by Rachel Shane
The guy pulled back and smiled dreamily at the girl, whose hair still shielded her face. Harper had been so focused on the girl she’d neglected to look closely at the guy until now. A shudder rippled through her. Every contour of that smile was engraved into her heart. She’d kissed those lips many times. She fell asleep every night with that mouth whispering I love you in her ear. Her boyfriend. Connor Cunningham.
Kissing another girl.
Kissing a girl who might be her worst enemy.
“Oh shit.” Emma bit her cheek, making the whole side of her face look like a hollowed out crater. “Wow, I didn’t think Poe would stoop that low to get you back after all this time.”
The wind flew from Harper’s lungs as if she’d been knocked in the chest. Her throat hitched. It was only a matter of seconds before the bomb went off and shrapnel exploded all over Emma. “I’ll…be right back.”
She ran out of there, seemingly with her tail between her legs. Don’t cry in public. Don’t cry in public. It seemed like every head tilted toward her, their faces masks of concern as if they were already in on the secret killing her from the inside. But they were probably just wondering why she was running through a crowded movie theater, knocking into bodies blocking her path without so much as an apology.
Harper’s hand shook as she twisted the knob on the closest bathroom, praying if there was a God (which was not something she herself believed), that he’d have pity on her despite all the awful crap she’d done and make sure the place was empty. She wrenched the door open and nearly careened into a mother ushering her two young kids out. The din of the rowdy hallway faded, replaced only with the whoosh of blood in Harper’s ears. Her footsteps echoed in the empty space, and she darted her head around at the faded pink tiles, searching every crack as if maybe someone was hiding in the walls just to catch her off guard the same way Connor had. Each stall door swung open with ease and when Harper sank down on a toilet seat, she finally felt free, despite being confined to the tight space of the bathroom stall cell.
The tears she’d been desperately holding back swarmed her face, rushing down her cheeks with the heavy force of the Niagara Falls. Sobs wracked her gut and made her shoulders rattle. She was mourning for Connor, the boyfriend she loved. No, the boyfriend she thought she loved. He’d already taken a year away from her, he’d taken her virginity, but she wouldn’t let him take this day from her too.
Harper rose from the seat and scrubbed at her cheeks with scratchy toilet paper. Each step she took toward the sink grew more confident. Her back straightened. Her breath evened out. But one glance in the mirror nearly sent her to the parking lot. Puffiness bulged from beneath her eyes and she scrambled in her bag for her concealer.
The door flew open so hard, Harper jumped and dropped the concealer with a clack clack clack as it rolled in the sink. A snatch of hallway noise filtered in before being sealed shut by the door. In the doorway, Poe Culliver stiffened. Her sleek button-down white shirt and gray pencil skirt looked so out of place on the girl who used to push the limits on the school’s dress code. She’d inch her skirt just a centimeter above regulations and then brag when none of the teachers noticed. Or she’d wear thick-strapped tank tops like the school required but with a corset beneath, which she made sure to show off to anyone who wanted a glimpse. And everyone wanted a glimpse.
Poe’s gaze landed on Harper’s stinging red eyes and a slight smirk curled on her lips. A gloat. An I-told-you-so. Like maybe Poe’s claws had orchestrated the whole thing and knew Harper would be here tonight to witness this even though the movies were a last minute decision to distract herself from her broken heart, literally speaking. Mission accomplished.
A furious scream built in Harper’s throat but she wouldn’t give Poe the satisfaction of releasing it. A year ago, they had both gotten in the last word, uttered at the exact same time at Prom, and both felt that was the end to their vocal engagements. It was also the beginning of a silent treatment battle that kept both of them on the offense, each ready to divert the other’s strike. During oral presentations for an English assignment, they both inserted not-so-subtle jabs at the other during their speeches. Before Harper had befriended Emma and switched to using Emma’s locker, Poe had planted test answers from the upcoming Spanish test in Harper’s locker and got her suspended for three days for cheating. On Valentine’s Day, Harper sent a dozen roses to everyone in Poe’s homeroom…except her.
They were constantly at each other’s throats, even if their throats remained void of words directed at each other. But Harper was done being silent. “This is only the beginning. Watch your back.”
Poe let out a small laugh, not even flinching at the verbal attack. “I’ve been watching my back ever since you stabbed me in it.”
Harper screamed in frustration. Her legs amped, and she wasn’t sure if she was going to ram straight into Poe or push past her. But a group of tweens rushed into the bathroom, giggling, and Harper stole the distraction as an escape. When she exited, she leaned against the exterior wall, trying to catch her ragged breath. There was one way to take down both Poe and Connor at the same time. She’d exact her revenge on the guy who cradled her heart and smashed it to pieces on the very day she learned it was defective.
CHAPTER 3
HARPER
Harper tried to keep her face stoic, her chin held high as she stormed into school the next day. She hadn’t confronted Connor yet—she didn’t want to ruin the element of surprise. But then her gaze landed on two small googly eyes spinning on the underside of a slow fan hanging from an exposed rafter. Her heart stopped. The whole world stopped, or maybe it was just her, standing still in the middle of the school lobby while other students crashed into her. Last year, she’d gone on a rampage through school, sweeping every inch of wall and floor like a forensic detective until she’d found and trashed all three sets that she, Poe, and Brett Emmich used to hide around the school in a scavenger hunt only they participated in. It was an epic inside joke. But right now it seemed like the joke was on her.
She yanked off her backpack and unzipped it so violently, the sound carried over the heavy clack of heels around her. She dumped her thick World History textbook onto the floor and set her Pre-Calc book directly on top of it under the fan. Harper ignored the side eyes and tilted heads as she stepped onto her makeshift pedestal and risked losing a limb to stretch up and catch the slowly revolving fan. Her fingers grazed dust on the twisting blades. She stifled a twinge in her chest, sliding her stumpy fingernails beneath the eyes and prying them free. They landed with inaudible plinks onto the linoleum floor where a student promptly crushed one with his sneaker. Good riddance.
Harper scooped up the remaining one and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. One destroyed, one thrown away—exactly how her friendship with Poe and Brett had ended, respectively.
It wasn’t nearly as cathartic as shoving her fist into Poe’s gut would be. Harper, Poe, and Brett had a long history but only a short future. Just forty more days until they never had to look at each other again. It couldn’t come soon enough.
Harper clung to that fact and let it buoy her through her morning classes until she could retreat into the sanctuary of lunch. On the quad, she lifted her sad looking turkey sandwich to her mouth. Grass tickled her calves and a large oak tree shaded her picnic spot. Sunlight filtered through the gaps between the leaves, speckling the grass and her thighs in a lace of shadows and light. It was the crème de la crème of lunch spots at Whiskey Falls High thanks to its proximity to both shade and the center of attention. Usually tons of satellite friends gathered around Harper and Emma as if they were the sun and the rest of the class revolved around them. But today Emma had shooed them away so it was only the two of them.
“How you feeling, sweetie?” Emma rubbed Harper’s back in slow circles but it didn’t stop the ache. Wisps cascading from her ponytail kept whipping in her face but she ignored them, chewing her sandwich even as a chunk of hair sneaked into her mouth.
&n
bsp; “Liberated.” The word came out curt and abrupt, as if Harper had carved it into a sharp point. “I’m ready to stop being such an idiot.” She glanced around, grappling for a topic of conversation that wasn’t about the dick and the Asswipe attached to it, when her eyes accidentally landed on the other bane of her existence besides Poe. Brett Emmich sat alone on a bench across the quad, clutching his sketchbook like a shield, in front of his actual shield. Both hid his somewhat pretty face. He’d once been clean cut with crisp button downs he painstakingly ironed every night. But after summer, he’d returned to school eschewing everything that once made him whole. He now wore head to toe black to match the shaggy sandy brown locks he dyed midnight. Heavy kohl eyeliner traced the shape of his eyes, so perfectly applied that Harper once overheard a few girls asking him once what his trick was. A cape swung in the wind behind his back like a flag surrendering. He used to be a scared little shrimp of a boy but now he scared people off.
Music suddenly blasted from the speakers affixed to the roof, the tinny sound struggling to break free of the confines of the small megaphone. Every head on the quad popped up, looking around to make sense of the disruption. Music wasn’t exactly sanctioned during lunch, not unless it came from the larynxes of the acapella choir team.
A random freshman sitting near the center of the quad stood. Her knees bent and her hips swung back and forth in tune to the beat. Emma gasped. All eyes zoomed to the freshman dancing. Alone. In the middle of lunch. Except she wasn’t alone for long. A few seconds after her impromptu solo performance, three more kids scattered around the quad jumped up. Their heads bobbed and their fingers snapped as they made their way to the freshman just in time to twist in sync with her twirl.
“What the fuck?” Emma’s jaw hung on a hinge. “A flash mob? At Whiskey Falls? We’re not nearly that organized.”
Five more kids stood up and joined in on the next beat, forcing those still eating lunch in the center to scatter away before being trampled by line dancers performing steps from the Irish jig. A teacher stormed toward the dancers with a whistle in her hand but before she could use it, she lifted her arms in the air and then spread her fingers in jazz hands along with everyone else. Soon the lunch aids joined in, hairnets and all. And the principal. Plus a group of theater boys that had been worshiping at Poe’s feet snapped their fingers low to the ground as if they belonged in a performance of West Side Story. One by one nearly everyone on the quad joined in, leaving only a few students on the outskirts totally stunned: Harper. Emma. Poe. Brett.
The exclusions felt deliberate. Like this flash mob wasn’t just random but something Harper had been specifically carved out of. Her heart beat fast, and she clutched her chest to prevent it from doing anything worse.
The crowd parted like the red sea. Down the aisle came a figure decked in a tuxedo. Sunlight made his golden hair glisten like a spotlight. He carried a bouquet of flowers that covered his face, tiger lilies and pink peonies blocking him like a bride. The students kept parting until the aisle led right toward Harper’s tree. Emma wrinkled her brow.
Dread tore through Harper’s stomach with the force of a ship’s anchor. His face may be covered but she’d recognize his body anywhere. She’d spent many nights memorizing every contour of it.
Connor.
He stopped right in the center of the quad, about fifty feet away from Harper, and lowered the flowers to reveal a microphone pressed to his lips.
“I promised you a lot of things.” Connor’s voice boomed through the quad. “To be a good boyfriend. To love you with all my heart.”
Harper resisted the urge to stick her finger in her mouth and fake gag at the last two statements, but Emma didn’t feel that same sense of duty. Her throat opened in what could only be described as a horrified cackle.
“But most of all, I promised to give you a prom so fucking awesome”—Connor covered his hand over his mouth—”Sorry Principal G.” He ducked his head sheepishly, and then continued. “So awesome, that it’ll erase everything that happened last year and be the only school dance you can remember.” His lips curled into a charming smile. “Besides Winter Formal, of course.”
Harper pressed a palm to her chest in an attempt to tamp down her panic. Winter Formal was the night she’d given him her virginity.
Poe was looking right at Harper, her eyes narrowed into slits, as if Harper had orchestrated this show herself as part of her missile strike retaliation. But Brett was pushing himself clear off the ground and loping toward the building like he’d seen enough.
“I told you I was driving back to campus yesterday afternoon but really I was planning this.” He flourished his hand at the crowd. “I wanted to cheer you up. And I wanted to ask you something important.” Connor got down on one knee, and the swoons in the crowd ratcheted up to high levels. “Harper Elise Faegan, will you go to Prom with me?”
Harper’s face and neck burned as every student on the quad swiveled their heads in her direction, most wearing goofy, love-sick smiles.
“Oh my God, he’s serious.” Emma’s fists curled, tucking her shiny nails into the crest of her palm. “Let me set the record straight. Please.” But her threat was moot, tempered by the polite begging at the end. Emma could hurl verbal jabs like the best of them but the only thing she’d ever punched was her pillow after Damien Walsh broke up with her.
“I’ve got this.” Harper pushed herself to her feet, her legs wobbling like she was a newborn calf standing for the first time. She brushed down her navy shirt over her jeans and took careful steps toward him, each one making her body more stable. More determined. Gazes weighed heavy on her back but she kept hers pierced on the asshole. I’m not going to cry. Her throat tightened, a lump already forming. I’m not going to crack. She swallowed hard, the skin on the back of her neck tingling. I’m going to take back my dignity.
Connor wore the biggest grin that was perfectly chiseled into his sharp cheekbones. “Will you go to the prom with me?” he repeated, then held the mic out to her in his confident, steady hand. He was so cocky he didn’t even notice the color drained from Harper’s face.
She leaned forward, her lips brushing the rough lattice of the mic. “No.”
The word reverberated through the grassy lawn, echoing like a gong in Harper’s mind. Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by low murmurs. Harper’s eyes locked on Poe, who wasn’t gloating anymore. She was simply staring in the same shocked horror as everyone else.
The smile wavered on Connor’s face. “But—”
“We’re done,” Harper said into the mic. Connor might be lying to her face every time he pulled one of these perfect boyfriend acts, but Harper wouldn’t sink to his level. She’d tell the absolute truth. “Your dick is small, you have backne, and my God, stop making those little crème brûlée tarts on every anniversary. They’re terrible!”
He blinked at her. “But—you loved those.”
She wasn’t sure if he was talking about the crème brûlée or everything on her list.
“Yeah, well, I realized last night at the movies that I love absolutely nothing about you.” She raised her brow, letting her jab sink in.
“You were at the—?” His mouth opened and closed like a fish. Before he could scramble up another excuse or lie, she swiveled on her hips and marched away. This wasn’t even strike one. This was just the starting gun.
After school, Harper bypassed her seventeen-year-old brother Jackson where he slumped on the leather couch, avoiding her eyes like always, and headed up to her room where she slammed her door shut. She flopped into her desk chair, kicking her feet up on her white eyelet bedspread, and let out a relieved breath when she logged onto the only sanctuary she had left. Before she even had a chance to check her chat list, a message popped on her screen from him.
BlakeSpacey239: So I’ve got a theory.
BlakeSpacey239: It’s a good one, you’re going to want to hear it and bow to my genius.
Warmth radiated between Harper’s collarbon
es and a silly little smile snagged the corners of her mouth. BlakeSpacey239 always boosted her spirits. Last year, when she’d lost her two best friends to the silent treatment war and before she’d found a new rock in Emma, Harper had retreated to the only place in the world she felt safe, the Wisconsin branch of an online community that discussed, dissected, and celebrated her favorite YA book series, The Gorgeous Games. At first, she’d joined the local board instead of the worldwide one hoping for in person meet ups, but quickly decided she’d rather remain anonymous. There, she’d connected with a user who shared her desire to escape the hell of this world into, well, the hell of a fictional one. After a few witty quips and back and forths about character arcs, shocking moments and betrayals, and their speculation for what might happen in book four when it finally came out next month, they took that connection private, into DMs. And then even further: into chat. But BlakeSpacey239 was only a collection of kilobytes. He wasn’t real. She didn’t even know what he looked like or what school he went to. They’d made a point to keep their personal lives just that. Personal.
He knew high-level details of course, like she had a boyfriend she loved, a brother she hated, and planned to go to Wisconsin State next year…just like him. It was amazing how someone could touch you so deeply without ever laying a hand on you. But they’d never broached the subject of meeting in person because she kept him at arm’s length so she could reserve those arms for wrapping around Connor’s muscular chest. Blake was just someone she could vent to without it getting around the school. Emma was great, but not so great at keeping her mouth shut.
Harper perched her fingers over the keys of her sleek MacBook, trying to think of a witty comeback, something that would propel her out of Earth and straight into Blake’s world, the world of Ephemera, where she sneaked around under the moniker ShadowGirl, which she stole from the books but also from an old nickname she couldn’t seem to let go of.
