtyard with intention.
I tucked my black blouse into my high-waisted black jeans. “She’ll be here, Buckets. She probably got caught in traffic.”
“It definitely doesn’t feel like Halloween.” Kyle checked the time on his cell phone, then skimmed the parking lot with anxious eyes.
“That’s because i
t isn’t,” Buckets said as we watched students flood through the gymnasium doors—some in costume, some not.
At Westcott, we had exams over the week of Halloween. It was more or less standardized testing to determine our academic rankings, but nonetheless, we had our Halloween dance a few weeks early so we could all use that week to study. The current theme was masquerade. And wearing masks seemed to be quite fitting on a home-invasion night such as the one we were planning.
“Hey, guys.” Casey approached the circle wearing a white long-sleeved lace shirt and tight white skinny jeans, her straight blonde hair falling against her shoulder blades. Her outfit hugged her body tight, and everyone took notice—especially Kyle.
Winston tossed his hands up in the air. “When did you two plan to dress in solid colors and why didn’t you tell me? What a missed opportunity for my red corduroy pants.” He looked down at his red button-up shirt.
“And I could have been the yellow ranger.” Buckets mocked his idea.
I looked over at Kyle, who was losing himself in the act of staring Casey up and down.
“Where were you?” Buckets asked her as he begrudgingly put on his yellow mask.
“I parked in parking lot C.”
Kyle looked out into the parking lot. “Why did you do that? There has to be fifty parking spots open right here.”
I often wondered what it must feel like to not have a wealthy father and mansion to run to when you got tired of living at your middle-class mother’s house. And how it must have felt to be Casey—who had neither.
Casey glanced over at the rows of luxury vehicles as she tucked the keys to her ten-year-old beater car into her back pocket. “Oh,” she replied. “I must have missed them.”
I felt bad knowing that Kyle was becoming increasingly and genuinely confused by Casey. I also knew he liked that in a girl.
“Well, you look pretty.” Kyle tapped Casey’s arm.
She ran her fingers through her hair, grabbing her neck on the way down. “Thank you,” she said.
At that moment, I felt two strong hands grab my waist as a very recognizable scent swept in from behind me.
“What’s up?” Jacob said.
I turned around and instantaneously scouted his body, thankful my black mask gave shield to my blushing cheeks. He wore fitted navy-blue slacks with a tight burgundy V-neck sweater, the collar on his navy-blue button-up hanging out. He tucked his hands into his pockets and took a step back.
