“You should have picked something in English, Dad,” Blake said from the loveseat, where he was entangled with his girlfriend, who was nodding off.
“Heaven forbid Americans read subtitles,” Elin’s dad said dryly. Elin’s mother smacked his arm.
Dr. Sinclair sighed heavily, but it was increasingly obvious that he was losing the war.
“I’ll watch it with you later,” Jenna piped up, putting her phone away. “Just pick something different.”
“The new Star Wars!” suggested Jenna’s mom.
“Isn’t that terribly long?” Elin’s mother said, glancing at her watch.
Elin’s stomach churned and her mouth felt sticky-sweet. She put her unfinished plate of pie on the ground next to the chair, unable to take another bite.
She finally knew what the feeling was. Tomorrow it was back to regular life.
10
Jenna Sinclair
April 18, 6:10 PM
Not five minutes into the party at Fisher’s, Ket had wandered off to flirt with whatever hot loser she was hooking up with and Rosie had planted herself on the couch to ignore the party. Elin was on a tour of the infamous condo with Fisher, which left me to awkwardly stand in the kitchen by myself.
Awesome.
I loved my friends, honestly I did, but sometimes they were so inconsiderate I wanted to scream. Seriously, did they not know how rude it was? Elin especially. I was here, without Miles, because she wanted a “girls night” prom, and then she ditched me?
I realized I was staring at the running tap without getting myself a glass of water. I shook my head, trying to snap out it. I spied a tray of Jell-O shots, and before I could stop to think, I grabbed a red one and let it slide down my throat.
“Hey, check out Jenna,” said Vaughn.
I glanced over my shoulder. Vaughn Hollis and his cronies—great.
Vaughn smirked at me. “Didn’t realize you had no gag reflex.”
I forced myself to smile, even though I wanted to slap his smug face. For one second, I allowed myself to visualize it—my hand hitting Vaughn’s cheek with a satisfying smack, the impact rippling over his skin, the stupidly shocked expression he’d make.
The thought actually turned my smile genuine.
On my list of Park City High douchelords, Vaughn ranked number one. But since Ket had made the monumental mistake of dating Vaughn last quarter, I had to be nice or risk Ket being painted as some sort of vengeful, crazy ex-girlfriend. Calumny: a false accusation of an offense.
I reached for a can of soda. “Oh, hey guys. Where are your dates?”
“We should ask you the same thing,” said Nolan Rhys, who was actually pretty cool. “Where’s Miles?”
I shrugged, glancing over to the living room where one of my “dates” was absorbed with some fascinating app. “We decided to meet up at the dance. I wanted to hang out with the girls beforehand. Skip the photos-by-the-fireplace scene, all that.”
In reality, Miles was not remotely interested in attending prom—he would pop in for our pictures, but he and some friends had been planning an all-night LAN party in Mr. Thompson’s classroom for weeks.
Nolan smiled and nodded, obviously thinking, What a cool girl.
But Vaughn didn’t seem impressed. “So Miles is just going to meet you on the dance floor, like some little lapdog?”
I grabbed a plate and started filling it with rice, beans, and lettuce, ignoring him. “So where did you say your dates were?”
I hated guys like Vaughn, the way they are so enamored with themselves even though they don’t do anything worth admiring. A guy like Vaughn could get away with nearly anything—a sexist comment, a vaguely racist joke—and if anyone called him on it, he’d just flip the tables and somehow make them the ass.
A few months ago, I had no problem keeping my dislike of Vaughn under wraps because I believed—honestly, truly believed—that guys like him were the minority, that he’d either become a better person in college or peak in high school.
Now I was starting to wonder if I was naïve or just flat dumb about that. And it was getting harder and harder to keep my hatred at bay.
“I’m going stag,” Vaughn said with a grin. “Gotta keep my options open.”
Like prom is the same as clubbing, dumbass?
I smiled faintly, taking a bite of my salad. “What about you, Nolan?”
“Sings Praises,” he said, popping the top of a Coke can.
“Oh, Sings Praises is so great!” I lied, smiling brightly. “She’s been so helpful in planning prom.”
Sings Praises—yes, Sings Praises—was not great and had been the exact opposite of helpful. She and Hannah were a two-person coterie of fail. Ever since I’d allowed them to design the prom tickets and they’d (1) chosen papyrus font and (2) failed to realize they’d spelled it “porm” before sending the PDF to the printer, I hadn’t let either of them to do anything more important than pick up the committee’s bagels.
I was used to dealing with worthless people. Any project you planned was bound of have some bailers—when I did Sub for Santa, Miles, my mom, and I ended up staying up until midnight, wrapping all the presents ourselves when no one else showed. Stuff like that is annoying, but you can adjust for it.
But Hannah and Sings Praises were particularly egregious because they kept trying to take over. Even after the “porm” disaster—seriously, how hard is it to spell a four-letter word in an appropriate font?—they remained unaware that they’d be completely lost without me. Hannah thought I was a control freak and Sings Praises lived to validate Hannah’s opinions. Vituperate: to spread negative information.
My phone buzzed and I glanced down. Speak of the devil.
HANNAH: We have a situation.
I bit my lip, resisting a smile.
JENNA: Really? What’s wrong?
Her response appeared almost instantly.
HANNAH: When are you going to get here?
Normally this would have me fuming. The most annoying thing about Hannah was that the girl was allergic to answering a direct question. You could ask her for the capital of Romania and she’d respond with a snotty, “Why do you need to know?”
But this time, I felt nothing but smug satisfaction. I began typing out my response as Nolan and Vaughn and their friends returned to their conversation around me.
JENNA: I don’t know, 30 min, an hour.
Is it an emergency?
HANNAH: Where are you?
I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing.
Nolan glanced at me, pausing as he set cups out on the table for a drinking game. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
I grinned at him. “You were in AP Geography last year, weren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said, a puzzled half smile appearing on his face.
“What’s the capital of Romania?”
“Bucharest,” he replied automatically.
“Exactly,” I said, barely suppressing a smile of my own.
Vaughn and his friends rolled their eyes at my weirdness, but Nolan just laughed. “Do you want to play beer pong with us?”
I paused. Did I?
I glanced around for my friends. Nowhere to be seen.
“Definitely,” I said. “Give me just a second to take care of this.”
I walked into the hallway to text while Nolan and the others started filling cups full of Bud Light.
JENNA: Fisher Reese’s condo.
HANNAH: WHAT?
I was supposed to go to that party with Ben!
Why did u need me to recheck the lighting if u were just going to a party?
I suppressed a smile. I couldn’t decide whether I should be more amused that Hannah hadn’t figured out I’d already double-checked the lighting myself and password protected the program so she couldn’t change it even if she needed to—or that after weeks of begging to be in charge of anything at all, she would rather be pre-partying.
JENNA: Because you’re on prom committee, Hannah.
This would make her fume. Hannah was one of those girls who could take offense from anything, and a condescending text would make anyone mad. This wasn’t my typical MO for dealing with Hannah—usually I tried to placate her, just to avoid the hassle.
But right now? I was pretty much over everything.
Before she could respond, I sent another text, walking out into the foyer so I could pace in peace.
JENNA: I’ve done practically everything else for prom.
So you’re checking the lighting and I’m pre-partying.
Just tell me what’s wrong, is it something with the lights?
HANNAH: Just find me when you get here.
A slow smile spread over my face as I shook my head, staring at the text. I should have just let that be the end of it, but …
JENNA: Okie-doke!
That was probably the first time I had said okie-doke since preschool.
I turned my phone over in my hands, warm satisfaction spreading through my chest like it was June and I was lying out in the sun. I would have done a victory dance if I wasn’t sure people in the kitchen and living room could see me.
“Hey, have you seen Ben yet?”
I turned around. Elin was standing in the hallway, toying with the end of her braid.
My smile faded. “Uh, no, not yet. But Hannah is definitely otherwise-occupied.”
Elin nodded, biting her lip, two lines appearing between her eyebrows. “But he’s probably coming, right? I mean, Fisher said he was invited, and Hannah isn’t coming …”
I hesitated, wrapping one arm around myself. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know we were invited to this party until an hour ago. Did you need me to make sure he was coming?”
What I did not say was, You guys broke up.
Why do I have to do everything?
Don’t make me try to read your mind.
The two of us stared at each other in silence, the party bustling behind Elin in the kitchen. I felt my neck heat, prickling uncomfortably, and I knew my skin was turning blotchy. I looked down at my purse and cleared my throat. “You should have Ket text him. They’re still friends, right?”
I slipped by Elin to rejoin the rest of the party, which had grown since I’d walked into the hall. I thought she might have whispered my name as I went past, but I didn’t stop to be sure. My headache was roaring back to life. I spied another Jell-O shot—blue—and grabbed it. Don’t think about the horses, I thought as I gulped it down. Which, of course, made me think about them even more, and for a second both Jell-O shots and the three bites of salad I’d eaten threatened to come back up. I winced, fighting the urge to gag in the middle of the party, and poured myself a cup of the nearest available drink.
Nolan raised his eyebrows at me, pausing just as he was about to toss his ping-pong ball across the table. Vaughn and some of the others had disappeared—bonus—so it was just him, Leni, Alex Kingston, and Sam facing off against each other. “You sure you can handle that, Jenna?” Nolan asked, a hint of a challenge in his voice.
I grinned weakly, raising my glass in a toast. “Gan bei, bitches.”
I could hardly taste the flavor over the sound of them laughing.
11
Rosie Winchester
April 18, 6:30 PM
I wound up sitting on the couch at Fisher’s, reading on my tablet. My standard party behavior—I can’t believe Will was worried for a second.
Ket flopped down beside me, crossing her long legs and attracting more than a few glances. She handed me a can of Diet Coke and gestured to a group of boys standing by the fridge, holding red cups and arguing about something. “Check that guy out,” Ket whispered, glancing back over my shoulder so she wouldn’t get caught staring. “Do you think he’s Fisher’s date?”
There was one thing about Fisher Reese (aside from her model good looks, shiny hair, and loaded parents) that made her stand out in a high school crowd.
Fisher never dated a boy from our school.
Whenever Fisher attended a dance, she showed up with a guy no one had ever met—a sophomore in college, a guy from an opposing school who she’d bewitched after a swim meet, some boy she had met skiing. It would have been absurd if it hadn’t been happening for four years.
I glanced over to the kitchen. “Which one?”
“Uh, the crazy-hot one, of course.”
I sipped my soda, still not sure which guy Ket was talking about—until Leni Taylor stepped aside.
Then I knew exactly who she meant.
Fisher’s date was precisely the sort of guy you’d expect to take a girl like Fisher Reese to prom. His black hair was cropped short in back and sides, but longer on top, falling over his forehead. His jaw was covered in stubble and he had a cocky smile, full of perfect white teeth.
I shrugged. “He’s not that cute.” (Lie. Filthy lie.)
“What’s wrong with him?” Ket asked, sounding personally offended.
I racked my brain. “His stubble looks really calculated.”
Ket raised one eyebrow.
“His eyebrows are way too thick. They look like caterpillars,” I said. (Sexy, sexy caterpillars.) (Rosie, what is wrong with you?)
“They do not,” Ket scoffed.
“He hails from Clan Douchebag,” I said. “They’re a proud and ancient people, known throughout the land for their body sprays.”
Ket tapped her lower lip. “I don’t know. He doesn’t look like the bedazzled jeans type.”
“Your douche-dar can’t be trusted,” I said, taking a sip of my soda. “You’ve hooked up with too many of their kind.”
“Speaking of,” Ket murmured, taking a sip of her drink and nodding at someone across the room.
I followed her gaze to where Vaughn Hollis was leaning against the wall. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to highlight his (admittedly impressive) forearms and tattoos. “Ah yes. He’s achieved the highest rank in Douche Society. You can tell because of his many misappropriated cultural tattoos.”
Ket choked on her soda and I grinned. I didn’t usually make Ket laugh. Vaughn glanced over at us, a scowl on his face. Ket waggled her fingers at him, not even bothering to hide the fact that we’d been making fun of him.
Elin flopped down next to us on the couch. “What is the deal with Jenna?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s done like, four Jell-O shots already. Does she not understand what’s in a Jell-O shot? It’s not just Jell-O.”
I crinkled my brow. “Four? Really?”
“Well, she’s done a lot. And she let Nolan mix her a rum and Coke.”
I shrugged. “Well, we’ll be at prom before too long, and then she’ll be Miles’s problem, not ours.”
Elin crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting out. She crossed her legs, bouncing one foot, jittery. She’d done a one-eighty from the excited, happy girl she’d been at my house. I felt another creep of doubt about this prom plan. “She’s being ridiculous. This isn’t going to be any fun at all if she passes out before we even get to the dance.”
“She’s not going to pass out,” I said, but I wasn’t exactly sure. Jenna never did anything other than steal sips from other people. She’d once claimed to have gotten hungover after half a cup of watermelon Boone’s Farm. “Look, we’re going to leave in thirty minutes, and we’ll stop at a 7-Eleven for coffee, just in case.” (And please, some taquitos. Please.)
Elin studied her manicured nails. “Do you think Jenna’s ever … had sex?”
“I don’t think Jenna’s ever pooped,” Ket muttered.
“I’m serious. Do you think they’re doing it, but she’s just not telling us?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “No. Jenna’s going to be an old-school virginal bride, and she’ll text us the next day from the honeymoon suite about how magical it was. I bet Miles’s never even felt her up.”
Elin bit her lip. “I know it seems that way … but I think even Jenna has her secrets.”
&
nbsp; I shrugged. “I think Jell-O shots on prom night aren’t exactly evidence of mysterious inner layers.”
Elin huffed, and I knew we weren’t playing along the way she wanted. “What do you think is wrong with her?” I asked, tucking my tablet under my leg so she knew she had my full attention.
Elin opened her mouth, shut it. She scrunched up her face, thinking. I studied her expression, the doubt I’d felt back at my house returning and taking up permanent residence underneath my ribs.
“Oh, come on,” Ket burst out, impatient. “Jenna is getting drunk, which is crazy for her and annoying for us, but normal for life. There’s nothing to be worried about.”
Elin’s expression smoothed out, unreadable. She nodded. I felt a flare of annoyance toward Ket but didn’t say anything. Ket nudged Elin and pointed out a junior girl’s shoes (Louboutins or knockoffs?) and I pulled my tablet back out.
Eventually Ket and Elin got bored with my party-pooper attitude and left me to return to my book—which worked fine for me. I loved my friends, but I didn’t love that they were always trying to cheer me up. Teddy had always gotten that about me.
I was perfectly happy the way I was.
12
Ket West-Beauchamp
April 18, 6:45 PM
Vaughn and I passed Fisher on the stairs as we headed to a bedroom. “I was just going to show Ket your dad’s aquarium,” Vaughn said innocently.
Fisher smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s something, all right,” she remarked mildly, with an I Know What You’re Really Up To tone that Mama Leanne could take notes on.
I couldn’t resist—I paused on the steps even as Vaughn tugged on my hand. “Your condo is so awesome, Fisher,” I said. “Thanks so much for inviting me.”
Fisher’s smile cracked, brittle as ever. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she replied, continuing down the stairs without a backward glance. It was unfathomable to me why so many people liked her. I may have had a reputation for being a troublemaker who’d slept with too many boys, but at least I didn’t have an icicle up my ass.
When the Truth Unravels Page 5
