by Katie Zhao
Everything between Peter and me was like this. Temporary. Fleeting. Secretive.
I can give you everything, Nancy. Grades. Money. Status.
“I don’t want that anymore,” I whispered. Wanting what didn’t belong to me, what could never be mine, was what got me into this mess in the first place. I had to deny the part of me that delighted in ruin, smother it until it was gone.
“What? You don’t want . . . this?” Peter gestured to the space, to the chasm, between him and me.
For Peter, I’d gotten myself suspended. Peter, who couldn’t be mine, could never be mine. Peter, who couldn’t understand that there were some things even money couldn’t put right.
“Stay away from me,” I said, enunciating each word loud and clear. “Please—whatever twisted games you’re playing—leave me out of them.”
“Nancy—”
But it was me this time, turning away from Peter. Me this time, slamming the door on him, on us. I stayed strong. I didn’t look back.
I rode the train home, ignoring my phone blowing up with texts from my friends. Once I reached my apartment, I headed straight for the answering machine, erasing the message from the school about my suspension. Mama wouldn’t return from work until late, so the chances that I could hide this from her were good.
And I had to hide it from my mother, had to do whatever it took to make sure she never found out. If Mama ever knew, ever even suspected what I’d done, she’d know at long last that I’d been pretending to be a good girl. Pretending for her.
At home, I stopped pretending to be strong. At home, I let myself collapse onto my bed. Peter’s words echoed in my head over and over until they were seared into my brain. Everything, everything between us had been a dream. This was the reality. Breathless and aching and broken.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, though deep down, I knew Peter Shui wasn’t worth it. But still, a whisper in my ear. Maybe I hadn’t been good enough for Peter to want to be with me, a girl whose father wouldn’t stay. Not good enough for a boy like Peter, a boy who was destined for greatness and wealth.
Peter and me, we’d been teetering on the edge of something dangerous, teetering on the edge of the world.
Peter pushed me over, and alone, I plunged into the dark.
It was after 10:00 p.m. when Mama came home. I’d spent the whole evening ignoring my cell phone to cry, and I no longer had any tears left. I didn’t feel sad, or hurt, or betrayed. All those emotions had been burned away from my heart.
“How was your day, Le-Le?” my mother called from the kitchen.
It was time to do what I did best: pretend. Mama didn’t know about the suspension. Mama didn’t know any of it, and I would do anything, anything, to protect her from knowing what I’d done.
I put on a false, cheery voice, a sense of calm nestling into my chest. “I’ve never been better, Mama.”
My mother was right. I was strong. I would do anything—anything—to keep my scholarship. To prove myself to the other students, to their rich, snobby families. To my own family.
Nobody could take the top rank away from me. Remember: back then, I made a promise. Remember: we sacrificed everything.
Jamie was the only one who knew about Peter and me. The only one who, when alive, had the power to destroy me.
I wasn’t glad that Jamie was dead. I would never be glad that she was dead. But I was glad that Jamie’s death proved one thing: being filthy, stinking rich didn’t make a person immune to meeting a terrible fate. Didn’t make them immune to the fire.
When she died, Jamie was supposed to bury my secret with her.
Now, it was my turn to bury the person who’d let it out.
CONFESSION TWENTY
So instead of going to prom, who wants to cry with me tonight over how badly finals week went? Haha jk . . . unless . . . —Anon
*****
Being suspended wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined. Nor did I have to try too hard to keep the information from Mama. She rose and left the apartment before me every day, and returned later than me in the evenings. She wouldn’t know I wasn’t going to school as long as I didn’t tell her.
Plus, now that I had decided I wouldn’t stress over homework or tests, I had so much free time on my hands. And Tip Tap kept me updated on all the latest school gossip.
I waited with bated breath to see if they’d pulled out their trump card on Tip Tap—pinning Jamie’s death on me, with my revenge letter as the “proof.” The next day, it arrived: a new post from the Proctor. But this one wasn’t my condemnation. It was different from the other posts.
To an old friend: will you be my prom date?
If yes—meet me at the place where the beginning foreshadows the end. Prom night. 9 PM on the dot.
If no—enjoy the finale I have planned.
Hope I’ll see you then.
—The Proctor
Immediately, my phone began blowing up with texts from Krystal and Akil.
Akil: Top 10 Worst Promposals, yikes
Krystal: The Proctor is obviously giving us a hint. No idea what it means tho . . .“where the beginning foreshadows the end” where the hell is that? And what’s this about an “old friend”? Any of you remember an old friend who happened to be a killer??
Akil: Maybe they’re desperate for a prom date and shooting their shot last minute, it’s hard out here yo
Krystal: Omg I can’t with you . . . and what the hell is “the finale” they have planned? Sounds scary
Akil: Nancy hbu? What do you think?
Krystal: Nancy?
I should respond to my friends. Should think about the Proctor’s cryptic message.
But I couldn’t muster the energy to care. With this suspension on my permanent record, I wasn’t getting into any of my top choice schools. My reputation—trashed. Peter and I—finished. Alexander wasn’t even speaking to me, judging by the string of texts I’d sent him that he ignored.
Krystal: Nancy? You good??? We’re really worried, you haven’t been picking up any calls or replying to texts
Akil: Your thing with Peter isn’t that bad, ppl are being stupid. Idk why they’re not more worried about exams. It’ll all blow over soon
Krystal: Nancy pls respond! We’re here for you. We’re your friends, you have to talk to us
Akil: Plus we still have to find out the identity of the Proctor so I can beat the shit out of them, remember??
Krystal: Yeah so we’ve been talking and we THINK the Proctor might not even be a student. Like they seem too powerful . . . might be one of the faculty, tho I can’t figure out what their motivation would be
Akil: That’s Krystal’s theory . . . and it’s got a lot of holes in it if you ask me
Krystal: I’m sorry, do YOU have any better ideas?
Akil: Yeah I do. Pretty sure it’s the ghosts. Or like, maybe that old statue of Richie comes to life when we’re not looking and goes around threatening and killing innocent students
Krystal: NOT FUNNY, AKIL
I read all the texts, but I couldn’t summon the energy to respond. Inside, I was drained. Inside, I was empty. It was better this way, facing the consequences alone.
Statues. Ghosts. We’d run clear out of better theories. We’d circled back to the beginning now.
Because that was what this was really about, wasn’t it? The beginning.
From the start, there had been signs. Signs that Jamie’s unhappiness had always been there, lingering beneath the surface of those carefully crafted smiles. I was sorry I hadn’t seen those signs earlier. Before it was too late.
FEBRUARY, JUNIOR YEAR
“I’m not happy, Nancy.”
I paused in the middle of my math homework and looked at Jamie. She was curled up in the beanbag by the pink writing desk in her bedroom. The sunlight slanted through the curtains, throwing her puffy eyes and miserable scowl into full light. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m not happy.”
I bit m
y lip. I had no idea where this confession was coming from. Or did I?
Jamie had everything that mattered—picture-perfect grades, picture-perfect extracurriculars, picture-perfect family. Bright and peppy, she exuded happiness. I mean, she lived like a princess out of a fairy tale. She had butlers to serve her every whim in the penthouse and her family’s house in the Hamptons. Jamie’s extravagant lifestyle was such a far cry from my existence in my family’s tiny apartment, I could weep.
Sometimes, though, I got the sense that the Jamie we saw on a regular basis wasn’t the only Jamie. Sometimes, in rare vulnerable moments like this, I got a glimpse of a darker Jamie swimming beneath the surface of wide smiles and perfectly groomed features, struggling to break free.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I shut my notebook and set aside my pen to make it clear that Jamie had my full, undivided attention. “Is this about Krystal?” Although Jamie appeared unaffected and unchanged at school in the aftermath of their breakup, I’d definitely noticed she looked mopier when she thought she was alone.
“No.”
“Your father?” According to her, Mr. Ruan had gone away on another business trip the day before.
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Jamie jumped up from her seat and gave me a falsely cheery smile.
“Jamie, whatever it is, you can trust me.”
“I just remembered Daddy left us some Chè Trôi Nước. Sweet rice dumplings.” Jamie spoke in that fast, agitated way she sometimes did when she was worked up. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise if I tried. “He brought them back from Vietnam after his last work trip.” A shadow crossed Jamie’s face, but she replaced it with that same, sunny smile a moment later. “Want some?”
I forced myself to grin. Between the two of us, we had enough insincerity to run a political campaign. “Sure.”
“I’ll go grab us some from the kitchen.” Jamie took a step, and a slip of paper fell out of her jeans pocket and onto the floor.
I picked it up. “Hey, you dropped someth—” My words faltered when I saw what was written on the yellow notebook paper in big, bold black letters.
DADDY SCREAMED AT ME UNTIL I CRIED TODAY, ALL BECAUSE I GOT ONE POINT OFF MY MATH TEST.
I SWEAR I WILL KILL HIM. IF I DON’T KILL MYSELF FIRST.
Jamie whirled around and snatched the paper from my fingers. She was no longer smiling. “What?” she snarled. “Don’t snoop in my private business.”
I gawked at Jamie, the poker-faced girl I’d known for so long. But I couldn’t put up with it any longer. The insincerity, the pretending. Something about Jamie’s home life was terribly wrong. “Why . . . why did you write that?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Jamie’s eyes hardened. She flinched, but didn’t answer me, although that was answer enough. Then she squared her jaw and straightened her back. I could almost see her walls go up, walls as high as the ones that surrounded us at Sinclair Prep.
“I was mad. I didn’t mean any of it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
“I’m not—”
“You’d better not. You’re lucky someone like me is even friends with you,” Jamie spat. “Maybe if Sinclair Prep doesn’t work out, you and your mom can be maids here together.”
Anger flared inside me at the insult. I knew Jamie was angry and hurting and trying to get a rise out of me. And this was how it was, wasn’t it? This, the kind of friendship Jamie and I had. Normally I wouldn’t let her provoke me into an argument, no matter how spoiled she was, how horrible she could be.
But today, I was stressed out over a B-plus I’d gotten on my history paper, which had widened the gap between Jamie’s rank and mine. Today, I was fed up with everything—school, Jamie, Mama never being around, Baba never coming back.
“You’ve always thought of yourself as better than me,” I hissed. I stood and drew myself to my full height. I was half an inch taller than Jamie, which was the one thing I’d ever consistently beat her at. Now, that half an inch felt like a mile as I faced down a shaken Jamie. Guess she hadn’t expected me to fight back. “And yeah, I can’t measure up to you in a lot of areas. I don’t have much I can call my own in this world. I don’t have butlers, rich parents who can send me to the best tutors, or even the best grades in school. But what I do have is thanks to my mother. So don’t ever, ever insult her or call me ‘maid girl.’ ”
I took a deep breath, my chest heaving. An invisible energy charged through my body. I was doing this, doing it at last. Standing up to Jamie. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so alive. And I wasn’t finished. I had one last, dirty card to play.
“Besides, you and me, we aren’t all that different,” I whispered. My eyes drifted downward toward the slip of paper crumpled up in Jamie’s fist. Her gaze followed mine. “Neither of our fathers want us.”
I’d done it. Crossed that invisible, ever-present line. Jamie’s eyes flashed. Her chin trembled. With a cry of anger, she slammed her fist on top of her desk.
“Don’t compare our fathers.” Jamie enunciated each word. Spit them at me. And she didn’t look like the Jamie I knew anymore. The deadened look in her glittering black eyes reminded me of endless, winding tunnels of darkness. Of a place where I could get lost and never find my way back. “Daddy is the vice president of a Fortune 500 company. Your dad is some deadbeat who probably found a girl half his age to bang back in China.”
A distant ringing noise entered my ears. I wouldn’t let anyone speak ill of Baba—least of all some pampered, spoiled rich girl who’d never understand what it meant to claw her way toward an impossible American dream.
I was so pumped up on adrenaline that I hardly registered my body moving of its own accord. My fist flew upward—then stopped.
Jamie flinched and screamed so loudly that for a moment, I thought I’d punched her. But I hadn’t. I hadn’t even come close to touching her.
A whisper in the back of my mind told me that her reaction was odd. But I shut it out. Whatever. Jamie didn’t want to tell me what was going on. And if she was going to insult me by calling me “maid girl,” then I didn’t care.
For too long I’d stayed in this friendship, excusing Jamie’s horrible behavior toward me and other people. Guilted by what we’d both done in the past. Convinced that if I stayed by Jamie, I could feel some of her power, some of that kindness buried deep inside her.
But it wasn’t enough. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? It would never be enough.
I turned to leave, but Jamie’s hand wrapped around my wrist.
“Wait. Don’t go. I’m . . .” Jamie sounded on the verge of tears, so different from the angry girl who’d stood before me mere moments ago.
I looked at her and immediately regretted it. The expression on Jamie’s face would haunt me in my dreams, even when I closed my eyes. It was a look that begged for help that I didn’t know if I could give. That I didn’t even know if I wanted to give.
Jamie had helped me in tight spots before. My mind flashed back to when she’d covered for me the night I’d snuck out with Peter, without me even asking her to.
But this was bigger than boys. Much bigger. And I couldn’t do what she was asking me, begging me, to do.
“I don’t think I can help you, Jamie.” I didn’t think anyone could, except maybe a professional. Gently but firmly, I pried her fingers off my wrist. “I have to go now.”
Jamie’s mouth parted, as though she wanted to say something more. But then she shut it. “Of course,” she said frostily. “Of course you have to go.” Something in Jamie’s expression shut down, and she resumed the look I was more familiar with—that of a girl who ruthlessly strove for the top grades, never settling for less than the best.
The girl who was never weak.
I should have pressed further. But I remembered those words: maid girl. I remembered the superior, defiant look in Jamie’s eyes, the look that told me my strong, hardworking mother and I we
re lower than dirt. I remembered. The anger rose to a roar. I left.
When news of Mr. Ruan’s embezzlement broke out, when Mama stopped working for the Ruans and told me not to talk to Jamie again, it was easy to follow her orders. Things between Jamie and me had been rocky, anyway.
Then Akil dropped Jamie. Then Alexander dropped Jamie. Then Krystal dropped Jamie.
Soon, Jamie’s group of friends dwindled to Louisa and Kiara. Yet her grades never suffered. She continued holding her head up high.
And I swear, every time Louisa, Kiara, and Jamie whispered together, their whispers were directed at me.
“We’re friends with Jamie now, and she doesn’t need you anymore.”
Jamie whispering, “Of course I don’t need you. Why would I? I’ve beaten you again and again and again, proving that I am the stronger one. Even when my family’s reputation’s been soiled, I am always the stronger one.”
We didn’t speak again. Jamie didn’t need me? More like I didn’t need Jamie.
We didn’t speak. And then Jamie was dead.
And it was too late for anything but regrets for the words we never said.
CONFESSION TWENTY-ONE
Any ladies who wanna be my prom date, drop ur IG in the comments —Anon
*****
On Saturday night, at last, it was junior-senior prom. This year’s theme was “masquerade,” which meant everyone would be showing up in masks. I was relieved. For one night, I could hide behind my mask. For one night, I could pretend I was somebody else, anybody else but the scholarship student, the girl who’d messed around with a teacher.
The most important thing was that according to the Tip Tap message, the Proctor would be there tonight, the biggest night of the year. And my gut told me they were planning their greatest act. I’d either catch the Proctor in the act, or the Proctor would bury me.
