When the Truth Unravels

by RuthAnne Snow

  My phone buzzed in my purse, and I fished it out, hoping FDR didn’t notice.

  KET: We’ve heard from Elin. Don’t know where she is, but she says she’s okay.

  We’re hoping she comes to Fisher’s after-party.

  Of course she was fine.

  Of course I had humiliated myself for absolutely no reason.

  I should have stayed home.

  (I should go home now.)

  FDR grabbed my elbow. “Hey, don’t just run off,” he whispered.

  I shook him off, trying to find my way back to the window where we’d come in. “Ket heard from Elin, she’s fine,” I hissed. “We broke into a library for nothing.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing, right?”

  I stopped suddenly and FDR stumbled into me in the dark. We both cursed, clutching at each other as we fought to stay upright. I reached in the darkness and found a small table—we were back in the children’s reading room already. I let go of him and stumbled my way back to the window.

  “Could you listen to me for just a second?”

  “Why? Fisher isn’t here to make you.”

  FDR groaned behind me. “I wish I hadn’t said that.”

  “I’m glad you did. I prefer the truth,” I muttered, wrenching up the window we’d snuck into. I tossed my shoes out onto the grass.

  FDR grabbed my arm before I dove out the window. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he whispered.

  “Don’t patronize me,” I snapped.

  “Just let me help you,” he said, a hard edge to his voice.

  I clenched my fists, fingernails digging into my palms. “Fine,” I said, holding out my hand.

  FDR lowered me out of the window. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I let go of his hands, slipped into my shoes, and turned to walk across the lawn, struggling to stay upright as my heels sank into the ground.

  I heard a thump behind me as FDR jumped out of the window. I didn’t turn, but his footsteps quickly caught up to mine. “Will you please let me explain?” he said, voice louder now that we were outdoors.

  “What is there to explain?” I said, my voice even.

  “Fisher wanted me to talk to you, but I wanted to keep talking to you,” FDR said, his voice a rush. “You’re pretty and funny, and I asked you to dance because I like that you’re kinda mean, not because my cousin asked me to.”

  I stopped and FDR bumped into me for the second time. “Your cousin?” I repeated, turning to face him.

  FDR stared at me, his eyes wide and his mouth snapped shut. “Yeah,” he said finally. “My cousin. I keep telling you, I’m not really on a date with her.”

  Fisher Reese had to ask her cousin to prom? I scrambled for something else to say. “So does this make you FDR Reese?” I joked weakly.

  FDR smiled, his face only half illuminated in the moonlight. “At this point, you’re going to have to ask before I tell you my name.”

  I paused, the words on the tip of my tongue, but FDR started toward the car and I followed him. “I can’t really explain,” he said, pulling his keys out to beep open the car. He opened the door for me and I climbed inside, my thoughts about two steps behind what he was saying. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

  “Of course not,” I said dumbly. He shut the door gently.

  I buckled myself in as he climbed in his side and started the car. “So, I know the cousin thing kind of comes out of nowhere, but are you not going to react at all to the other stuff I said?” he asked, his voice overly light.

  “What other things?” I asked dumbly.

  He laughed. “Um, the part where I said I think you’re pretty and funny and mean, and I like you?”

  I glanced out the window, my amusement melting away. “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “Make fun of you?” he repeated. “Why would you think that?”

  I pursed my lips. “Could you just take me to my house, please?”

  “Yeah, of course,” he said slowly. “But I need you to understand something—I am not making fun of you when I say that I like you.”

  I turned to him, injecting as much scorn into my expression as I could. “Oh really? The attractive college guy isn’t making fun of me when he says he likes me?”

  “To be fair, you also basically said you hate my hair, so I can’t be that attractive,” FDR countered, a half grin making a dimple appear in one cheek.

  (Damn him.)

  I glanced away again.

  “Oh, so we aren’t joking?” FDR said, keeping up the conversation as if I had replied. “Okay, then I will be serious. I like you, and I think you like me too. And it’s fine if you never want to talk to me again after I drop you off, but I want you to know that I think you’re gorgeous and I like that you make jokes about Spencer Tracy, and I would like to get to know you better. I am not making fun of you. What kind of assholes do you spend time with, by the way?”

  I turned to him. “What?”

  “What kind of assholes do you spend time with?” he repeated, his voice tinged with anger. “Why would you hear a compliment and jump to ‘He must be making fun of me?’”

  I blinked. “I don’t spend time with assholes,” I said, irritated.

  “Really? Your parents aren’t assholes? Because that cell phone story was pretty ridiculous.”

  I paused. “Oh. I wasn’t thinking about them.”

  FDR snorted. “So you agree, they’re assholes?”

  I crossed my legs, wishing I knew how to not respond to him. “Kind of. I guess.”

  FDR shook his head ruefully but didn’t reply. I drummed my fingers on the armrest, my stomach clenched. I flicked my gaze over to him, but he was resolutely staring at the street. I frowned. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” I blurted.

  He raised one thick eyebrow and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “You want me to talk now?”

  I blinked. “Well … yeah. You’ve been talking all night.”

  “You have been telling me that you dislike me all night,” FDR retorted.

  (Direct hit.)

  “I … have not,” I stuttered, my cheeks burning.

  FDR shrugged, but said nothing. Outside, lampposts turned into glowing white streaks outside my window. Sweat broke out over my skin. The temperature inside the car was blistering—I flipped my heat vent away. Without taking his eyes off the road, FDR reached over and turned the heat down on the dash.

  Something prickled behind my nose. I turned to the window, blinking rapidly to keep the tears that sprang to my eyes from falling.

  It had been a long night and I was upset about Elin.

  (I was upset about FDR.)

  (Upset about whatever it was that was wrong with me.)

  “I’m sorry,” I said, swallowing hard to keep a tremor out of my voice. “I don’t dislike you. It’s just that … you make me uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” FDR said softly. No hint of a smile on his face. No laughter in his voice.

  I glanced down at my lap. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’m a disaster.”

  FDR said nothing in reply, but I felt the car begin to slow. We pulled over, the engine still running, and FDR put the car in park. I turned to face him, like a magnet. Like a tide to the shore.

  The blue and orange lights of his dashboard reflected off his skin. He looked like a hero in a Frank Miller comic book cell—black hair falling over his forehead, faintly reflecting blue, the right side of his face hidden in shadow, the left glowing softly orange, all sharp cheekbones and thick eyebrows.

  I swallowed, and for one second wondered what I looked like in his eyes.

  FDR unclicked his seatbelt, turning in his seat to face me. “You keep saying you’re a disaster, but I don’t see it.”

  I laughed, but it came out all wrong—bitter and harsh. “You want to know why I am so mean? Because I think I like you too, all right? And that’s why—”

  His mouth met mine before I could finish my sentence.

  40r />
  Jenna Sinclair

  April 18, 11:50 PM

  After Ket ran out of Mr. Hansen’s room, Teddy and I avoided looking at each other. “Should I …” Teddy trailed off.

  “Go after her? Um. I don’t think so. Should I?”

  “Definitely not,” Teddy muttered.

  Bereft: sorrowful through loss or deprivation.

  We turned off Mr. Hansen’s lamp and crept out of his room. We wandered out to the stairwell, where I slumped down to sit on the top step, my skirt floofing out around me like a sad parachute. Even though I didn’t ask him to, Teddy sat down beside me.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  Teddy checked his phone. “11:52.”

  I nodded. I had done everything I could do, but I didn’t feel triumphant. I felt hollow. “So Fisher’s after-party has started. We just have to hope that Elin goes and that Miles can keep Ben there until she does.”

  “Are you going to tell me what is going on with Elin?” Teddy asked softly.

  I stared at my dress, the millions of tiny pink circles that made up the netting of my skirt. “I read somewhere that if you’re friends with someone for seven years, you’ll be friends with them for life,” I said. “And I thought, That is so comforting. I don’t always get along with Ket, and Elin drives me insane, and sometimes I worry that Rosie will just disappear on all of us. But you hear that number—seven years of friendship—and think, everything will be fine.”

  Teddy said nothing and I felt my eyes filling with tears. “And then I finished the article and realized the findings were only for people who become friends after high school.”

  The two of us sat in silence for a moment.

  Teddy cleared his throat. “Jen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I can’t promise you that we will be friends forever,” he said.

  I nodded, my chin quivering.

  “But I promise you that I will stay your friend for at least seven years after graduation.”

  I burst out laughing, my tears spilling over. “Thanks, Teddy,” I sniffled.

  Teddy slung one arm around my shoulders and I leaned into his side. “No problem,” he said gently.

  I leaned my head against his shoulder and shut my eyes.

  April 19, 12:40 AM

  I jerked awake, wiping my mouth with a clumsy hand. I blinked, trying to orient myself. “Did I drool on you?”

  “Nope,” Teddy said. “But you did snore.”

  “I did not,” I said indignantly.

  “Did so.”

  “How long was I out?” I asked, rubbing my cheek. The pattern of Teddy’s houndstooth coat was imprinted on my skin.

  He shrugged and held up his phone. “Long enough for me to watch two episodes of Golden Girls.”

  I groaned. “You too?”

  Teddy cracked a smile. “It’s funny. You’d like it.”

  I rubbed my neck, wincing as my sore muscles resisted moving. “Do you think you could take me home in a little bit?” I asked. “I don’t want Miles to see me like this.”

  “Of course. Bros before hos.”

  I smiled. “Are we bros or hos?”

  “We’re bros. Miles is a ho.”

  “Can I ask you a question, bro?”

  “Shoot.”

  If it doesn’t go well, I’ll blame it on being drunk.

  “Do you really love Rosie?” I asked. “Or do you love the idea of Rosie?”

  Teddy froze beside me and I waited. “I think … I did,” Teddy said finally. “One of those two. I don’t know.”

  I nodded. It wasn’t much of an answer, but I knew he was telling the truth. Sometimes the truth just didn’t make sense. I inhaled, held the breath, and then slowly let it out. “Elin tried to kill herself,” I whispered.

  Teddy squeezed me tighter. “I … I thought that might have been it,” he said, voice soft. “Hoped it wasn’t, but thought it was.”

  “Why didn’t you ask?”

  “I didn’t want to know.”

  I stared at my feet. “I’m sorry I told you what I did. About Ket. Please don’t let it make things weird. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  Teddy opened his mouth, shut it again. “The thing about that …”

  My phone rang and we both jumped. I stared at the unknown number on my screen. Teddy nodded toward it. “You should answer. What if it’s Elin?”

  I nodded, swiping to answer. “This is Jenna,” I said.

  “Jenna?” asked an unfamiliar voice. “You need to get over to my place STAT. Ket is about to make a huge mistake.”

  41

  Ket West-Beauchamp

  April 18, 11:50 PM

  I ran, trying to ignore the rising nausea in my throat.

  I didn’t know if Jenna and Teddy were going to follow me, but I suspected not. Not after that shitshow.

  And even if they did, I had no intention of going back. I had one thought running through my brain, and one thought only:

  Find Vaughn.

  Fulfill my end of the bargain, then go the hell home.

  I wanted this night over with.

  I scanned the crowd of kids streaming out of the gym doors until I saw someone who could help me. “Sam!” I called, waving him over. “Are you going to Fisher’s afterparty?”

  “Yep,” he said, grinning with his arm around his date’s waist. She wore the same stinkeye expression she’d had on at the pre-party.

  “Mind if I snag a ride?” I asked, falling into step with them.

  April 19, 12:20 AM

  At Fisher’s condo, I had waited until Fisher was busy talking to Lauren Mendoza to hurriedly tell her that I needed to have access to one of her guest rooms for a half hour. She had glanced between me and Lauren, clearly not wanting to talk about anything in front of another one of Park City’s richest teenage bitches, and nodded distractedly.

  Anything to get the stench of Poor away from you, I guess.

  I’d grabbed a cup of jungle juice in the kitchen—the Official Fuel of Bad Decisions—and ran up the stairs, knowing that if I stopped moving, I would lose my nerve.

  I hadn’t realized that I’d have to sit in Fisher’s guest room, sipping an overly sweet cocktail of Potential Blindness, choking down my nausea, while I waited for Vaughn, who said it would take him twenty damn minutes to get there.

  I stared down at the phone in my hand, the blinking text message alert. From Teddy: Will you call me? My throat closed with unshed tears.

  The trouble was, even if I had been smart enough to pick Trace over Vaughn, I would have avoided the disaster I’d found myself in, but I still wouldn’t be the girl with a wrist corsage. Because as cute as Dave Applegate had been, he was no Teddy Lawrence. And for that reason alone, I would have had to dump him before prom.

  A nice guy like you wouldn’t want her. I flinched just remembering it.

  Even if Teddy hadn’t been hopelessly in love with Rosie for as long as I’d known him, he was never going to go for me. And it wasn’t that I was damaged goods or anything gross like that. I knew, in my brain, that I had every bit as much human worth as anyone. But the fact remained: guys like Teddy Lawrence—smart, funny, loyal, dorky, tough guys—do not end up with girls with so-so grades, big mouths, and deservedly bad reputations.

  The look of horror that crossed his face when Jenna blabbed about my own Unrequited Love sealed the deal.

  What really sucked was how pathetically wounded I felt.

  As if, deep down, despite all my best efforts …

  I had HOPED.

  As if I hadn’t known that this story inevitably ended with mine and Vaughn’s photogenic debauchery.

  I deleted the text from Teddy and put my phone in the bedstand drawer, slamming it shut.

  I swallowed the last dregs of the punch. At least my hair looks awesome, I thought, and snickered to myself. I set the cup on the ground and flopped back on the bed, my head spinning. The bed was as firm as a hotel’s and just as beige. Fisher’s parents had no imagina
tion.

  This room is going to do nothing for my skintone on film, I thought. I barked out a laugh and clapped a hand over my mouth.

  Not the time to crack up, Ket.

  There was a knock at the door and my stomach clenched. I propped myself up on my elbows. “Come in,” I called, trying to keep my voice steady.

  Fisher peeked into the room and the tension in my stomach disappeared. “Can you explain to me why you need uninterrupted access to this room?” she said.

  “Because it’s all part of the Finding Elin Plan,” I said, wishing she’d just go away.

  “The part of the plan that you can’t explain to me,” Fisher said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Even though this is my house.”

  We stared each other down. Her standing in the doorway, staring down her nose at me, freaking Lady Beyoncé Astoria of Highgarden. Me, sitting up and tucking my legs under myself, all too aware that my dress was a little too tight, a little too short, and a little too low cut.

  But seriously.

  What else does Keturah West-Beauchamp, the Park City High Bike, wear to prom?

  “Why do you dislike me so much?” I asked suddenly.

  “I don’t dislike you, Ket,” Fisher said, but she had a liar’s tone in her voice.

  I threw my hands in the air. “Seriously? Come on, man. Tonight I had to tell one of my best friends that I blabbed her biggest secret to the absolute wrong douchebag, and then that friend ran off, nary to be freaking found, and now I have to engage in some seriously disgusting diplomatic relations to make sure that secret never gets out, so can I just have some fuckin’ honesty already?”

  Fisher glanced behind her in the hall and then stepped into the room, shutting the door with a soft click. “What the hell are you talking about?” she whispered.

  “We have hated each other forever,” I said, my voice rising and not even caring. “You have never invited me to one of your parties before. What is the deal? Just because you’re suddenly buddy-buddy with Elin, who you’ve never been friends until now?”

  “The deal is none of your business,” Fisher said coldly.

  “You’re an ice princess, you know,” I snapped. “You think you’re better than the rest of us.”

  Fisher narrowed her eyes. “You want to know why I don’t like you? It’s because of that. You’ve never even had a conversation with me that lasted more than five minutes, but you think you’ve figured me out. And frankly, it’s bullshit that Rosie Winchester’s best friend is calling anyone an ice princess.”