Life Unaware (Entangled Teen)

by Cole Gibsen

  “That’s it?” I asked. “No more prodding questions? Don’t you want to see me squirm?”

  “Meh.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t lying when I said the soda shot would have been great footage for my documentary.”

  Careful to avoid the river of soda, we walked down the hall. “So what’s your documentary about?”

  “It’s nothing.” He tugged on the straps of his backpack. “I’m applying to University of Florida, but my first choice is Duke. They have an amazing documentary studies program. I need to make a documentary as part of the application process.”

  “Wow.” This information surprised me. For the reject in the back of the class, Nolan was surprisingly ambitious. “That’s not ‘nothing.’ Duke’s a great school. Do you really have to be sprayed by Mountain Dew to get in?”

  He laughed. “No. I just need a really awesome documentary.”

  “So what’s yours about?”

  “Honestly, at this point I have no idea. Blake was helping me with something, but it…kind of fell apart. So I need to come up with another idea, and fast.”

  I wanted to ask him what it was that had fallen apart when a guy stepped in front of us, forcing us to stop. He had a mop of dark red hair that he pushed out of his eyes with the palm of his hand.

  “You Regan?” he asked. He looked familiar, and I was pretty sure I had biology with him last year.

  “Who wants to know?” Nolan asked.

  The boy sighed. “Look, some chick paid me to give Regan a note. Are you her or not?”

  Nolan and I exchanged glances before I asked, “Who gave it to you?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t ask her name. Do you want it or not?”

  My stomach churned. Anonymous notes were never good, but it wasn’t like a piece of paper could hurt me. Even if the person who wrote it called me every name in the book, all I had to do was throw it away. I held out my hand. “I’ll take it.”

  The guy handed me a folded-up square of notebook paper and left.

  “Don’t read it.”

  The nearness of Nolan’s voice made me gasp. I glanced up at him leaning over me, his face inches from mine. I wanted to argue, but my tongue felt thick and the words jumbled around my mouth.

  “Just throw it away,” he said. “Whatever it says, it won’t be good.”

  The corners of the note bit into my skin. He was probably right. Did I really need to read about what a skanky bitch I was? I eyed the nearby trash can. All I had to do was toss it inside, and the venom on the page would be lost with it.

  Still, I couldn’t seem to let go.

  “Regan?”

  I looked up at him. “I need to read this.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  Another bit of Mom’s wisdom ran through my mind: Never be caught off guard. “I’m sick of being ambushed,” I told him. “Yesterday it was in the bathroom at lunch; today it was by the front doors before class. Whatever this note says, I don’t want to be blindsided again.”

  His face hardened, and he stepped back. “Do what you need to do, then.”

  The warning bell rang. Obviously, Nolan wasn’t happy with me, but his hurt feelings would have to wait. Slowly, I unfolded the paper and read the unfamiliar, loopy script.

  If you want dirt on Amber, come to the old girls’ locker room after school.

  Hide in the farthest shower stall and don’t make a sound.

  I turned over the note, searching for a signature, and found none. Dirt was usually Payton’s department, but this definitely wasn’t her handwriting. So who wrote the note?

  I gave the paper to Nolan to read. When he finished, he handed the paper to me and rubbed his neck. “Don’t do it. I have a bad feeling.”

  I reread the words. Three stuck out above the rest—“dirt on Amber.” With Amber determined to make my life hell, anything I could use to get her off my back would be worth going after. I knew Mom didn’t hesitate to do whatever it took to bring down an opponent. On the other hand, whoever wrote the note chose to remain anonymous, which was suspicious. “You think I’m being set up?”

  “Definitely. What better way to get you alone than in the old girls’ locker room after school? Either Amber’s setting you up or you’re about to star in a teen slasher movie. You haven’t killed any hitchhikers lately, have you?”

  I made a face. “Be serious. I understand this might be a setup, but what if it’s not? What if this”—I held up the note—“is my one and only chance to get Amber”—and my mother—“off my back?” For the first time since I’d found my private messages taped to the lockers, a new idea presented itself to me. If this note was legit, maybe my only option wouldn’t be to blend in. A quiver of hope—a feeling so foreign I almost forgot what it felt like—pulsed inside me. If I could twist this whole thing back around to Amber, I might be able to take back everything she stole from me. “I could have a real shot at reclaiming my life.”

  “Wait.” He raised his hands, his eyes wide. “You want that joke of a life back?”

  He thought I was a joke? Irritation fizzed through my veins, extinguishing my short-lived excitement. I crumpled the note into a ball. “Fuck you.”

  “Really?” He snorted. “So you miss being friends with the girl who’s now hell-bent on ruining your life?”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “And hanging out with guys like Jeremy?” His voice rose, attracting curious glances from students as they rushed past us on their way to class. “You want to climb back on your throne and write more notes about how much cooler you are than everyone else? Ruin a few more lives? Is that it?”

  His words struck me like a fist. To the best of my knowledge, I’d never ruined anyone’s life. I backed up until I hit the row of lockers behind me. Nolan followed, closing the distance between us.

  “I’ve got news for you,” he said. “Whether you see it or not, that Regan was a joke. She wasn’t real. Or maybe I’m wrong? Maybe you’re not the girl I thought you were. The intelligent girl, the compassionate girl, the girl who apologizes when she realizes she’s hurt people.”

  Anger coiled through me, tightening my muscles. He barely knew me, so what the hell gave him the right to form any opinions on who I was? Screw him and everyone else who wanted me to be something I wasn’t, and then freaked out when I didn’t measure up. “Don’t try to pretend like you know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “You’re absolutely right.”

  I watched him walk away, wondering what the hell had just happened. A couple days ago, I wouldn’t have cared what Nolan Letner thought about me. But now, every word out of his mouth sliced through me like a knife, and each step he took away from me left another cut from which I bled.

  He stopped halfway down the hall, his shoulders bowing. My heart stuttered. Maybe he’d decided to give me a chance to explain?

  But then he fumbled through his bag until he pulled out what appeared to be a small video camera. My heart plummeted straight to the floor, sure he would turn the lens on me. Instead, he stalked back to where I slouched against the lockers and held his phone out to me. “Take it.”

  I slowly lifted my hand but stopped just short of grabbing it. For reasons I didn’t understand, I was afraid. “I don’t get it.”

  “Take it,” he repeated. He thrust the camera at me so I had no choice but to grab it or let it fall to the ground.

  “I have a video camera on my phone.”

  “Yeah, well, even though this camera is a couple of years old, its video quality is better than your phone’s. It has more frames per second and better color quality in low-light situations. That might come in handy.” When I said nothing, he sighed. “The threat of video protected you once from an attack. Maybe it’ll protect you again.”

  He strode away, leaving me frowning after him. All I’d wanted was a shot at getting Amber off my back, but instead all I’d done was get Nolan pissed at me. Now, alone with his camera, I couldn’t help but wonder why whenever I tried to make
things better, all I managed to do was screw them up more.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nolan refused to acknowledge my existence during third period. He even returned to his usual desk in the back of the room. When class ended, he was out the door before I had a chance to gather my books. If he wasn’t going to talk to me, I assumed our plans to work on the picture book were off, so during lunch, I slipped a copy of the story into his locker, praying he’d draw the pictures on his own. Then I spent the entire lunch period in the second-floor bathroom’s handicap stall. No one bothered me, and I was able to eat my granola bar in peace.

  Other than the confrontations with Blake and Amber, I’d only gotten the occasional snide comment from a passerby. There was a group of freshmen who whispered and giggled as they passed, but it wasn’t enough to make me pop a pill. That was something, at least.

  Pushing all thoughts of Nolan from my mind, I worked the rest of the day to avoid Amber, Taylor, and Jeremy in the hallways. Where was Payton? I hadn’t seen her since that morning, and I had to wonder if she and Amber had gotten into a fight. If not, Amber had to be getting suspicious. With all the hype about me dying down, I suspected she didn’t have much left to focus on. During seventh period, I watched the clock wind down with a growing sense of unease. As much as I tried to concentrate, I couldn’t conjugate a single verb my Spanish teacher wrote on the board. I knew I should be taking notes, but all I could think about was the anonymous handwritten note in my pocket.

  Who was it from? And why would he or she want to help me—especially when I was the most hated girl in school? And what was with the instruction to hide in the shower? More and more, I was beginning to agree with Nolan. I was being set up. Maybe Amber sent it as a way to get me alone?

  I didn’t realize I was beating my pen against my notebook at a frenzied pace until Señora Batey turned from the Smart board and glared at me with beady, narrowed eyes.

  I dropped my pen onto the notebook and offered her a weak smile of apology.

  She frowned before returning to the board.

  I grasped my diamond pendant and slid it along the chain. If there was even a small possibility of getting dirt on Amber, I couldn’t ignore the note. But I also wasn’t going to be dumb enough to walk into a trap. I just had to figure out a way to protect myself—thankfully, Nolan’s video camera was a good starting point. If someone did attack me, at least I’d have evidence.

  The bell rang, and I leaped out of my chair so quickly, the metal feet screeched against the floor. Señora Batey scowled at me over her shoulder. I ignored her as I crammed my books into my bag and ran for the door.

  I wove through the mass of students pouring into the halls until I reached the girls’ locker room. If I was going to pull this off, I had to make sure I arrived first. I pulled open the heavy wooden door and nearly recoiled in disgust as the scent of damp mold and sweat washed over me. Like the bathroom I’d been spending my lunch hour in, the old girls’ locker room was located in the wing of the school that was in desperate need of renovation. The once blue lockers were now chipped and rusted, and the calcium-encrusted showerheads still dripped no matter how many times you turned the faucet knobs.

  As far as I could tell, no one else was there. Still, I performed a quick sweep of the fluorescent-lit room, making sure to peer around every corner, beneath every toilet stall door, as well as around every mold-streaked shower curtain.

  I was alone.

  Nervous energy hummed along my skin. The note told me to wait in the shower, but there was no way I was going to trap myself inside one of those disgusting concrete cells. Besides, if it was a trap, I wasn’t going to allow myself to be found so easily.

  I couldn’t very well hide out in the open, either. So that left me with only one option. I walked to the row of toilet stalls and sighed. If I did manage to get dirt on Amber, hopefully my days of hanging out in bathroom stalls and ducking through the halls between classes would be over soon. All I needed was the right dirt. If it were strong enough, everyone in school would forget about me and glom on to her.

  I picked the handicap stall because it was farthest from the door, and I locked myself inside. Graffiti covered every inch of the salmon-pink stall (why was that color ever popular?), declaring undying love as well as naming who was a bitch, a slut, or a bitch and a slut.

  I traced my fingers over the words Delaney Hickler is a fucking whore. Years, if not decades, had faded their color, but like ghosts, the anger emanating from each scrawled letter refused to die. So many times I’d been inside a stall, surrounded by these hate-filled words, and never given a shit one way or another. But now that I had my own graffiti, I couldn’t help but wonder if Delaney Hickler had ever sat in this stall and read the words written about her. Did they make her chest burn like they did mine? Did she cry like I did? And now that she was long gone from this place, did she still think about the words, or had time lessened their sting? Nolan had said none of this would matter in a few years. Maybe he was right.

  The door to the locker room creaked open. I covered my mouth, as if I didn’t trust myself not to make a noise and give away my location. Moving slowly, so as not to make a sound, I crouched and withdrew Nolan’s video camera from my backpack, opened the view screen, and pressed the record button. If I was about to be jumped, I wanted the evidence on film.

  The soft pad of rubber-soled shoes approached—definitely not the clack of Amber’s high heels. I peered through the crack of the stall door and watched as Christy Holder stepped into the middle of the room.

  The camera shook in my hands. Christy was the last person I’d expected to see. If she had dirt on Amber, why give it to me?

  Judging by the way she kept adjusting her ponytail and fiddling with her uniform, she was nervous. Seeing her nerves lessened my own. With the camera still in my hand, I reached for the stall lock. What was the point of hiding? Christy was obviously alone. If she wanted to talk, the least I could do was hear her out. I started to slide the rusted bolt when I heard the groan of the decades-old locker room door being pushed open, followed by the sharp clack of high heels echoing off concrete.

  I gasped and backed away from the door. My heart beat like a fist against my ribs. Careful not to make any noise, I retreated to the back of the stall and climbed onto the toilet seat. Even though I could no longer see outside the stall, I kept the camera recording.

  “What the fuck, Christy?” Amber demanded, her footsteps drawing close. “I had to hear secondhand you were back at school today. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Christy gave an angry laugh. “Why the hell would I tell you anything? From what I hear, you were responsible for nearly getting me hauled back to rehab. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be interrogated by your parents and held prisoner in your own home?”

  “You can’t blame me,” Amber said. “Regan was freaking out about not making the squad, so she told Kiley Porter to tell the counselor that she heard you puking in the bathroom to get you thrown out.”

  My mouth dropped open, and I had to slap a hand across my face to keep myself from gasping. I hadn’t told Kiley Porter anything. She was one of the sweetest girls I knew, always willing to help someone in need.

  Which would have made her a perfect target for Amber.

  “But I’d already given you the squad list. You could’ve just told her she made it instead of letting her almost ruin my life. Why didn’t you stop her?”

  Amber said nothing for several seconds. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost apologetic. “I didn’t stop her because I wanted her off the squad. I was worried she was starting to figure things out.”

  The anger surging through my veins nearly toppled me off my perch. My supposed friend had set me up to take a social swan dive on purpose.

  “You know,” Amber continued. “About you and me.”

  “You think she knows?” There was a pause, and then Christy added, “You could have told me. I wouldn’t have put her on the squad. Do you
have any idea how much my parents are on my case now? I can’t fucking pee without my mom listening outside the door.”

  Amber’s heels clicked along the concrete as she paced. “I had no idea your parents would threaten to send you back to rehab. I just thought if we put some distance between us, it would throw people off. Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone discovered the truth? We’d be kicked out. Our reputations would be ruined.”

  “My reputation is ruined.”

  Amber scoffed. “Your reputation is solid, thanks to me. Do you know how popular you’re going to be now that people think you went to rehab? I made you a fucking celebrity.”

  “That’s insane, Amber. An eating disorder is not a popularity perk.”

  “I know that. You know that. But welcome to our fucked-up world.” She paused. “How are you dealing with all this shit, anyway?”

  “You would know if you answered my calls and texts,” Christy said. “I’m doing okay, I guess. Every day is a battle, and this stunt you helped pull did not make things any easier.”

  “I’m sorry,” Amber said, sounding more sincere than I had ever heard her before.

  “But not sorry enough to dump that prick Jeremy.”

  Amber sighed. “Jeremy’s just for show. You know I couldn’t care less about him.”

  “But that’s not what he thinks,” Christy countered. “Or what everyone else thinks.”

  “Fuck what everyone else thinks. We only have to do this for one more year, and then we’ll be in college and able to do whatever the fuck we want. One year.”

  My fingers gripped the camera so tightly my knuckles turned white. Oh my God. Amber and Christy? A thing? She was right that if our Catholic school found out, they’d be kicked out. But she was wrong about me knowing anything about it—until now. And that left the question: Who sent the note? Obviously whoever it was knew about them and wanted me to know as well. But why?

  Christy was quiet a long moment. “I guess. The Snowflake Ball is coming up. I just wish—”

  “Look,” Amber said. “We can’t risk being caught together like this—especially not at school. Next time you want to talk, don’t send me a note. Text me, okay?”