When the Truth Unravels

by RuthAnne Snow

  I jumped off the bed, landing on my bare feet. My head swam for a second, but I glared steadily at Fisher. “Don’t talk about Rosie. You don’t know anything about her.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” Fisher snapped, taking one step forward. “You’ve been calling me a stuck-up, frigid snob since eighth grade.”

  “If the shoe fits,” I said, crossing my arms across my chest.

  Fisher rolled her eyes. “Well, if the shoe fits, I guess you’re just a skank who sold out a friend to impress an asshole. So I guess I’ll take ice princess.”

  I snapped my mouth shut.

  Point.

  Set.

  Match.

  I swallowed, biting back any angry, snotty reply that might have been bubbling up. “You’re right,” I said finally.

  Fisher raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Wow. Didn’t know you had that in you. For a second I thought we were going to throw down.”

  I rolled my eyes and sat back down on the bed. “There’s only so far you can push me, okay? This is not the day to rub things in.”

  Fisher pursed her lips. “Fine. Now, are you going to update me on the Elin situation already?”

  I picked up one of the decorative pillows on the bed, hugging it to my chest. “She texted to say she was fine, and that she’d find us later, but Rosie and FDR are still out looking for her.”

  Fisher furrowed her brow. “Who’s FDR?”

  “Your date,” I said, waving my hand impatiently.

  “Oh,” Fisher said. Weirdly, she didn’t even ask why. She sat beside me, not saying a word.

  “You know she won’t try to hurt herself again, don’t you?” Fisher said suddenly.

  Obviously Elin had more secrets than I’d ever guessed.

  “How would you even know?” I replied miserably.

  Fisher shrugged. “I know a thing or two about a thing or two.”

  I nodded. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I suspected Fisher was right about that much, at least.

  “So what’s the deal with the ‘disgusting diplomatic relations’?” Fisher asked, making quote fingers. “Real talk.”

  I sighed. “Vaughn.” I flopped onto my back. No more clarification required.

  “Let me guess, he wants to raw-dog it or something?” Fisher said, her lip curled in disgust.

  I raised my eyebrows at the beige ceiling. “Did the prim Fisher Reese just say ‘raw-dog it’?” I joked, turning my head to face her.

  Fisher didn’t crack a smile. “What does he want?”

  I scrunched up my face. If it were anyone but Fisher, I would try to make a joke. But somehow, it being someone I didn’t even like made it easier to admit. “He wants to tape us having sex.”

  “Ket.” Fisher sounded horrified. “You can’t do that. Vaughn might not keep the secret about Elin, but he definitely won’t keep that tape a secret.”

  “What choice do I have?” I said miserably.

  “If you do this, who knows what he will make you do next,” Fisher said, her eyes flashing. “He’ll have the tape.”

  I sucked in a breath—I hadn’t thought of that. “He’s not that conniving,” I protested weakly.

  “He’s making you film a sex tape,” Fisher retorted.

  “Maybe I want to make a sex tape,” I said, sitting up, trying to get Confident Sexy Ket to take control of this conversation. “It could put me on the path to fame and fortune.”

  “Yeah, you really look stoked,” Fisher said flatly.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, trying not to notice that they were shaking. Breathe, Ket. “This may be weird to say, but you seriously remind me of Jenna right now,” I said.

  Fisher cracked a smile. “Really?”

  I laughed, irrationally giddy. “Yes, really. I’m glad you’re taking it so well.”

  “It’s a compliment,” Fisher said.

  “Well, I think it’s a compliment,” I said. “Not too many people seem to get that about Jen, though.”

  Fisher nodded. “I could see that. I think Jenna is seriously impressive, though.”

  “She is,” I agreed.

  We sat in silence for a moment. “I really am sorry about the ice princess thing,” I said finally. “I don’t know why I even say some things. Well, I know. It’s because your life is so effortless and perfect, and mine is such a mess. That’s not an excuse, I know. I just … my filter is worthless.”

  She stared at me, her expression unreadable. “I’m sorry I said what I did about Rosie,” she said finally. “You’re right, I don’t know her.”

  “She’s fun,” I said. A pause. “But you have to get to know her,” I added.

  42

  Rosie Winchester

  April 19, 12:00 AM

  I’d read so many books that described kissing as all “soft lips” that I must have forgotten that they covered teeth and came attached to faces.

  FDR’s mouth was harder, gentler, better than I would have expected.

  For one second, I froze, and then he cupped the back of my neck with his hand, and suddenly I was kissing him back.

  I leaned toward FDR, and my seatbelt snapped me back. I broke off the kiss, opening my eyes. FDR blinked, looking worried with two little crinkles appearing between his eyebrows, but then I unclicked the seatbelt and he smiled, tangling his fingers up through my hair. I pushed off the seatbelt and wrapped my arms around him.

  Whenever I had thought about kissing, I’d always assumed I would be bad at it. I flinched when people tried to hug me. But when FDR tilted his head one way, I instinctively moved the opposite direction. When his lips parted against mine, I copied his movement.

  It wasn’t something I could be bad at.

  In books, they always describe how people taste, like mint or chocolate or strawberries. If FDR had a flavor, my brain wasn’t processing it.

  I was already on sensory overload.

  His fingers in my hair, sending waves of tingles running over my skin.

  His warm mouth on mine.

  The stubble on his face softly scratching my chin.

  He sucked my lower lip between his teeth and I made a whimpery sound I hadn’t even known I was capable of making. I would have been embarrassed if it didn’t feel so good. FDR smiled against my mouth and did it again.

  It was like instinct. A conversation.

  (Do you like this?)

  (Yes, I do.)

  (Good to know.)

  I just had to pay attention.

  FDR kissed his way along my jaw and I closed my eyes, running my fingers through his hair. It was softer than I would have thought, even the buzzed sides. He guided my head to one side, his lips pressing against my neck, right where my pulse beat beneath my skin.

  “Is this okay?” he whispered, lips still brushing my throat, his breath warm against my skin.

  I opened my eyes and leaned away from him. He stared at me, his clear gray eyes locked onto mine, a half smile on his face. I put one finger under his chin, tilting his head to one side. “Totally,” I said, pressing my lips against his throat, mirroring where he had just kissed me. He sucked in a sharp breath and I smiled.

  The longer the car sat idle, the colder the air in the car became, but I felt flushed. For long endless moments, he was all soft-lips and sweetness. And then suddenly he would tighten his grip in my hair, wrapping his other arm around my waist to pull me closer, his tongue sliding between my lips. Frantic, urgent. Like he couldn’t get enough.

  And then he’d go back to sweet and soft.

  It made my head spin.

  “I don’t have daddy issues, you know,” I said at one point when we came up for air. “Don’t think that my tragic family circumstances mean I’m putting out.”

  (Where did that come from?)

  (Channeling Ket, I guess.)

  “Daddy issues are overrated,” FDR said, looking slightly dazed. He pulled me closer, pressing his lips against mine.

  I broke off the kiss. “Should
n’t I know more about you?”

  “Now you want to get to know me?” FDR asked, grinning and pulling the bobby pins out of my hair so he could run his fingers through it.

  “Number of brothers and sisters, favorite food, favorite sport, go,” I commanded.

  “One older brother named Bronson, steak enchiladas, football,” FDR said. “You?”

  “No siblings, yellow curry, I can’t stand sports,” I replied, grabbing his tie and pulling him back for another kiss.

  A few moments later I paused, leaning away from him. “Bronson?” I asked. “Are your parents big Death Wish fans?”

  FDR frowned. “He was named after a transcendentalist.”

  I shook my head. “The point is, your family must be really confident in the caliber of genes they’re passing along. Can you imagine living life as an acne-prone, chubby girl named Fisher?”

  FDR grinned, and I couldn’t look away from his perfect, swollen lips. “Are you trying to get me to tell you my name without you having to ask for it?”

  “Of course not.” (Lie.)

  “I can tell you’re curious,” FDR said, running one fingertip along the edge of my ear.

  I squirmed, trying not to reveal how much I liked him tickling my ear. “I am not,” I said. (Biggest lie.)

  FDR smiled, the dimple in his cheek appearing. “Just say the word and it’s yours,” he whispered, resting his forehead against mine.

  43

  Ket West-Beauchamp

  April 19, 1:00 AM

  After we realized we had nothing left to say, Fisher left to attend to her guests, promising that she would tell me if Elin arrived at the party. She didn’t ask me to promise not to give in to Vaughn’s demands—I guess she knew that nothing she said was going to help make up my mind.

  I paced the room, trying to decide what I was going to do. To Sex Tape or Not To Sex Tape? I seriously couldn’t believe that was the question.

  I scrolled through my phone, hoping for a distraction. And a solution. Or maybe instructions on how to build a time portal. Prom picture after prom picture scrolled through my feed. Ugh, the happiness.

  I paused on a selfie Vaughn had taken just thirty minutes ago. He was standing in the locker room at school, making his Patented Sexy Face in the mirror. I rolled my eyes. He fixed his stupid pompadour.

  In that one second, with that one stupid thought, everything became clear.

  It wasn’t about embarrassing my moms or Adlai.

  It wasn’t whether Teddy Lawrence was ever going to look at me like a girl instead of his oversexed buddy.

  It was about me.

  And the fact that I would rather walk on nails than let VAUGHN HOLLIS touch me one more time.

  “I’m not gonna do it,” I whispered out loud, if only so I could hear myself say it.

  I stared at the selfie, my heart thumping in my chest. Now what? I wasn’t going through with it, but I couldn’t let him take Elin down, either.

  Think, Bizarro Jenna said—only now she sounded like real Jenna.

  What Would Real Jenna Do?

  “The party’s ending,” read his caption. “Adios high school. #prom #senior #natski”

  Natski.

  National Ski Team.

  I sat back on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone as the idea unfurled in my brain. Holy shit. Was this what being a genius felt like?

  I was gonna have to ask Jenna. As soon as she was sober. And I wasn’t pissed at her.

  1:15 AM

  When Vaughn walked through the door, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, my legs crossed at the perfect angle so they’d look a mile long, a wicked smile on my face.

  I wanted him to get one long, last look before I dropped the hammer.

  “Hiya buddy,” I said.

  Vaughn smirked at me, shutting the door behind him. “Glad this is finally happening.”

  I widened my smile. “Oh, Vaughn. This isn’t happening.”

  Vaughn hesitated, a brief look of confusion crossing his face. “What?”

  I picked up my phone. “Membership on the National Ski Team is a privilege, not a right,” I read. “All athletes agree to conduct themselves according to the values of the team, including integrity and respect, both during competitions and in their personal lives.”

  “What is this?” Vaughn said, his voice rising.

  “It’s the code of conduct you signed,” I said brightly. “It’s right on the National Ski Team website, did you realize that? It includes stuff like not drinking underage, which we both know you did tonight, and it even says you can’t use profane or abusive language. Do you think Sex Blackmail is covered there?”

  “Beauchamp,” he said warningly, a dark look on his face. “You are blowing this way out of proportion.”

  “I’m really not,” I said, tucking my phone into my bra. “You can tell whoever you want about Elin, but I will literally destroy you if you do. And holy shit dude, code of conduct aside, can you even imagine what sponsors would do if this all came out because you were bullying a suicidal girl? That’s such a bad look.”

  Vaughn stared at me, his jaw hanging open stupidly. He swallowed visibly and plastered on a weak smile. “Hey, Beauchamp. You know I’ve just been kidding around, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”

  “Seriously,” Vaughn insisted, and somehow his voice was back to normal, like he hadn’t had an I Just Shit My Pants look on his face three seconds before. “No hard feelings, right?”

  Outer Ket wanted to chuckle and agree, just to avoid the conflict. But Inner Ket was running this show. “I have all the hard feelings,” I said, standing. “Don’t look at me ever again. Don’t look at Elin ever again. Maybe do some charity work, I don’t know. But don’t stop looking over your shoulder, because seriously, screen shots are forever.”

  A muscle in Vaughn’s jaw tensed. “You wouldn’t.”

  I shrugged, waltzing past him and out the door. “That’s the thing about girls like me, Vaughn. You just never know what we will or won’t do.”

  1:25 AM

  I came down the stairs in a daze. You did that, Outer Ket whispered, amazed.

  Sure as shit did, Inner Ket said with a smirk.

  The party was even bigger than it had been before prom, the living room packed with kids. Fisher caught my gaze from where she was standing in the kitchen and raised her eyebrows. What happened? she mouthed.

  I shook my head, and Fisher excused herself, making her way over to me by the stairs. “I didn’t do it,” I whispered, glancing around. “I, like, crushed him.”

  Fisher’s lips curled infinitesimally upward—which I guess was her version of a grin. “Good,” she said.

  “Did Elin ever show?” I asked.

  Fisher’s smile faded. “No. Ben’s still here, but …”

  I swallowed. “Rosie made us promise that we would tell Elin’s parents if we couldn’t find her at midnight,” I admitted. “She’s probably already told them.”

  Fisher’s shoulders slumped. “I’m still sure she’s fine,” she said, the first bit of doubt creeping into her voice. “But I really thought she’d show back up, even just for the chance of seeing Ben.”

  “Me too,” I said, feeling defeated. Elin had said that she’d see us at the party or sometime tomorrow—Awesomely Helpful there, Elin—which meant she was probably fine.

  Except, if it was fine, why couldn’t any of us find her?

  We stood in silence for a moment. Fisher cleared her throat. “You should know, Jenna is asleep upstairs. Teddy helped her into a guest room.”

  I blinked, my mouth suddenly dry. “Teddy?” I asked, trying to sound cool.

  For what may have been the first time in her life, Fisher actually looked abashed. “Yeah, sorry. I was really worried about you, so I called Jenna to talk you out of it. But she got here and basically passed right out before she could even make it upstairs. I don’t think she handled the drive all that well.”

  �
�Oh,” I said, my head swimming. “Um. Did you see where Teddy went?”

  “I think he left,” Fisher said, glancing around.

  I nodded, a mixture of relief and disappointment twisting my gut. “Well. I’m going to step outside and have a smoke,” I said finally.

  “I’ll join you in a minute,” Fisher said.

  I raised my eyebrows. “What about your poor Grandma?”

  Fisher lifted one shoulder, the most glamorous shrug I’d ever seen. “They’re both alive. Sometimes I just can’t help being a bitch.”

  I laughed, heading toward the door. “You and me both.”

  1:30 AM

  I stepped out onto the porch, letting the door slam behind me, and glanced up at the stars, heaving a sigh.

  “So how was the sex taping?”

  I froze and slowly turned. Teddy was sitting on the porch bench, elbows on his knees. Face in shadow.

  Fisher Effing Reese. I take back all the nice things I thought about her.

  I plastered on a wobbly grin. “Oh yeah. Thanks for the rescue effort, but I really did have it handled.”

  “Did you,” Teddy said flatly.

  I swallowed. On scale of Mad to Mount Vesuvius, Teddy Lawrence speaking in that inflectionless tone of voice fell somewhere around one step away from Total Meltdown.

  I took a step backward, miscalculating the distance of the stairs and stumbling in my high heels. I swallowed, sitting down on the step in one motion. This Is What I Meant To Do All Along. “Yes, it was handled,” I said, staring out at the road and trying to ignore the cold seeping into my underclothed butt. “You know I’m saving my Sex Tape Virginity for the first available member of the band formerly known as One Direction.”

  “Could you stop?”

  I snapped my mouth shut, refusing to look at him. In all the years I’d known Teddy, he’d never used that tone of voice—low and soft, like every word was coming from some cavern deep inside his chest. “You know Jenna is so drunk, right?” I blurted. “All that stuff she said in Mr. Hansen’s room—I mean, whoa, right?”