“Other than listening to Aunt Rhonda lecture me ten times a day about the value of youth and how I’m spoiling it by buying into the media’s narrow perception of beauty and that she’d give anything to have my ass, rack, and skin? Oh! And being set up with her friends’ snobby sons who wanted nothing to do with me?” I shrugged. “I guess it was fine.”
“Oh, I bet you just loved that,” she said, referring to the fact that my aunt lived in the Hamptons and was obsessed with having a very social lifestyle. I didn’t necessarily look down on her, but I didn’t understand the need to live my life on the front of a tabloid. I wanted to have a career, travel, fall in love, live a quiet, happy life surrounded by people I loved.
“I went jogging on the beach every morning. That was nice,” I finally replied.
She laughed. “Yeah, I bet.”
“Well, next year, no Aunt Rhonda’s. My father promised to take me to Tokyo.”
Did I believe he’d actually take me this time? Maybe not, but it was time to start having faith that change was coming.
Mandy gave me a look as if she knew what I was thinking. “All right, let’s try these on.” She held out a pile of multicolored blouses and skirts.
I cringed.
“You promised,” she warned.
That I had. And I’d been stupid enough—likely still suffering from hormonal-bliss overload due to Dax—not to have given Mandy any boundaries like “thou shall not dress me in anything resembling rainbow barf.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m trusting you not to make me look like a clown.”
“Dakota, seriously? Would I ever do that to you? Besides, have you looked in the mirror lately? You’ve officially blossomed since Christmas. I could dress you in an orange muumuu and you’d look hot.”
Or like a pumpkin gone wrong. And I wouldn’t call finally getting boobs and growing an inch—making me a whopping five-five—at the age of eighteen “blossoming.” More like catching up. In any case, I appreciated the pep talk.
“Let’s get this over with. And stop kissing my ass!” I said.
She squealed with delight. “I’ve always wanted to dress you. This is going to be so much fun!”
I didn’t know about that, but at least this would make Mandy happy. That was something.
CHAPTER THREE
Tuesday.
The next morning, I arrived at school a little later than usual due to a recent alarm clock mishap (I’d “accidentally” shoved it off the nightstand and killed the contraption a few weeks ago. Poor thing.) But I digress. The real reason I’d overslept was that my mother had come home around midnight so I’d gotten up to eat a bowl of cereal and show her my new clothes. What always amazed me about her was that no matter how long her day was, she always had energy to talk and smile. Loved her. And she always looked amazing: her blond hair pulled back neatly into a bun, her face flawless and fresh—no makeup—and her blue eyes bright and alive, just like mine. Minus the bright and alive part.
“The secret, my dear, is being happy. Happiness keeps you young,” she always said.
That’s why when I saw Janice’s face light up with evil intent as I walked into homeroom that morning, and found the last seat was situated right between her and Dax, well, I didn’t let it get to me. Janice would be the ugliest troll on the planet by the time b-day number twenty hit; there was clearly no happiness in her life. Too bad for her because I was…
Happy, happy, happy. And ready to stand up for myself.
“Hey, Dakota. Nice skirt,” she said nice and loud for everyone to hear. “Salvation Army’s finest?” She snickered along with a few other Janice fans in the room.
Actually, it was Neiman’s finest, but I wasn’t about to let her belittle my love of thrift. Right Macklemore?
I looked at her and stared with defiance.
Her big blue eyes were caked with way too much mascara—how the heck did she manage to blink?—and she had her blond hair pulled into a high ponytail. I wanted to rip it out.
Wow, this glaring back feels good! I was just warming up.
“You know it,” I finally replied. “In fact, it was hanging right next to that skanky nightmare of a skirt your grandmother donated. She said she never wore it because you bought it for her; she’s not into slutty, apparently. But who am I to judge? Especially when the look works so well for you.”
Okay. My comeback was wordy. Maybe a little lame, too. But it was the best I could do on the fly, given that being mean wasn’t in my box of tricks.
Janice’s face turned a pissy shade of red. She hadn’t been expecting me to fight back since I never had. Not once in almost four years.
Her eye twitched. “You’re pathe—”
“Janice,” Dax cut her off, “don’t you have a hangnail to file or tiny animal to torture?”
“I…I…” Janice opted for shooting hateful thoughts in his general direction. I’m guessing that was because her shock was as big as mine. Dax had defended me. Me!
I flashed a “thank you smile” his way. He gave me a quick nod and turned his attention toward his book.
As for me? I gloated. Not because Dax had given Janice’s ego a big “fuck you,” but because I’d been left to fend for myself all these years with no one but Mandy—who was rarely around for the attacks—on my side. Having someone get my back felt…frigging wonderful. Add Dax to that equation and frigging wonderful turned into frigging awesome.
My victory buzz was short-lived, however, because Mr. M gave us our assignment: a writing exercise. “You will write about three things you did this spring break and then read it to the class.”
A communal groan erupted.
“This should be easy for you, Dakota,” Janice said. “Since you just hung out with a bunch of dirty dogs. Was it fun picking up shit? How do you get it out from under your nails—oh! Wait. That’s what that smell is…”
I heard a few small “ewws” from the drama junkies listening in.
That’s when it happened. I snapped.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Everyone gets mad, especially when they’ve been picked on as relentlessly as I had, but this was different compared to all those other times Janice had belittled the things I loved. This time she was trying to steal more than my pride; she was trying to steal my hope. I’d really had it.
Rage filled my mind along with images of ripping out her hair. Yes, I would jump on her head and pluck out her golden feathers! Let’s see how she likes it!
But that’s not what happened.
What I chose to do instead would be far worse. The biggest mistake of my life. I lied. Yes. Lied. A big, hairy, Whopper with cheese of a lie. It was one of those moments that as the words poured from my mouth, I caught myself thinking, Why the hell am I saying this? Not even I would believe such a festering pile of crap! But once I started, I could not stop.
Why? Why? Why?
My lie would become my life, my prison, my punishment for everything I’d ever done wrong.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You?” Janice laughed. “You have a boyfriend? And you spent spring break with him, going to parties in the Hamptons?” she laughed so hard that tears popped from her eyes like fleas jumping off a dog in a bathtub. “Oh! Oh! That’s frigging hysterical.”
“Ms. Jensen, care to share what’s so funny?” Mr. M peered over the top of his glasses, giving her an annoyed look.
“Yes!” She chuckled. “Dakota says that—wait.” She looked at me. “Why don’t you tell everyone what you did during break?”
I slouched in my chair and tried to ignore Dax rolling his eyes as if I were the lamest creature on the planet. The rest of the class simply stared with the sort of interest one might have when passing by a car accident.
“Ms. Jensen,” Mr. M said, “I’ll see you in detention.” He made a little circular motion with his hand, indicating she should turn herself around and get to work.
“What?” Janice barked. “Bu…bu…but I have practice after school.”
&
nbsp; Mr. M shrugged. “Correction. You had practice. Would you like to miss tomorrow as well?”
Dax chuckled under his breath, and Janice shot him a nasty look before turning her toxic gaze to me. “Let’s get to writing, shall we, Dakota?”
Crap. What would I do now? I had to write an essay about what I’d done over break, and if I didn’t retell the outrageous lie I’d just told, then Janice would have a field day. On the other hand, if I did write those lies and read them to the class, everyone would know I’d made them up. It was completely implausible for me to have a boyfriend.
Ugh. Where had those lies come from? What had possessed me to make up that garbage? I mean…really! Idiot. You’re an idiot, Dakota.
Doing everything in my power not to look at Dax or anyone else, I got up and left.
~ ~ ~
After driving around for an hour and ignoring ten text messages from Mandy, asking what had happened, I finally landed at Starbucks in the next burb over. I couldn’t stand to face anyone I knew. What a moron! Wait. No. That was too good for me. Freak of nature. Yes, that fit. Again, I couldn’t understand what had come over me. I’d been possessed by the demon of obnoxious lies.
Now what would I do? Deny I’d said those things? After, like, ten people overheard me? I pulled out my notebook with the handmade leather jacket—the one my dad had sent me on my sixteenth birthday—and scribbled way. Sometimes writing down my thoughts helped me sort things out.
Options:
Jump off bridge? No. Not my style.
Run away to an exotic island? No passport.
Witness protection program? Ugh. Would have to find a horrible crime to witness—not so easy.
I sighed. Maybe my parents would let me change schools? That would work, right? Except that the other schools in the district were still in Janice territory since she and her cheer-demons belonged to the same cheer-demon club and practiced together. And there was no way my parents would let me change with only eight weeks to go.
Maybe it would all blow over and be forgotten tomorrow?
My phone buzzed again. Another text from Mandy.
Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend who’s a model? And you’re training for the Olympics? I heard you broke the world record running to ur car!
Oh Lord. Now the lie had wings! And a tail! By morning, it would have antennae and, perhaps, a pair of snappy shoes!
Christ almighty. Haven’t I suffered enough? I thought, looking up at the industrial-style ceiling and trying to hold back tears.
Okay. Think this through. I’d said that everything happened in the Hamptons. That was way on the other side of the country, so it’s not like anyone could check the facts or anything. Maybe after a few days it would all die down.
My phone buzzed again, and I read the message. Dang it! No!
According to Mandy, who followed Janice’s “twitting,” Janice had posted a pic of me.
Oh no! What now? The picture loaded, and there wasn’t a gasp loud enough to capture my anguish. Her note said, and I quote, “Dakota’s new man and her Hampton friends.”
The picture was of a pack of grungy hyenas tearing at a piece of meat.
Why couldn’t she leave me alone? Why did she hate me so much? I swear, there was something wrong with that girl. It simply wasn’t natural to loathe someone as much as she loathed me for no goddamned reason.
Then I had an idea. A terrible idea. I scribbled it down and stared at the words, letting them infuse my mind while the world zoomed by in fast motion.
Don’t do it, Dakota. Don’t do it, said that little voice inside my head.
But I wasn’t listening.
Head spinning and heart pounding, I took a long sip of my mochaccino and then pulled my laptop from my backpack. What I did next is something I’m not proud of, and I won’t ever try to justify it, because there is no justification. I knew, even as I did it, regret would follow. Someday. But sometimes, you just reach your limit and stoop to a level you didn’t know existed inside you. You take a bad situation and make it worse. You give in to the other voice inside your head that tells you just this once, just this once you have to be bad in order to prove a point.
I am going to hell for this.
But I wasn’t hurting anyone, so would I really? I wasn’t stealing, or cheating on a test. I was simply going to lie about having a really, really hot boyfriend. One that would make Janice and her friends feel like they were dating my leftovers.
I frantically searched for the picture of the most gorgeous guy I could find. Bingo!
I sucked in a breath of worship and studied every masculine inch. Tall, perfect abs, sculpted chest, smooth olive skin, dark eyes, and slightly unkempt black hair falling about his face just so. He was the embodiment of my dream man: seductive, strong, confident, and mysterious. There was something about him that had me instantly fantasizing—who was he? Where was he from? What did his voice sound like?
And his eyes. There was an angry look about them.
Haunted. He’s haunted by something.
Ugh. You’re an idiot. He’s a model. He’s probably thinking about a sandwich. Or doing sit-ups.
Well, now he’s thinking about you. I saved the picture to my hard drive, created the new profile, and uploaded the image to Facebook.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wednesday.
The next morning, I rolled over in bed and groaned at the window. It was overcast, which always put me in a gloomy mood. It also made me want to stay in my bed where I felt safe and warm.
I lay there half-awake, half in a dream, staring blankly at my whitewashed antique desk in the corner, from which the blank screen of my laptop stared back, beckoning me to charge it.
Laptop!
I sprang from the bed. “No! Please, please, please tell me I didn’t do it!” That regret I’d been expecting came a little sooner than I’d hoped.
I fished my phone from my purse on the floor and tapped the app with the big F. As the little spinning doughnut danced on my screen, I made a small prayer to the gods of stupidity and asked for forgiveness.
I tapped my Friends page and waited for it to load.
Oh no. Eight. Yesterday, I’d had seven friends—Mandy and a few other random people who I wouldn’t exactly call friends. More like people with common interests in saving dogs at kill shelters. But today there was one new name.
The bottom of my world fell out. Oh no. I did it.
Santiago Asturias II from Barcelona, Spain, officially tagged as “boyfriend.”
Had my mochaccino been roofied? What in the world made me think I could pull a gorgeous photo off the Internet and pass him off as my boyfriend?
I hit my forehead. “Hell is too good a place for me.” Couldn’t I have at least picked an ugly guy? Oh, but noooo. I picked the hottest man ever to exist. Yes! A man! And no way was he close to my age!
All would not have been so lost if I’d not also made my profile public and connected it to Twitter right before I posted @Jgirl Bite me, Janice Jensen.
I knew she’d see it. I knew she’d want to retaliate. I knew she’d go to my Facebook page and check out my friends.
I covered my face. Why, why, why did I get myself into this mess? Because, hand-on-Bible truth? This was so not me. Not. Me. I’d never been the sort of person to lie my way through an issue. Once, when I was seven, I took a sneak peek inside the big red box under the Christmas tree. It was a new dollhouse. When my mother asked me who’d opened the present, I lied. I’d felt so guilty that I wrote Santa a letter stating—one hundred times—that I would never lie again. Never lie again, never lie again, never…
Sorry, Santa, I guess I broke that promise.
My cell vibrated. Another text from Mandy. Where r u?
I sighed. Dying on the inside.
What happened?
Janice, I replied.
She’s saying terrible things about you.
“Welcome her to the club,” I said as tweets rolled in. Apparently five othe
r egg-faced people I’d never met were also saying “terrible things.” How odd.
I deserve it, I responded.
So, no supermodel boyfriend? she asked.
No.
Too bad. He’s way hot.
U saw him?
Everyone saw him. Janice tweets and Instagrams like a pro.
What do I do? I asked, once again feeling eternally grateful for Mandy’s friendship. Notice how she hadn’t judged me. And given her intelligence, she’d probably deduced the reason behind my ridiculous yet uncharacteristic behavior.
Several minutes passed without a reply, and then…
People will forget. Eventually.
Eventually? Eventually? Pfff…Not likely. This stupid move would follow me to the grave. This was not how I’d envisioned beginning the journey into adulthood!
I tapped my finger on the side of the phone. I had no choice but to face “people” and not let it break me. For sure, though, I’d learned one valuable lesson: I would never lie again. I was better than this.
I threw on a sweatshirt and jeans before trudging off to the bathroom. I wrangled my red curly mop into a sloppy ponytail, brushed my teeth, and glared at the girl staring back.
Loser.
I took off my clothes and crawled back into bed. If I couldn’t face myself, how could I face anyone else?
~ ~ ~
Thursday.
“Times up, Dakota!”
My mother pulled down the blanket and rolled me off the bed onto the floor with a thump.
“Ow!” I tried to return to my sanctuary of sadness, but she grabbed me by the earlobe and yanked me up.
“I know you’re not sick. You are going to school today, young lady.”
I tried to twist away, but the woman had a grip of iron. “I’m not going.”
She shuffled me toward my private bathroom. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re not spending the rest of your life in bed, hiding out. I didn’t raise a coward.”
She may not have raised me like that, but I’d ended up a coward anyway.
Fate Book (a New Adult Novel) Page 2
