April Fools' Joke (Holiday High Series Book 3)

by Kellie McAllen

  “Is this a dogfight?” I yell. “Did you make a bet to see which guy could get the ugliest girl?”

  A gasp echoes around the room as the girls realize they’ve been played. The guys look stunned and guilty, but none of them look surprised.

  I can’t believe I thought I could actually trust Jake. I can’t believe I fell for one of his pranks again. How stupid am I? The memory of his tender kiss comes back to me. It felt so real, but obviously it was all just a trick. He's been playing me all week, setting this up, and I was stupid enough to think he liked me, to think he really cared.

  I storm out of the house, never more grateful to have a vehicle again. I jump in my Jeep and gun the engine, wishing it were even more tank-like so I could roll over Jake, his house, and everyone at that party. As I drive home, my mind swirls with plans for revenge, and I can hardly see the windshield through the fog of my own rage.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jake

  I rush out the door, but KC’s already in her Jeep, peeling out of the driveway. I jog after her, waving my arms and shouting her name, but she ignores me or is too enraged to notice.

  I run back inside to grab my keys, not caring that I’m abandoning my own party. I don't really want to be there for the fallout, anyway. I jump into my car and take off towards KC’s house, begging God, or fate, or even Cupid to help me win her back.

  I knew the minute Dylan got off the couch that I had ruined things between me and KC. It didn't matter what I said or did from that point on, KC would never believe me. My reputation as a prankster would always be there to color her opinion of me. It didn't matter that I had fallen for her, and neither did any of my efforts to prove that I cared about her. KC would never see me as anything but a heartless jerk. Maybe she was right.

  She must have driven like a maniac because, by the time I get there, she’s already inside and has obviously warned her parents not to let me in. I jab a finger into the doorbell a couple times and then start knocking. Her mom answers the door with a scowl on her face, the same look KC used to give me all the time, and I can tell she’s already gotten an earful about me.

  She props a hand up on her hip and lifts her chin. “You must be Jake. KC told me to tell you she isn’t interested in speaking to you right now.”

  I put on my most pathetic, sorrowful face, which isn’t hard because that’s exactly how I feel. “But Mrs. Smith, I just want to apologize to her, try to explain. Please, just give me a chance.”

  She purses her lips and glares at me. “It’s up to KC whether or not you deserve a second chance, not me. She’ll let you know if she decides you do. For now, it’s best if you leave her alone.”

  Mrs. Smith moves to close the door, and I don’t bother trying to stop her. Instead, I plop down on the front step and dial KC’s number. She doesn’t answer, of course. I didn’t really expect that she would. I leave her a rambling message when the call goes to voicemail then send her a half a dozen texts in a row, my fingers shaking as I type.

  KC, please let me explain

  Will you come down and talk to me?

  Or pick up your phone, at least

  Just give me five minutes, please

  I swear, it’s not what you think

  You have to believe me

  She doesn’t respond to any of them. I sit there for a long time, letting the cold from the concrete soak into me, hoping she’ll change her mind. But she stays silent.

  She doesn’t respond to me on Sunday, either, so in desperation I search for her on social media again, needing just a glimpse into her world, but I still can’t find her anywhere. She must have deleted her accounts after the incident with the nude picture. I wish I had some pictures of her on my phone to look at, because I’d really like to see her face. I realize I do have one, the one we took on the beach, and I pull it up and stare at it for way longer than I want to admit, trying to bring back the way I felt that day, hoping it will distract me from the ache.

  She looks so relaxed in that picture, so happy. It was the first time she let down her walls around me, and I’m pretty sure it was the day I fell for her. We’ve come so far since that first day when she scowled at me for telling her she was in my seat. Day by day, I’d cracked away at her protective shell, and I was just starting to get a glimpse of who she really was. Someone I really liked. And I was pretty sure she liked me, too. Now, I doubt she’ll ever talk to me again.

  When I get to 1st period on Monday, KC is sitting on the other side of the room from where we normally sit, and there are no empty desks anywhere near her. She’s staring intently at her notebook and doesn’t look up when I walk in. She’s all in black again, her hair mussed and her dark makeup smudged like she hasn’t done anything but cry since Saturday. A pang of guilt stabs me when I imagine her suffering so much because of me.

  I think about approaching her, but I doubt it will go well, and I don’t want to fight with her in front of everybody. Instead, I drop into my usual seat and try to make eye contact with her, but she purposely avoids looking my way.

  We’re supposed to give our presentation today, though, so she’s going to have to talk to me at some point. I clasp my hands together in silent thanks when Mrs. Beecham gives us a little time to consult with our partners, then I make my way over to KC with a repentant look on my face. I know I only have a few minutes, but at least she can’t ignore me. I quickly sort through all the things I want to say to her, picking out the best ones. I skip the small talk and go straight for the important stuff.

  “KC, I wasn’t part of the dogfight, I swear. I just—”

  She whips her gaze towards me, and her eyes are dead and soulless, all the happiness snuffed out. I hate that I did that to her.

  “You just what? Had a bet with Dylan to see if you could get the goth freak to go out with you? Like that’s any better? You promised you’d never prank me again!” She hisses the words at me through clenched teeth.

  I open my mouth to deny it, or at least explain, but she doesn’t give me a chance. She shoves her hand in my face.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Jake. Nothing you say is going to help. You can’t talk your way out of this. You think a few words are going to convince me that what you did wasn’t cruel and wrong? Nothing you say is going to change the fact that you’re an asshole. I recognized it the minute I met you, and I should have stuck with my gut.”

  Her words are like a butane torch, blasting away everything but the worst parts of me, leaving me bare and raw.

  “We’re going to do this presentation today, but then don’t talk to me ever again, Jake. Don’t come near me. Don’t even look at me. I’m going to pretend you don’t exist, and I want you to do the same.”

  When Mrs. Beecham calls our names, KC starts the presentation like we planned, but she’s changed her introduction, lacing it with venom towards the male race and pointing out every instance of chauvinism and misogyny that’s occurred over the last 200 years as if the male population’s entire purpose has been the degradation of women. My own descriptions about the inroads women have made in their fight for equality seem pathetic by comparison. Her conclusion sounds like a call to war, encouraging women to fight back with every resource they have, illegal, unethical, or otherwise. She’s like a female Spartacus about to go on a crusade.

  When we get done, Mrs. Beecham looks stunned, and all the girls in the room look inspired to start a revolution. I’ve seen KC angry before, but this is a whole new level of pissed off, and seeing it reflected in the eyes of every other girl in class is downright scary.

  I stay away from KC in 3rd period because I have no idea what I can say to make things better. I know what I did was wrong, I just hoped she’d forgive me and give me another chance if I made it clear that my feelings for her had changed since I made that bet. But she’s not buying it, and I have no idea how to make her believe the truth.

  By lunchtime, the cafeteria is rumbling with talk about the dogfight. The girls who were invited look humiliated, and
the other girls act appalled, even though a lot of them are just as guilty of ridiculing and ostracizing those same girls. But now they’ve teamed up against a common enemy — every guy who was at that party Saturday night.

  Girls who would never have talked to each other before are sitting together, whispering and scowling at the guys like they’re plotting their revenge. Besides a few exceptions, the cafeteria looks like it’s been divided in half — boys on one side, girls on the other. The boys look a little worried, and the girls look like they’re out for blood.

  Dylan and Austin are sitting at our table along with the rest of the guys and a few of the girls who are too stuck-up and conceited to give a rip about the victims of the dogfight. KC is sitting at a table on the other side of the room, surrounded by Kerri, Mia, Dylan’s ex Macy, and several other girls. I don’t feel like sitting by Dylan, but I don’t know where else to go, so I grab a tray of food and head to my usual spot.

  “Solidarity, bro.” Dylan holds out a fist to me. I snarl at him and roll my eyes, slamming my tray on the table.

  “Just shut the hell up, Dylan. All of this is your fault. If you hadn’t been a sore loser, nobody would’ve had to know about the bet or the dogfight. But no, you couldn’t stand the thought of me winning the bet and the girl. You just had to go and ruin it for me and everybody else. You know, I actually liked her!”

  He pulls his head back and gives me a weird look. “You’re the one who said you could get any girl you wanted, so I think you’re the one who started this. Don’t be blaming it all on me.”

  “I admit, it was stupid of me to take that bet, but the whole dogfight thing was your idea, not mine, so that’s on you and all the jerks who agreed to it.”

  Austin pounds a fist down on the table between us. “Who cares who’s fault it is? It seems to me like you’re both to blame. Why do you two always have to act like little kids? Isn’t it time to grow up? Neither one of you are ever going to have a healthy relationship if you’re constantly making bets and playing tricks. Girls don’t think that shit is funny, at all. And not only did you screw yourselves over this time, you screwed things up for all of us! My girlfriend is over there consoling KC and looking at every guy, including me, like we’re total douche bags. It wouldn’t surprise me if they decided to boycott all of us.”

  A couple of the other guys around us murmur in agreement. Great. So not only are the girls against us, some of the guys are, too. I wish I had a time machine to go back and do everything over, all the way back to the very first day — April Fools’ Day. If I hadn’t pulled that stupid hot sauce prank or any of the others, the whole school wouldn’t be in an uproar right now. Maybe I am the one to blame.

  I miss KC, especially since the sullen, angry KC has taken over again, and the fun, happy KC I was starting to really like has disappeared. I wonder if I’ve broken her for good.

  Turns out, the girls really do concoct a plan to get back at all the guys who were involved in the dogfight. Instead of wearing off liked I’d hoped, the tension between the guys and girls gets thicker as the week goes on. The girls won’t talk to us, some of them won’t even look at us, and the dating pool has officially dried up. Not a single guy who was at that party can get a date, and the guys are grousing at me and Dylan about it in the locker room on Friday.

  “Who are we supposed to take to prom now? None of the girls want anything to do with us!” Mikey vocalizes the same complaint that every single guy seems to have. The others start grumbling in agreement.

  “I asked Chloe; she wouldn’t even talk to me, just pretended I wasn’t there. I asked Macy; she rolled her eyes at me like it was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. I even asked Butterface Brittany, and she gave me the finger!” Mikey says.

  I clap Mikey on the back and shake my head at him. “Dude, first of all, Chloe is totally out of your league. She would’ve turned you down even if the girls weren’t blackballing us. And Macy is Dylan’s girl. You know she’ll get over being mad and go with him.”

  He nods reluctantly but still looks confused. “But what about Butterface Brittany?”

  “I think the fact that you call her that is a pretty good explanation for why she flicked you off.” I smirk.

  “I didn’t call her that to her face!” Mikey throws his hands up in the air in resignation. “Who else can I ask? I think every girl in this school is going to turn me down.”

  His words spark an idea in my head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  KC

  Maybe I’m being a jerk for enjoying their misery, but I can’t help but be proud that my plan is working. Or at least it was.

  After I found out about the dogfight, I knew I couldn’t stand by and let the guys get away with it. Too many girls had been hurt and humiliated by the guys’ stupid prank. There needed to be consequences for their actions, and denying them dates seemed only logical.

  It didn’t take much to convince most of the girls to go along with it. Even though only some of the girls had been victims, almost every girl agreed that what the guys had done was cruel and disgusting. In an unusual show of solidarity, the entire female population of West Bay High had turned against the boys. Everyone agreed to ignore any boy who was involved in the dogfight — no talking to them, no hanging out, and definitely no dating. They were lowlifes who didn’t deserve to be acknowledged as humans, so we were pretending they didn’t exist.

  A few of the more snooty girls thought the dogfight was funny and refused to participate in the ban, but we figured if they had the same attitude as the guys then they could have the scumbag pigs.

  It had only been a week, but our plan was obviously having the intended effect. Until Jake had to find a way around it.

  “So ask someone who doesn’t go to this school. These aren’t the only girls in the world, you know.” I hear Jake say, and my grin immediately flips into a frown.

  “There are tons of girls in this city, and thanks to the internet, every one of them is a few clicks away. Isn’t that what Tinder is for?” He sounds kind of cranky, but the guys get excited about the idea.

  “Yeah! That’s a good idea! There’s more fish in the sea, right? And they’re probably a lot hotter, too. This school is full of fuglies,” some jerkface says.

  I scowl and stomp away. I did not expect that. I want them to suffer and feel rejected and humiliated like the dogfight victims did. I wish I could post a warning on Tinder so any girl who swiped right would be notified that the guy she was interested in was a douche bag. That’s when I get my own idea.

  I whip out my phone and compose a group text to every girl whose number I have. That’s basically just Kerri, Mia, and a couple other girls, but hopefully they know a lot more people than me.

  GIRLS ONLY Secret emergency meeting after school in the locker room today. Forward this to every girl at West Bay.

  I press send, and my lips curl in a villainous grin. There’s one hour left of school, so hopefully that will be enough time for the message to circulate. Sure enough, I hear an unusual amount of phone chirps as I walk down the halls. Girls are pulling out their phones en masse, giving each other curious but excited looks, and hurriedly texting all their girlfriends. This whole situation has inspired a sorority sense of camaraderie among the female population that has helped to unify even the most dissimilar groups. I’m not really a feminist, but it makes me feel proud.

  I hustle to the locker room after last period, making sure there aren’t any guys lurking around. The locker rooms echo, and I don’t want anyone who wasn’t invited to hear what I have to say. When I head in, the room is already crowded with girls. There’s no place for most of them to sit, so they’re jammed together like the mosh pit at a concert.

  It’s not every girl in the school, but it’s a lot of girls, and I’m stoked at how easy it was to get them here. The humid air reeks of sweat and deodorant and too many kinds of perfume, but it also buzzes with anticipation. Nobody notices me as I jostle my way in, but when I climb up on a benc
h, all eyes turn towards me.

  I’m used to being a leader, used to having people look up to me. But no one here knows that side of me. To them, I’m just the weird, new girl who keeps to herself, so they look shocked when I take the stage.

  I give an awkward wave, a little nervous all of a sudden. “Hi. A lot of you probably don’t know me. My name is KC, and I’m new. But I was one of the girls invited to the dogfight last Saturday…” I pause for a moment and let my voice drop, “and it wasn’t the first time I’ve been victimized by something stupid a guy did.”

  Murmurs fill the room as the girls empathize with me and speculate about what happened before. I don’t want to relive that pain, so I don’t go into any details. I leave it to their imaginations to come up with whatever story they want.

  “I thought the idea of boycotting the guys was great, and I know we’ve made our point, but I don’t think it’s time to let them off the hook, do you?”

  “No way! Let ‘em suffer!” They chant like protestors, only without the cardboard signs.

  “Well, you’re not going to like this, but I overheard the guys talking in the locker room today, and they’re planning to use Tinder to find girls from other schools to take to prom.”

  The girls react pretty much the same way I did when I heard it, totally appalled. They’re booing and shouting, their faces twisted in anger. If they had pitchforks and overalls, I’d be worried about them attacking.

  “Okay, okay. I know you don’t like that anymore than I do, but I have a plan!” I bark out, waving my hands up and down, trying to get them to settle down. It takes a few minutes.

  “I say we give them exactly what they want — hot, local girls, happy to go out with them.”

  The girls don’t like that at all, and they don’t give me a chance to finish before they start clamoring, shaking their fists and stomping their feet. Someone even flings a bra at me.