The Good Girls

by Sara Shepard

  “No!” She shook her head. “You are amazing. It’s just that I . . .” She what? She didn’t even know. “I have to go.” She straightened the straps of her bra and grabbed her purse, which had fallen onto the floor. “I’ll call you, okay?”

  And then she was out the door and halfway to her own car. To her horror, tears were streaming down her face and mixing with the raindrops that had started to fall. What was wrong with her? Was it because she’d made Claire leave? Was it because she’d dragged an innocent guy into her stupid little game? Was it because she felt as heartless as Claire?

  When she reached her own car, she plunged her hand into the glove compartment, desperate for a Kleenex. Only, her fingers brushed against something else. It was a white envelope—the card Blake had left with her gummy-worm cupcake.

  She climbed into her car, locked the door, and tore it open. On the front of the card was a picture of a giraffe wearing sunglasses, which, despite her tears, made Mac smile. She was a sucker for dorky cards featuring dressed-up animals, and Blake knew it. When she opened it, Blake’s crabbed handwriting covered the page.

  Dear Macks, it said. You probably hate me forever. And I understand—if I were you, I’d hate me forever, too. I made a really stupid decision. I never should have listened to Claire. I should have known she was being devious and deceptive from the start. I should have been honest with you, and a stronger person, and because I wasn’t, I’ve probably lost you for good. The only thing I have left is our awesome memories together. You left a tube of ChapStick at my house last time you were here, and this probably makes me a weirdo, but I carry it around in my guitar case, sort of like a good-luck memento.

  I miss you. I love you. I would do anything to get you back. Just name it.

  Blake

  Tears streamed down Mac’s cheeks. And all at once, she knew—this was why she felt so empty kissing Oliver. He was a good guy, and he probably would make a good boyfriend . . . but he wasn’t the person she wanted, the person she couldn’t allow herself to have.

  He wasn’t Blake.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SATURDAY EVENING AT SIX, CAITLIN pulled on a dark gray dress that showed off her soccer-toned legs, slipped into her favorite red ballet flats, and did a full 360 in front of her mirror so that her short black hair fluttered. She wasn’t the type to dress up, but tonight called for it. She looked perfect. She hoped she was dressed appropriately for wherever they were going, but Jeremy wasn’t saying a word—which, Caitlin had to admit, was part of the fun.

  Caitlin loved surprises, which Jeremy just seemed to know; she couldn’t remember ever telling him. She also couldn’t remember Josh ever surprising her with anything, except for the soccer-turf necklace he’d given her right before they broke up. And it had been such an awkward surprise: He’d given it to her right in front of their families, and it had come in this velvet ring box, so it had looked like he was proposing.

  Caitlin quickly touched up her lip gloss and was about to head downstairs when her cell phone chirped in her cross-body purse. It was probably Jeremy, calling to tease her with a clue about tonight’s date. He’d done so all day, though he’d only said things like “you’ll scream when I tell you” . . . which could mean anything. Did he mean scream literally—like it would be scary but also romantic? Maybe he planned a candlelit whale-watching cruise on the Pacific—Caitlin had a love-hate relationship with whales. Or maybe he wanted to do a horror-movie marathon under the stars—she’d huddle next to him all night. “Hey,” she giggled into the phone, without looking at the caller ID.

  “Where are you?”

  “Ursula?” Why was Ursula Winters calling her?

  “Uh, we’re waiting for you,” came Ursula’s clipped reply. Then she snorted. “Oh my god, you totally forgot. She forgot,” Caitlin heard her call into the background, followed by a series of groans.

  “Forgot what?” Caitlin asked.

  Ursula sighed, as if she’d been expecting this. “The new recruit initiation is tonight, Caitlin. It’s always the Saturday after tryouts. Didn’t Coach Leah tell you on the phone?”

  Caitlin flushed hot, then cold, panicking. Had Coach Leah mentioned it? She’d been so excited she hadn’t really listened to the coach’s spiel. But Caitlin had been a member of the team for almost four years. She knew the drill.

  She stared at her reflection in the mirror, ready to tell Ursula she had plans. But the words died in her mouth. This was the most important bonding event for the soccer team, and she’d be a shitty captain if she didn’t go. She had no choice—she had to be there. She would just have to reschedule with Jeremy. He would understand.

  She told Ursula she’d be there in twenty, then immediately dialed Jeremy’s number. He answered on the first ring. “I’m on my way now, Miss Impatient.” There was laughter in his voice. “You getting excited to see what awaits you tonight?”

  “Actually, I have really bad news,” Caitlin blurted. She had already stripped off her dress, thrown on jeans and a tee, and was heading to the front door. “Soccer initiations are tonight—I totally spaced. But I promise I’ll make it up to you, okay? Tell you what—I’ll cook dinner for you tomorrow night. Anything you want. Even chicken tikka masala.” Caitlin made a mean chicken tikka masala—her moms had taught her—and Jeremy had been complaining that he hadn’t gotten to try it yet.

  But there was silence on the line. Caitlin swung into her car and looked at her phone, wondering if they’d been cut off. The timer was still going. “Jeremy?” she asked tentatively. “You there?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” His voice was small and kind of cold.

  She jammed the key in the ignition. “I’m really, really sorry. It’s this thing we do every year with the new players. A welcome tradition. I forgot, and since I’m captain, it’s my responsibility to run it. I really have to be there.”

  “And you’re telling me now?”

  Caitlin paused, her hands on the wheel. Where was Mr. Understanding? “I said I was sorry,” she repeated, feeling a pull in her stomach. “And I promise to make it up to you. We can reschedule our dinner, can’t we?”

  Jeremy let out an astonished laugh. “I wasn’t just taking you to dinner. I was taking you to see One Direction.”

  “Oh my god!” Caitlin cried, her hand flying to her mouth. One Direction was her dirty little secret. She was a Niall girl—she kept a little picture of the Irishman taped inside her iPad cover, just for fun. Josh used to roll his eyes every time he saw it. He would rather have died—or never played soccer again—than see One Direction with her. This was just further proof that Jeremy was the best boyfriend ever.

  Which officially made her the worst girlfriend ever.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, Jeremy. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah. I had gotten us front-row seats. But it’s . . . whatever.”

  He sounded so crushed. And suddenly, Caitlin was, too. She racked her brain for a way to make this work. “Wait—hang on. Let me see if I can—”

  “Forget it.” Jeremy cut her off. “Enjoy your night of hazing.”

  Before Caitlin could respond, Jeremy was gone. He had hung up on her.

  Her mouth hung open. She quickly hit REDIAL, but he didn’t answer. “Jeremy, call me back!” she bleated at his voice mail, then she immediately called again. Still no answer. She couldn’t believe it. Was he angry at her?

  Her phone buzzed, and she pounced on it, eager to take Jeremy’s call. But it was Ursula again. Caitlin waited a beat, considering her options. If Jeremy had picked up, she would have told him she’d go. The initiation mattered—but not as much as front-row seats. But it annoyed her, too, that he hadn’t even listened to reason. He’d just hung up on her.

  So she picked up the call. “Can you pick up some Silly String on your way over?” Ursula whined. “Since you’ve clearly done nothing else to help?”

  “Sure,” Caitlin said, wilting. “I’ll be there soon.”

  Caitlin coul
dn’t think of anything she was less in the mood for than initiations, but she made the short drive to Beacon High’s multimillion-dollar, brand-new athletic facility anyway. She pulled into one of the team captain parking spots—for the first time ever—and checked herself in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

  She tried Jeremy again. Still nothing. “I can probably be out of here by nine,” she said in her sixth voice mail of the hour. “Just say the word, and I’ll be there. Thank you so much for those tickets. It’s just . . . well, it’s amazing.”

  Then she dashed into the gym with Silly String in hand. At the sight of her, the whole team, newbies included, jumped up and began tossing rolls of toilet paper to one another. Ursula was emptying out the last Costco-size package, throwing rolls over heads to the players in the back. “Roll out!” Ursula instructed, drill-sergeant style. “And . . . decorate!”

  “Follow me!” Caitlin said, remembering how initiation went. The first order of business was to toilet-paper a bunch of trees by the soccer field. The captain—or co-captains, in this case—always sprinted as fast as she could to get there, the other girls following behind. The slowest girls had to climb the highest trees and throw the most toilet paper.

  She grabbed two rolls and headed for the double doors that led outside. She was at the front of the pack, racing across the field at top speed. She could hear the other girls huffing behind her as they unspooled their toilet paper and began to drape it across the sheds and fences. It felt weird to run, strange to do something so active and silly when Jeremy was so angry at her. But it wasn’t like she had a choice. She was captain. That meant something.

  She steered the group off the field, down the hill, and onto the main walk on campus. When everyone else caught up, she singled out some of the slowest runners and pointed to their trees. The new players hurled the small white spools up into the branches, caught them when they fell, then threw them again. Then Ursula, who’d caught up, too, started a call and response chant: “Hey newbies!”

  “Hey what?” they responded.

  “Hey newbies!”

  “Hey what?”

  Caitlin yelled at the top of her lungs as well, giggling at the old rhyme. For a moment, she even forgot about Jeremy. But then it all came thundering back. She reached into her pocket for her phone. He still hadn’t called.

  The girls stopped on the quad to catch their breaths. Then, a rumble of footsteps and male voices bounced off the school buildings. The boys’ soccer team rounded the corner, running in formation. Josh was in point position at the front. Caitlin gazed at him for a moment. He met her eyes and cocked his head a little. That’s when Caitlin realized. If anyone could tell she was upset, it would be him. She turned away, embarrassed.

  “Okay, let’s hit the locker room next for the Kool-Aid treatment,” Caitlin told the team, trying to sound chipper. She faced the new girls. “Babies,” she called out in a thunderous voice. “Get in formation. It’s time to put on your diapers for your Kool-Aid bath!”

  The girls groaned and laughed. Caitlin marched after them, but then she felt someone touch her shoulder. She whirled around. Josh was standing behind her.

  “Hey.” His tone was cool, but he was studying her face carefully.

  “Hey,” she replied awkwardly. She kept her face turned away from him, hoping he wouldn’t get a good glimpse of her puffy eyes.

  “You all right?”

  Caitlin was surprised by the real concern in his voice. She swallowed hard. “Sure,” she said stiffly. “I’m perfect.”

  Josh crossed his arms over his chest and kept his eyes on her. “Come on. What’s up?”

  Caitlin felt a welling of emotion in her chest. Why was Josh being so nice to her when she had hurt him so badly? She shrugged. “Just dumb stuff. Nothing major.”

  “Is it Jeremy?” he said quietly. He waited patiently, staring at her.

  Caitlin’s hands flew to her face and she covered her eyes for a second. “Yes. It’s Jeremy. He’s . . . he’s mad at me. I forgot about the team thing, and he had gotten us tickets to a concert, and he was going to surprise me. And now he’s really, really pissed. I feel terrible.”

  She peeked at him, expecting him to roll his eyes and say she got what she deserved, but instead, Josh just shrugged. “Is he mad you bailed on him, or mad you’re doing a soccer thing?”

  Caitlin frowned. “I don’t know.” But Josh had a point. If she’d had to cancel on Jeremy because of something else—a family commitment, or something with school—would he have hung up on her? It was like soccer was his trigger.

  Josh sighed. “The thing about Jeremy is he sees things in black and white. You’re either this person”—Josh jerked his thumb in the direction of their teams—“or you’re that person. You can’t be both.”

  Caitlin’s mouth hung open. It was actually true. And it surprised her how he’d put it: not in a disparaging way, but simply matter-of-fact. Jeremy was Jeremy.

  “You’re the captain,” Josh went on. “You had to do this for the team. If he cares about you, he’ll understand.”

  He held her gaze for another moment, then turned away and called “Move it on out!” to his team. “We need to paper the tops of those trees, where the girls couldn’t reach.”

  The boys laughed and high-fived one another, and the girls good-naturedly booed and catcalled. “Caitlin, let’s go,” Ursula called out from across the field. “Locker rooms, now.”

  “One sec,” Caitlin called back, her eyes still on Josh. She wanted to thank Josh for what he’d just told her—and how nice he’d been, especially given the circumstances. He had moved past the math building and was climbing a massive tree, a roll of toilet paper jammed into his shorts pocket. She wandered over there and watched as he unrolled the streamer of paper to decorate the branches. The paper was so light that it got picked up by a slight breeze and blew back toward him.

  Then he looked down and saw her. “Oh,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to say that—” Caitlin started. She swallowed hard. “You’re really . . .”

  “What’s that?” Josh tilted toward her to hear her better. Their eyes met. Josh gave her the old smile he used to save only for her. Caitlin’s heart did a flip.

  But suddenly, she heard a sharp crack of wood.

  “Shit,” Josh yelped, the branch beneath him snapping. His hands flailed to grab another branch, but his fingers closed on a clump of leaves instead. They tore away in his hand, and all at once he was falling hard out of the tree and onto the grass below. He landed with a sickening thud just a few feet from where Caitlin stood.

  Caitlin screamed and raced to his side, her heart beating like a drum. His eyes were closed. He looked hurt. This was her fault. “Josh?” she cried, her voice tinged with tears. “Are you okay?”

  Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. “I—I’m fine,” he said weakly. He sat up and looked at her, a dazed look on his face. “I think it’s my ankle.”

  “Can you walk?”

  He thought about this, then shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he whispered.

  A bunch of other kids had rushed over by now, too. Shaken, Caitlin pulled out her cell and dialed 911. Adrenaline coursed through her as the operator picked up and said an ambulance would be there soon.

  Soon enough, an ambulance roared up, and two burly EMTs loaded Josh into the back. Caitlin’s nerves were jumping everywhere—ambulances would always remind her of Taylor, no matter how long she lived. She watched as Josh peered at her from the gurney. He was grinding his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut to fight the pain. She broke free of the crowd and put one foot on the bumper. “Josh, do you want me to come with you?”

  Josh met her gaze, but then the EMT stepped in the way. “Are you family?”

  She shook her head.

  “A girlfriend?”

  Caitlin drew back. It wasn’t her job to ride with Josh to the hospital. Not anymore. She froze, the finali
ty of the end of their relationship suddenly very real. “No,” she said quietly. “I’m not.”

  The EMT closed the door with a loud clang. Its lights flashing, the ambulance let out one loud whoop of the siren, turned out of the driveway, and sped up the main road.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE FOLLOWING MONDAY MORNING, JULIE sat in her car, idling in the parking lot of Beacon High. Kids were gathering in clumps to recap their weekends. School buses huffed at the curbs, doors were slamming, and a group of girls stood by the art wing with a large banner bearing Lucas Granger’s face. The first bell blared, indicating that there were fifteen more minutes until homeroom began.

  She totally wouldn’t be ready in fifteen minutes.

  Julie buckled her seat belt and put the car back in drive. Then she felt a hand on hers. “Hey. You can do this.”

  She looked up. Carson had wanted to pick her up this morning, but she’d insisted on picking him up instead, so she could make a quick getaway in the middle of the day if she needed to. “Come on,” he said, with a warm smile. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Julie looked cautiously at the students streaming into the building. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t face Ashley.”

  “Yes, you can. If we see her, we’ll just turn and go in the other direction, okay? Or even better, we’ll face her, and tell her what a pathetic bitch she is.”

  Julie’s eyes flicked to the girls holding the Granger banner. She hadn’t been back to school since Granger was killed, and she’d assumed that stuff would have started to blow over by now. But it seemed like there were more Granger groupies than ever.

  “Come on.” Carson opened the car door. With a long sigh, Julie turned off the ignition, grabbed her purse and books, and followed him into school.

  It had only been a little over a week since she was last here, but Beacon High felt different—and looked different. There was a new fern in the lobby. There were all sorts of Granger posters in the halls. And Julie was different, too. When she’d left, she had still been Perfect Julie Redding, with a constant stream of people following her down the hall. Now she was dirty and shameful, leaving only the stench of cat piss and rotten food in her wake. At least that’s how she felt.