Chapter 8

8

Halloween passes in a blur of candy corn and costumes. My friends and I celebrate at the Chuck Munny, where they’re showing Hocus Pocus on the big screen for three-dollar admission. I secretly hope we might run into Tally—she always loved the Munny and would hang out with me at the concession stand while I worked on slow days—but when I check her Instagram, she’s posting from a haunted house with her new friends.

My family learns of my new “relationship” on the first night of November. Mom and Dad and I are getting ready for college scholarship night, a boring info dump hosted by the school guidance department, when Thora throws a grenade into the mix.

“College night is for all the seniors, right?” she says, even though she already knows the answer. “I guess that means you’ll meet Scottie’s new girlfriend.”

Dad freezes in the act of pulling on his Crocs. Mom stops lint rolling the cat hair off her jacket.

“Girlfriend?” they say at the same time.

I glare at Thora, but the damage is done. I explain as sparingly as I can, but they manage to wrangle Irene’s name, description, and practically her star sign from me.

“But this is the girl you got in the car accident with!” Mom says, beaming. “And you said you didn’t like her … Now how about that for life playing a joke on you!”

“It’s like they say, Scots,” Dad chimes in. “Beautiful things can grow out of shit.”

“Buck, don’t say ‘shit’ in front of the girls,” Mom says, glancing at Daphne.

“Mom, I’m in seventh grade,” Daphne says exasperatedly. “Today I heard one of my teachers say ‘shit.’”

“What? Why?”

“He was talking about Candlehawk.”

“Oh, well, that’s different.”

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” Dad says. “I want to meet Scottie’s new amour!”

“Are we sure we’re happy about this?” Thora asks. “I’m concerned Scottie might be suffering from Stockholm syndrome.”

“Like Sweden?” Daphne says.

“No, like Beauty and the Beast. Scottie is in love with her captor.”

“Oh, Thora, don’t be a sass monster,” Mom says, swatting her. She steers me toward the door and I shoot one last scowl at my sister. Her timing could not have been worse. I still don’t have my car back, which means I’ll have to ride with Mom, Dad, and their incessant questions.

I find Danielle and Mrs. Zander as soon as we enter the school auditorium. “Help me keep them away from Irene,” I whisper under cover of the parents talking. “Thora spilled the beans.”

Danielle rolls her eyes but finds us a row toward the top of the auditorium, sequestered away from most of the senior class and their parents. Mom and Dad make jovial conversation with Mrs. Zander, but their eyes keep wandering over the newcomers like they expect Irene to appear at my side any moment.

Thankfully, she doesn’t. I’m not even sure she’s there until I spot Honey-Belle’s bright blond braids in the middle of the auditorium. Irene is seated next to her, whispering into her ear, both her parents tucked into the seats next to her.

The info session takes about forty-five minutes. I basically hear what I already know: that my plan to attend Georgia State University will definitely make me eligible for in-state scholarships. I pretty much zone out after that, but when the guidance counselors touch on athletic scholarships, I watch Irene straighten in her chair. I wonder if her mom notices. I wonder if her mom even knows Irene wants to cheer in college.

They wrap up the session with an audience raffle. We do these a lot in Grandma Earl, always offering local treats like a coffee mug from Sweet Noelle’s or a pack of toothbrushes from Hermey Orthodontics. In Candlehawk they raffle off iPads, stock market shares, and dinner with the mayor. One time they gave away a French bulldog.

When the session finally ends, I’m out of my seat before the lights come on. “Time to go!” I say brightly, shooing my parents along.

“But your girlfriend!” Mom says.

Mrs. Zander gasps. “Scottie has a new girlfriend?”

It takes everything in me not to face-palm. Danielle looks resigned, but she saves me. “We’ll meet Irene next time, guys. I think she was—um—sick today?”

“Aw, what a waste,” my dad says. “I’ve been storing up so much Embarrassing Dad Energy.”

Danielle and I move our parents along, but they’re still casting looks over their shoulders; even Mrs. Zander has joined in with the nosiness. We spill into the lobby with the hordes of other Earlians. And just when I think we’re about to be free—

Dr. Abraham walks straight into us.

“Ancy!” Mom trills.

“Wanda!” Irene’s mom says.

Of course they remembered each other’s fucking names. And now they’re hugging.

“This is my husband—” Mom says.

“And this is my husband—” Dr. Abraham says, pulling Irene’s dad out of nowhere.

“And this is our dear friend Harmony Zander, Danielle’s mom—”

The only good thing is that Irene is nowhere to be found. Maybe she went off with Honey-Belle somewhere. Maybe she’s already left in her own car—

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” a voice mutters next to me.

Yeah. Irene is still here.

“Why didn’t you keep them moving?” she says, gritting her teeth. I should have noticed she’d walked up next to me. Her cedar perfume is getting too familiar.

“Keep them moving?” I mock. “I’m not walking a pack of dogs, Abraham.”

“Oh girls!” the moms squeal. “Look at you together!”

There’s nothing to do but smile and pretend to be thrilled with this family introduction. Mom and Dad beam at Irene; Irene’s parents beam at me. Mrs. Zander literally claps. Danielle hides her laughter behind her hand.

“Let’s get your picture together,” Irene’s dad says, pulling out his phone. He’s slender and speaks with an accent. He has Irene’s mouth.

“Oh, we don’t need to—” I start.

“No, Dad, we’re fine—” Irene tries.

But of course the parents have their way. There are suddenly five phones trained on us, because even Mrs. Zander is getting in on the mix.

“Why are you standing so stiffly?” Irene’s mom chides. “Hug each other! Do something!”

Irene and I trade looks.

“Um, we’re not really into PDA,” I say.

“Yeah, we’re not huggers. It’s so tacky,” Irene adds.

“Really?” Danielle says. I recognize the twinkle in her eyes: She’s about to have some fun. “But I see you hug all the time. I love watching you hug. It’s like all the love in the universe coming together.”

I’m ready to throttle her.

“Come on,” my mom says. “Just one little hug and we’ll leave you alone.”

And that’s how Irene and I end up with our arms around each other, forcing smiles for the cameras. Her shoulder is warm. Her hair tickles my face. I find myself holding my breath.

“Oh! Don’t move!” another voice shouts at us. “It’s for the newspaper!”

The goddamn Cleveland triplets have walked into our picture party. Now all three of them are snapping photos that will no doubt end up on social media.

But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, I think, because Tally will see them.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Irene says, releasing me. “It was lovely running into you all, but I have to, um, finish my Senior Horizons homework.”

“Same,” I say.

And with that, we bolt.

Mom and Dad are predictably eager on the drive home. They won’t stop talking about what a cute couple we make. They spend as much time talking about Irene as they do about the actual college session.

“It’s good to see you with someone who deserves you, Scottie,” Mom says. She reaches behind the passenger seat and squeezes my hand. “I like how genuine that girl is.”

I snort without meaning to. But if I think about it, I guess Mom is right. Irene has never been anything but herself.

---

I finally get my car back that weekend, thank God. It’s a lot easier pretending to date my nemesis when we don’t have to spend every morning and evening trapped in a speeding metal box together.

Our first regular season game takes place in early November. Danielle works us hard at practice, and I work myself even harder at home, refining my shots in the driveway each night. Googy leads the charge to make posters publicizing the game but is forced to take hers down after she paints a pair of basketballs inside a bra.

Nevertheless, word gets out: There’s a sudden buzz about the girls’ basketball team because of my relationship with Irene. When she unilaterally changes the cheerleading schedule so the squad will cheer for our games instead of the boys’, the buzz only increases further. To seal the deal, I give her my team picture button before school one morning.

“You actually expect me to wear this?” she asks, regarding my button like it’s the most heinous thing she’s ever seen. “It’s just so corny.”

“God, prima donna, just wear it on your backpack. It’ll make you a walking advertisement for my team.”

The button has the desired effect: On the evening of our first home game, the bleachers are packed with students and fans. It’s the largest crowd we’ve ever drawn—maybe the only thing that counts as a crowd at all. When my teammates peek through the locker room door, they return with radiant expressions on their faces. The only one put off by the show of support is Danielle.

“I can’t play with all those people watching me,” she says nervously. She starts to disappear into herself, sinking into the locker room bench, almost like she’s going into Danielle Vision. “So many people. So many eyes.”

“You’ll be great,” I assure her. “You’ve been killing it at practice with people watching.”

“That’s, like, twelve people,” she says, staring at the lockers. “This is our whole grade.”

“Hey.” I shake her shoulder. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but buck up. Either you want us to be dynamite—which means more people cheering for us—or you want us to suck. You can’t have it both ways.”

She swallows and lets me pull her off the bench. “Fine. Just—don’t let the announcer call my name.”

“I literally have no control over that,” I say, laughing at her.

“Shhh,” she says, walking to the door robotically.

When our team runs onto the court, there’s a huge roar from the crowd. I find myself blushing in a good way. Irene and her squad are stationed at the sidelines, working their magic. I almost wish she would turn around and throw me a knowing smirk.

Googy wins the tip-off, and the ball lands in my hands, and before I know it, I’m sailing down the court like I own the damn thing. Before the other team has time to finalize their defensive formation, I pass the ball to one of our open forwards, who sinks an easy jump shot.

The crowd cheers. I high-five a slightly less nervous Danielle, and as we run to the other side of the court to play defense, I can’t help grinning.

---

We win that first game, and then our second game the following week, and somehow we end up rolling into an undefeated season. November becomes a flurry of practice-practice-game, practice-practice-game, and I’m high on the rhythm of it, the sweet exhaustion I feel after each practice, the crisp, bright air on my cheeks when Irene and I break out of the gym every evening.

A few weeks into the season—and my new “relationship”—I get word of an opportunity I’ve been itching for.

“Charlotte Pascal’s house,” Gunther says abruptly when we plop down for lunch. “Have you heard?”

“No?”

“It’s all anyone’s talking about. She’s throwing a party over Thanksgiving break.”

“So?” Danielle asks.

“So I think we should go,” Gunther says bracingly. “I’m in the mood for another ‘senior fundraiser’ to liven up my social scene.”

Danielle half turns to Kevin. “What do you think? Are you gonna go?”

“Yeah, why not?” Kevin says, shrugging. “It’s something new. The only other party I’ve been to was with band kids and it was … underwhelming.”

“I heard Charlotte’s still dating that Candlehawk bro,” Gunther says through a mouthful of sandwich. “Honey-Belle was telling me about it.”

I study him. “Since when do you and Honey-Belle talk?”

“We talk sometimes,” Gunther says, his voice high-pitched.

“Does she still think your name is Grover?” Kevin asks.

Gunther ignores him. “She said the guy’s a total toolbag. He told Charlotte he’d only come to her party if she invited his Candlehawk classmates, too.”

My ears perk up. “All his Candlehawk classmates?”

“Why does that—” Danielle starts to say, but then she stops. Her expression darkens. “Scottie, no.”

“What?” Kevin asks.

I scratch the back of my neck, trying to seem casual. “I was just wondering.”

“She’s wondering whether Tally will be there.”

“What? Why?” Gunther says, licking the mustard at the corner of his mouth. “You’re dating Irene now.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m just considering whether she would be there,” I say carefully. “I mean, I’m not above making her jealous.”

Kevin snorts into his Gatorade. Danielle squeezes her eyes shut like she’s praying for patience. I don’t care; I have a new mission.

I find Irene after lunch. “Hey,” I say, leaning up against her locker. “Did you hear about Charlotte’s party?”

Her eyes turn stormy. “What about it?”

“It’s next weekend, once break starts.” I lower my voice. “Our first public outing together.”

“I’m not going to Charlotte’s party,” Irene says, slamming her locker.

I follow her as she stalks off, grabbing hold of her backpack to slow her down. My basketball button stares up at me. “Um? Why not?”

“Because I despise her. Which you already know. Everyone knows.”

“Candlehawk people will be there,” I insist. “Tally will be there.”

“Who cares? We can flaunt our sexy relationship in front of her at the Candlehawk game. I thought that was your goal.”

“No,” I say, getting heated now. “We agreed this was part of the deal: You helping me make Tally jealous.”

Irene spins around by the Language Hall. She pulls me into a room two doors down.

“This is a teachers’ lounge,” I say as she snaps the door shut.

“Only the language teachers use it, and they all have third block classes.”

I squint at her. “You’ve come in here before?”

She ignores the question. “I’m not going to Charlotte’s house.”

“You don’t have to talk to her,” I say impatiently. “For God’s sake, there’ll be a million people there. You can hang with me and Danielle and Honey-Belle.”

Irene looks ready to incinerate me with her stare. “Don’t push me on this, Zajac.”

“What’s your problem with Charlotte, anyway?” I ask, even though I know the rumor from Gunther.

Her eyes flash. “That’s none of your business. You’re not entitled to know or understand how I feel about people.”

I straighten my back, keeping my eyes hard on her. “This was part of the deal.”

Irene stands tall, holding her ground. “If you can’t bend on this one thing, the deal is off. You don’t get to treat me like some escort for hire. I understand that to you I’m just some ‘hot girl’ with social capital, and for the most part, I’ve let you get away with that, but this is too far. I’m a person with feelings and boundaries. Get your head out of your ass and respect that, or we’re done.”

She wrenches the door open and sweeps out of the room, and I’m left standing in her wake, completely dazed.

---

Irene and I give each other a wide berth after that. We hardly acknowledge each other and she stops coming to my practices, prompting the Cleveland triplets to grill me about our “trouble in paradise.”

The week leading into Thanksgiving break arrives with a flurry of tests and project deadlines. Rain lashes down, darkening the sky outside our school windows, and the ancient tree behind the library is stripped of its vibrant red leaves. It’s our first glimpse of winter branches, bare and clawlike.

The Thursday before break starts, we’re in Scuttlebaum’s class, whiling away the minutes as the rain pelts against the window. Danielle is sketching new basketball plays on the corner of her notebook. Gino’s on the opposite side of the room, flicking paper footballs every time Scuttlebaum turns her back. Irene is sitting with her head in her hand, picking at her nail polish and staunchly avoiding my eyes.

Scuttlebaum is prattling on about her favorite show, The Masked Singer, when she abruptly switches gears and grabs a stack of papers off her desk. “I’ve got your homework graded,” she announces. “Scottie, here.”

Scuttlebaum never says Please pass these out. She just gestures vaguely and says Here.

I take the stack of papers obligingly and start to pass them around the room. That’s when I notice Charlotte Pascal trading a note with her friend Symphony Davis. They’re scrawling furiously back and forth.

Just when I’m about to deliver the last pieces of homework, there’s a ruckus as Scuttlebaum confiscates Charlotte and Symphony’s note.

“Sending notes, Ms. Pascal?” She stands imperiously at the front of the room. “Hmph. Let’s see what’s so interesting that it couldn’t wait until class ends…”

She narrows her beady eyes and wheezes into reading. I stop where I stand, the last two homework pieces in my hand.

“If she thinks she’ll even set foot on my property, she’s delusional,” Scuttlebaum starts, her voice grating. My classmates shift in their seats; everyone can tell this is gonna be good.

Scuttlebaum changes her voice to indicate Symphony’s reply. “But you said everyone’s invited to this party.”

“Not a predatory bitch like her.”

Everyone gasps, wide-eyed with glee. There’s a rumble of Oooooh around the room.

“Why would you say something so crass?” Scuttlebaum scolds Charlotte, but she continues reading.

“Girl, jeeze, L-O-L what did she even do to you?”

My instinct about the “bitch” they’re talking about grows clearer. I can’t help but notice Irene’s face darkening on the opposite side of the room.

“Ugh, I don’t even wanna talk about it. We were at that party last year and she started—”

There’s a collective anticipation in the room; it seems like everyone has figured out who Charlotte’s note is about. Something we’ve all been wondering for months is about to be revealed—and the look on Irene’s face is one of terror.

Scuttlebaum opens her mouth again, and my heart drills in my chest, and then—

In a flash, someone snatches the paper out of Scuttlebaum’s hand.

And that someone is me.

Before anyone can register what happened, I spit my gum into the note and crumple it up in my hand. I lob it into the trash can with a crisp, clean shot. The room goes so quiet I can hear someone cracking their knuckles nervously.

Scuttlebaum’s eyes are popping. I feel like I’m staring down a basilisk. I do the only thing I can think of: shrug and back away from her, acting like I’ve just done the most innocent thing on earth.

“Good timing,” I say casually. “That gum just lost its flavor.”

There’s an outbreak of gasping and giggling. I collapse into my seat, with Scuttlebaum glaring at me like a tomato-faced demon.

“Detention, Ms. Zajac,” she snarls. “How about tomorrow, just to delay your break from starting?”

I don’t care about the punishment, even though Danielle will be on my ass about missing practice. Everyone is staring at me, and I know my face is flaming red, but the only person I manage to connect with is Irene.

She stares across the room at me with the most curious expression on her face. I hold her eyes for a moment, then look down at my homework, perfectly graded with an A+ on top.

---

By the time I finish practice that day, the entire senior class seems to have heard about my wildly stupid gesture. A record number of people show up to watch the end of our practice, and I can’t figure out why until I see that Irene is back in their ranks. Danielle, who has barely spoken to me since practice started, looks resentfully delighted.

Irene approaches when I’m yanking off my ankle braces. I can feel every eye in the gym on us. I don’t look up until the last second.

Her dark hair is in its usual high ponytail, her tank top soaked with sweat, her biceps swelling the slightest bit.

“They think we’re going to have some dramatic reconciliation,” she tells me.

“Gross.”

We hover on the spot. Then Irene says, “Let me walk you to your car.”

We leave our nosy classmates behind and make our way out to the parking lot. We busy ourselves with zipping up our jackets and chugging our water bottles. It’s not until we’re standing by my car that Irene speaks.

“You didn’t have to do that, Scottie.”

It’s the first time she’s said my actual name, and I feel it like a sudden warmth in my chest. I have to look away from her eyes. “Trust me, I didn’t plan to.”

She clears her throat. “Is she really gonna make you stay late tomorrow?”

“It won’t be too bad. She wants me to deep-clean her whiteboard.”

“I used to love doing that. The smell of that cleaning spray.”

We fall silent. The air is crisp, cold, clean. The marquee across the way reads HAPPY WANKSGIVING.

“What would I have to do at Charlotte’s?” Irene asks.

I laugh through my nose. “Are you asking because I proved myself to you, or because her nasty note said you couldn’t come?”

Her mouth twitches. “Both.”

“God, you’re stubborn.”

“And you’re not?”

I roll my eyes. “We wouldn’t be at Charlotte’s long. We’d just ‘make an appearance,’ hang with our friends, make sure Tally got a good look.”

Irene shifts her duffel bag, watching me. “You really think she’s worth all this effort?”

I chew my bottom lip. “I know it’s petty.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, but not like she’s judging me. There’s a silence until she speaks again. I can tell by her expression that she’s going to relent. “If we get there and I say we need to leave, we leave. No questions asked.”

“Deal.” I stick out my hand for her to shake.

She quirks an eyebrow. We clasp hands for a brief, firm moment. It’s weird that her hands are starting to feel familiar.

“See you tomorrow, asshole,” she says, turning on the spot.

“I’ll send you a love letter from detention,” I call after her.