I don’t realize how loudly my voice carries, but when I finish my lecture, the entire line is staring at me. And then, a few other girls and women start to clap and whistle.
Cooper’s lopsided grin has been completely set straight. “I, uh, g-get it,” he says, stammering, his face now bright red. “I’m a jerk. I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, you kinda are,” I snap. “How would you like being ogled like a piece of meat all the time? Do you know what that’s like?”
He stares at me, floored. “You’re right,” he says slowly, nodding, as if coming to some decision. “I don’t know. But what’s fair is fair. I embarrassed you, so . . .”
We have reached the front of the line, but instead of placing our order, he winks at the cashier, “You don’t mind, do you, if I just—” and then he starts climbing right up onto the counter. Everyone in line behind us stops talking to gawk at the crazy boy who is now gyrating and wiggling his butt around to the beat.
“Cooper.” I cringe. This cannot be happening. “What are you doing?”
The entire line is laughing and pointing, and one guy whistles.
He doesn’t even seem to be fazed, smiling down at me. “I’m seeing what it feels like. Go ahead, check out the merchandise. I checked you out. Now it’s your turn.”
“Cooper, stop, please.” I want to cover my face with my hands, but I can’t look away. I am mortified for the both of us, but at the same time, I can’t stop smirking.
“Not so bad, right? Take a good look.” The crowd breaks into applause and catcalls, enjoying his outrageous behavior.
When what looks like a manager starts barreling towards us from behind the counter, Cooper quickly jumps down and holds up his hands in apology. “Sorry sir,” he nods to the silently fuming manager, then quickly addresses the counter girl in the orange visor. “Two Diet Pepsis, one nachos—and one M&M’S.” As she rushes off to fill the order, he leans over to me and whispers: “Don’t apologize for your looks. Own it. You’re a beautiful girl. But that’s not all you are. You’re the whole package, okay? Inside and out. And under that hard-as-nails shell, I’m guessing you can be pretty sweet, Annalise Bradley.”
He steals a sidelong look at my stunned reaction as I try not to melt. Instead, I pay the girl, grab the box of M&M’S, and return the smile. I may even fish around and find him a green one.
Chapter 38
NOELLE
I watch Eva disappear into the sea of bodies, until I can’t see her any longer. But I have to let her go. I am here on another mission. I quickly head back inside the lobby to the Will Call window, hoping to find Annalise waiting there for me, that I haven’t missed her. But I don’t see her there. Disappointment rushes through me. Isn’t she coming? Or has she changed her mind? Or had she never really planned to come? Maybe that’s it, then. It’s over. All over.
I hover in the lobby, uncertain what to do next. I eye the guy behind the Will Call booth and he eyes me back. “Can I help you?” he eventually asks. “No,” I shake my head. “I’m waiting for someone.” But no one comes. After a little while, when the crowd has all but died out, I hear him calling me. “You. Yes you.” He stops and consults something behind the counter. “You wouldn’t happen to be Declan?”
I hesitate, then step forward. “Yes.”
The guy in glasses gives me a funny look, then pulls something from his box of tickets.
It’s not a white ticket envelope like everyone else’s—this one is bright yellow. On the outside it says “Declan.” He hands it to me and watches me curiously as I walk away to open it. I stop a few feet from the ticket window and tear open the flap. I am confused. Where is Annalise? Why didn’t she show? Is this from her? How can I reveal who I am, explain things, give her the VIP pass, if she doesn’t come? Did she leave a ticket for me instead, to come and meet her at the seat? But no. Instead, I reach in to find a handwritten note on lined paper tucked inside the envelope. I pull it out, unfold it, and begin to read.
To: “DecOlan”
(OR WHOEVER YOU REALLY ARE)
Did you really think I would forgive you? Why? Because you showed up here in person? Did you really think that an apology would make it all better, after you jerked me around for weeks, played with my emotions, laughing with all your friends at how gullible I was? How I believed all your lies? What you did was sick, twisted, lower than low. What do you expect? That you and I have any basis for a real relationship, after feeding me lies on top of more lies? That anything you told me meant anything? That you can make it up to me? Well, you’ve come all this way for nothing. Now I hope you know how it feels, to have your hopes raised, to believe in someone, only to be totally humiliated and rejected. Because whoever you are, and whoever you turn out to be, know this: I want NOTHING to do with you. Ever.
Drop Dead, DecOlan.
Annalise
Chapter 39
ANNALISE
The show is about to begin, so I send Cooper ahead to claim our seats, telling him I’m going to the bathroom but will be there soon. Then I sneak back downstairs to the doors just beyond the lobby, peering through at the Will Call window. I have to know. For good or bad, I have to see if he, she, it, whoever, actually shows up. I have to see for myself who DecOlan is.
It doesn’t take long. The lobby is practically empty. Except for one person. The minute I see Noelle Spiers standing there, I know. The memory hits me, the phrase she used yesterday, when refusing to tutor me, seemed so familiar: it’s all on me. It’s something “DecOlan” used to say, too.
Everything I know about Noelle comes flooding through my brain as I try to piece together her motivation. Math brainiac. Swimmer. Stuck-up, or so I thought, but maybe just shy. Acute stage fright. Hates attention, kind of like me. We’ve attended the same school for a whole year, but I can’t recall a single real conversation we’d ever had. How does that even happen?
I watch her as she lingers there, waiting. Now, the lights in the stadium start flickering, encouraging latecomers to take their seats, and the lobby empties completely. The man behind the window says something to her, and she tremulously approaches the ticket window. I see her lips moving, nodding, when the man says the word “Declan,” then pushes the yellow envelope I gave him through the slot to her. I see her take an uncertain step or two away from the counter, unable to wait more than a few seconds before peeling back the envelope and poking her trembling fingers inside, removing the note I had written. Aware of a deviation from the plan, a trap, she glances around, as if sensing my presence, and I shrink back behind the security guard to make sure she doesn’t spot me.
I see her carefully unfold the paper, first one time, then a second, until my words are revealed. She smooths the note on her thigh, then furrows her brow as she begins to read what I carefully printed in hateful black ink.
I wonder how it all started. Did Eva tell her to do it? Did Noelle agree to start writing all those words, and then what? Did she start believing her own lies? That we had a real connection? A relationship? Did we? Didn’t we?
And now, what has she come here expecting? Forgiveness? Absolution? Amnesty? After what she did? Really? For me to learn her motivation, hear her apology, clear her conscience for her?
No. As far as I’m concerned, my note says all I need to say.
I turn to go. Unlike Eva, I don’t need to sit here and glory in someone else’s misery. I have a concert to go to. Cooper Franklin is waiting inside, and Viggo Witts could be coming out any second, and I’m not going to let her ruin something I’ve been anticipating for so long. Already, I can hear the crowd’s hum grow. I can’t wait any longer to be a part of this moment.
And then I see it. Dangling from her hand. A precious VIP pass with a lanyard. A pass that allows its owner access to the post-party. To meet Viggo Witts. And I know that it’s for me. To make amends. All I have to do is step forward and claim it. It could be mine, if only I could swallow my pride. I want to so badly. But I can’t. My hurt is too deep. My trust is to
o shattered. My forgiveness can’t be bought so cheaply. At the end of it all, I’d rather have my dignity than a chance moment with Viggo.
Noelle must have gotten to the end of the letter because she stops reading and looks up again. Even from a distance, I can’t help but see the tears streaming down her wet cheeks.
Crying? I want to shake her. Why is she crying? She’s the bad one here. She’s the villain, not me. Eva Winters would never be so weak, would never break down like this. My words were harsh, yes, but nothing compared to what she’s put me through. I won’t feel sorry for her. I won’t. How dare she stand there, making me feel like I’m the monster? She deserves this. She earned this.
I slip away, trying to erase the image of her twisted face from my mind. Stupid me, I thought saying what I needed to say would make me feel better, would somehow even the score, give me closure.
So why do I feel so hollow inside?
Chapter 40
NOELLE
I am standing there numb, sick to my stomach at what Annalise had written. Because she is right. Every bit of it. I deserve it. What had I been thinking? That just by showing up here, ready to make my confession, all would be forgiven? That I could wash away my sins with a VIP pass? But, it was just like Eva had said that day at the soccer field. I’d believed because I wanted to believe. I squeeze the piece of plastic in my hand. The gaze of Viggo Witts seems to mock me, his ghostly image appearing and disappearing, depending on which way you tilted him.
I hear whoops and whistles from the audience inside the arena. The show is starting, and fans still lingering rush inside to their seats, leaving me alone, with just the ticket takers eyeing me indifferently.
My phone vibrates. It is a text from my dad, just a big question mark, asking what’s taking me so long. Well, that’s that. Dad’s waiting in the car, and I see no other choice but to go find him. As I turn to leave, I feel someone grab my shoulder. It’s Eva, and she looks wild-eyed, reckless. The slit in her dress has torn way up her thigh.
“Come on.” She takes my hand and tugs me.
“What? Wait. Where’s Amos?” I am almost afraid to ask.
“Screw Amos.” And when I look closely at her face, I can see that she has been crying as well. We must look a wreck, the two of us. “He dumped me, okay? For real this time. He’s gone. But no way I’m missing my song with the band. So are you coming, or what?”
I don’t want to go anywhere with her, and I don’t know why she’d want me after I told her we were through, but I numbly follow her past the bag check, into the arena, out of habit, or maybe sympathy, or maybe one last hope of finding Annalise.
I blink as my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and the brain-thumping roar of the music already pervading the arena. I pull the VIP pass over my head as an usher with a flashlight stops us and checks Eva’s tickets, then leads us down, down, down, past rows of jealous faces until he pauses at the front row, right in front of the stage, gesturing to two seats in the center of the floor. We apologetically bob and weave our way past our already-standing seatmates until we find our spots, so close up that I have to tilt my chin and crane my neck to see the singer looming above us.
The spotlights bathe Brass Knuckles in a bluish glow, transforming the musicians into an aquarium of exotic undersea creatures. My eyes sweep the stage as I take in the various band members that, thanks to Annalise, I already know so well: the drummer, Johnny Cape, with his overdeveloped arms and shaved head already shining with sweat; the long-haired bass player, guitar slung low on his hip in a stance of indifference.
Viggo himself commands center stage, dressed all in creamy-white leather, the blue streak in his spiky black hair gleaming dangerously. His face is manly perfection: chiseled cheekbones, square jaw, dark piercing eyes. The music crashes inside my ears and vibrates throughout the rest of my body in waves, obliterating everything else.
I twist and turn, trying to spot Annalise and Cooper, but there’s no way I’ll ever make them out in the dim arena. We listen, silently, as the band plays one song, then the next. Eva starts revenge-flirting with two guys on the other side of her, trying to see if they are at least twenty-one and will get her a drink. After a few minutes, she is successful, and she downs most of it lightning-fast, laughing to herself, “Liquid courage, right?”
Then she holds the cup out to me, in case I want a sip.
“Beer?”
I shake my head no, remembering that my dad is still sitting waiting in the car, and the smell of alcohol on my grounded breath sure won’t go over well. Like he read my mind, my dad texts me again. “I have to go,” I tell Eva, but she grabs my hand, pleading, “Not until after my song. You can’t.”
I sigh, and text my dad back, begging for ten more minutes.
Eventually, Eva starts talking. At first, I don’t even realize she is talking to me, because she is staring straight ahead. I hear her mumble something like, “You were right.” But those words would never come out of Eva Winter’s mouth.
“What?” I shout.
She raises her voice even louder. “I said, maybe this was more about me and Amos than Annalise. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Fine, okay? I get it. So if you have to make amends, whatever.”
I am so shocked that she is actually owning up to it, making an attempt at an apology, that I can’t speak.
“Did you hear what I said?” Then she finally looks at me and notices my puffy, tear-stained eyes. “Wait, what happened? What’s wrong, Noey?”
I try to speak, but can’t. How do I tell Eva that I already tried but failed? Annalise will never forgive me, that I came down here ready to grovel, just to have her reject me. But I can’t, it is just too loud. Too humiliating. Silently, I hand her the note. She reads it and looks stunned. Hands it back to me.
I expect her to say sorry, to comfort me, to give me a hug.
Instead, she glares at me. “So, you’re just going to take that from her?”
“What can I do?” I wince at her harsh words. “She’s right.”
Eva is angry. But not at Annalise—at me. “Geez. Noey. I thought you’d finally grown some balls. I was actually impressed when you told me off today. That’s the first time in a long time you’ve ever stepped up.”
I silently take that in.
“So, don’t just take that brushoff from her. If you want to make amends, make amends.”
I am shaking my head. “It’s too late.”
She gets right in my face, grabbing my shoulders with both hands. “It’s not. But you’re going to have to make her accept your apology. Force her to hear you. Show her you mean it.”
I want to, but it feels helpless. “How?”
In the background, I hear Brass Knuckles segue into the opening chords of “Identity Crisis.” Just then, a huge blinding spotlight shines in my eye. I literally can’t see. The white glare freezes me in a hot glow as the crowd cheers, eager for one of its own to be coroneted. A backlit figure is standing high up above us, gleaming, reaching his arm toward us like an angel.
It is Viggo Witts, his microphone tucked under his arm, smiling down at us, out of a crowd of thousands of screaming girls. Suddenly, I feel a hard shove from behind. I am jolted forward, and he is taking my hand, pulling me up on stage. I try to tug away, shake him off, tell him he’s picked the wrong girl, that he’s supposed to pick Eva, of course, not me. But it is chaos all around us, and it is too late. I have been chosen, the Jumbotron has zoomed in right on me, and he is not letting go.
I stumble up onto the massive stage of the Agganis Arena. A zillion darkened faces examine me from a million angles, like a dressing room mirror that shows 180 degrees into infinity. Offstage in the wings, more sets of eyes are piercing me: roadies, musicians, groupies.
“What’s your name, luv?” Viggo asks indifferently, and I whisper it into the microphone. Oh my god, that stupid raffle that Eva had to go and win. They must have told him exactly where the winner would be sitting, to pick us out from our VIP passes. But he
’s somehow gone and got the wrong girl. And Viggo Witts is already gesturing for me to sit on a waiting stool, where I know what will happen next. He will start serenading me with “Identity Crisis,” while I sit there. And then—oh, god—he will share the microphone with me and expect me to sing the chorus with him. To actually sing a song in front of an entire stadium of people. Not just that, but people will be filming it on their phones and putting it up on YouTube, where my performance will be immortalized forever. Eva has spent all week practicing, but I haven’t. I’m not even exactly sure I know all the words by heart. Compared to reviewing a math problem, singing in a packed arena is like the difference between tackling a rock-climbing wall and scaling Mt. Kilimanjaro.
My head spins with altitude sickness. My body spasms with the bends. And this time, I think it will take my poor pounding heart a million years to recover.
Chapter 41
ANNALISE
For the second time in a week, I stand there flabbergasted, as I watch Noelle Spiers—my newfound nemesis—get pulled up on stage instead of Eva, instead of me. What happened? Some mix-up? I look over at Eva, expecting to see her having a tantrum—waving her arms in outrage that Viggo has picked the wrong girl, demanding that security let her get by. But instead, she is standing there serenely, a little smile on her face, nodding encouragingly as Noelle gets pulled on stage.
I might not have noticed it before, but now that Cooper has pointed it out, I can see it clearly: being up there completely freaks Noelle out. She is trembling, literally trembling, as Viggo asks her name and gently gets her seated on the stool. Viggo is perfect, gorgeous, so near I could almost touch him. I will him to look into the audience at me, to give me this chance instead of her. Noelle just sits there, looking zombie-like, or as if she is sleepwalking, awake but not really. I remember the anecdote DecOlan shared about choking at a school concert when he was younger, and wonder if that really happened to her. Is that why she always seemed so stuck-up, when really, she’s just super shy?
Identity Crisis Page 17
