Chapter 9

9

The start of Thanksgiving break means no school but extra basketball practice. I don’t mind; I’m so amped at the prospect of destroying Candlehawk in a few weeks—especially after Tally sees me with Irene this weekend—that I practice harder than ever, getting to the gym earlier and staying later than my teammates.

Daphne and I spend our downtime in the beginning of the week watching movies. Thora joins us as often as she can, but The Chimney is busier than usual with the holiday, so she’s swamped with shifts. On one of the mornings she has off, the three of us drive to the Chuck Munny to catch a double feature of Clueless and Never Been Kissed. When we leave the theater, I have a text from Irene.

Irene Abraham:Planning my outfit for the party. Wearing red. Do not match me.

I can’t help but laugh.

On Thanksgiving Day, we feast on our usual turkey, stuffing, and cranberries. Thora brings leftover mead from the restaurant and my parents actually let me try some. Daphne sulks and takes extra helpings of pumpkin pie.

“This blows,” Daphne says, stabbing her fork into her pie.

“Don’t say that word,” Mom says.

Thora takes advantage of the distraction to sneak bits of turkey to Pickles and BooBoo. Dad totally notices but pretends not to. After we finish the dishes, we flop on the couches and watch a quiet show about Alaskan fishermen. It’s perfect.

“Scottie, we’ve been meaning to tell you,” Dad says during a commercial. “We’re so proud of you for moving on from Tally. You’re giving your all to basketball and your new relationship. It’s a real lesson in resilience.”

Mom strokes my hair back from my forehead. “We always knew you’d bounce back.”

I make a joke to deflect their praise. I’m careful not to catch my sisters’ eyes; they’d see right through me. I feel a twitch of shame knowing that I’m going to be dangling my fake relationship over Tally on Saturday night, but I shut that feeling down. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point.

---

If you had told me a month ago that I’d be rolling into Charlotte Pascal’s party with a crew comprised of Irene, Honey-Belle, and Danielle, I would have laughed in your face.

And yet here we are.

“You owe me,” Irene says as we traipse up the front walk. She whispers it close to my ear so Honey-Belle won’t hear. Part of me wishes she would just tell her about our arrangement.

“Owe you?” I ask with a demure smile. “Hardly. Did you forget you’re doing this because I impressed you with my big, chivalrous, note-stealing gesture?”

“Yeah, so gallant,” she says dryly.

Charlotte’s house is wild when we walk in. There are people everywhere with Solo cups, making noise and posing for pictures. Gunther and Kevin stand against the foyer wall, watching everyone like they’re not sure what to do with themselves. They’re both dressed up—at least, their version of dressing up. Gunther is wearing his best graphic tee and Kevin has a military-style jacket over his usual hoodie.

“We just came from dinner,” Kevin says, hugging us hello. He squeezes Danielle around the middle and she goes exceptionally quiet. “Partridge Pizza.”

“Brought some leftovers if you want them,” Gunther says, passing a box toward us. “They have the best garlic sticks.”

“Thanks,” I say, reaching for the box, but Kevin holds up his hand.

“You might wanna check this guy’s breath first,” he says with a grimace.

“It’s not that bad,” Gunther says, but now that I’m closer to him, I can definitely smell a strong, funky garlic smell.

“Oh woof, that’s bad.”

“Told you,” Kevin says. “Dude put raw garlic bits on there.”

Irene watches this interaction with her nose wrinkled. When I turn away from the garlic sticks box, she grabs my elbow. “Thank you. I would have refused to talk to you all night.”

“Well, as it is, darling, maybe you can escort me to the kitchen.”

“The way they flirt is so cute,” Honey-Belle whispers to Danielle.

“I completely agree,” Gunther says, standing as close to Honey-Belle as possible while keeping his hand over his mouth.

Irene starts to head for the kitchen, but I hold her back.

“What?” she whispers.

“You need to hold my hand. We’re here to sell this to Tally, remember?”

“God, you’re a psycho,” she says, but she takes my hand anyway.

We make our way through the throng of people, all of whom stare at Irene and then at me. By the time we reach the center of the house, my heart is trilling, expecting Tally’s face to appear any moment. I scan the room out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t see her anywhere.

“Well?” Irene prods.

“She’ll show up. Let’s get a drink.”

It’s hot and crowded in the kitchen, but the sea of people parts for us until we find the island with the drinks stationed on it. I grab the vodka and lemonade to mix myself a drink.

“What do you want?” I ask Irene.

“Water.”

“Ha, ha. I’ll make you one of these.”

“No, I just told you. Water.”

She butts me aside, grabs a Solo cup, and fills it from the sink. She sticks a lime wedge on the rim of the cup so it looks like a mixed drink.

“What?” she says, seeing my expression. “Do you think I want people giving me shit for not drinking?”

I shake my head. This girl never ceases to surprise me. It’s a welcome distraction from worrying about Tally.

“So Danielle totally has a crush on Kevin,” Irene says.

My heart stops. “What? No she doesn’t.”

“Please. It’s visible from a mile away.”

“That’s—it’s not—”

She quirks an eyebrow.

“Fine,” I grumble. “But keep your mouth shut about it.”

“Who am I gonna tell? Besides, I like Danielle.”

I’m about to respond when her face changes. Her eyes widen, her breath stops. “Shit,” she says, looking over my shoulder. I try to turn, but she plants a hand on my arm.

“What?” I say, wrenching free of her grasp.

I spin around. My eyes find the stoners passing a joint, the soccer girls flirting with the baseball players, the kid throwing up in the corner, and—

Tally.

In the middle of the room.

Making out with another girl.

All the air is sucked out of my lungs. It feels like my heart’s been flattened by a slab of concrete.

It’s a girl I’ve never seen before, so she must not go to Grandma Earl. Probably a Candlehawk girl, based on the way she’s dressed. And she’s pretty. Tally is kissing her with so much enthusiasm it’s almost like she’s trying to eat her. Everything inside me sears with pain.

There’s a warm hand on my shoulder.

“Stop watching,” Irene says, pressing firmly until she can spin me around.

“But I—”

“No, Scottie,” she says, holding me in place. Her voice is softer than usual. “Don’t torture yourself.”

We make eye contact. She actually looks concerned, but I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to care. I slip free of her grasp and hurry to the back patio.

At the last second, when I close the door, I look back to see Tally watching me.

---

I’m not sure how long I sit there for. It’s so cold that I’ll have to go inside soon, but my heart is aching and I don’t know how to make it stop.

Shouldn’t I have expected this? I mean, I’ve been pretending to move on, but why wouldn’t Tally actually move on? Is she dating that girl, or merely hooking up with her? Is she kissing lots of pretty girls at parties?

The back door snaps open behind me. Irene stands there, fiddling with the long necklace that hangs over her scarlet sweater. She purses her lips like she’s trying to decide something.

“Don’t tell me you’ve come to gloat,” I mumble. “I’ve already realized my plan has backfired. I don’t need you to rub it in.”

She sits next to me, kicking her wedge boots against the steps. “It’s truly heartwarming how you always expect the best from me.”

“So you’re not here to gloat?”

“I’m here to tell you that your ex-girlfriend looks like a terrible kisser, and the only person I feel sorry for is that poor girl whose face she was chewing on. Seriously, that was heinous. Did you even like kissing her?”

I’m not sure why I answer. “I thought I did.”

“It sucks you had to see that. She could have done that somewhere private. She knows you’re here.”

I drop my head into my hands, tugging at the roots of my hair. “She was watching me for my reaction.”

“I know. I saw her.”

“Thora thinks she’s manipulative,” I admit.

“No shit. It’s almost like she gets off on it or something.” She snorts derisively, sounding more like herself again. “Fucking weirdo.”

Without meaning to, I laugh.

“To be fair, though,” Irene says, and her voice changes to something more serious, “you were trying to manipulate her, too. She just got there first.”

I glare at her. “So you are gloating.”

“No. I’m trying to point out that this competition isn’t going to make you happy.”

“Since when do you care about my happiness?”

“Don’t be such a victim, Zajac. I’ve been playing this girlfriend role with you for a month now. I’m allowed to make observations.”

I exhale and turn away from her. I can’t even begin to consider whether this “competition” is still worth it; I’m in too deep now. But I’ve clearly underestimated Tally. It doesn’t matter how carefully I set up my shot: She will always hit the basket first.

“It might cheer you up to know that Tally is either really drunk or really high, or potentially both,” Irene says. “She had her grubby paws on everything in the kitchen. Literally pushed me out of the way to grab the tortilla chips.”

“So?”

“So maybe she doesn’t even like that girl. She’s just messed up right now.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Irene watches me out of the corner of her eye. I can feel her piercing stare. Part of me wishes she would stop. The other part is just grateful to have someone out here with me.

Irene takes a long sip of her water. We’re both quiet. The air is biting.

“Let’s mess with her,” Irene declares.

I look over at her. “What?”

Her eyes are narrowed. There’s a gleam in them. “Yeah,” she says, more to herself than to me. “I’ve got an idea.”

---

Inside, we find my friends hovering in the hallway. Irene wastes no time in marching up to them.

“Gunther,” she says, and he freezes. “Where did you put those garlic sticks?”

He points wordlessly to the pile of jackets in the corner. The Partridge box sits on top of them. Irene opens it, wrinkles her nose, and walks away.

“What is she—?” Gunther stammers.

We follow her around the corner, back into the kitchen. Just as Irene said, Tally is standing there, munching away on a bag of pretzels. Her eyes are glazed over, but she looks up when Irene enters with the garlic sticks.

“What are those?” Tally blurts out.

Irene turns to her, feigning surprise. “Garlic sticks. Why?”

Tally’s eyes light up. “Can I have some?”

Irene sets the box on the counter and steps in front of it like a lioness guarding her pack. “No, I don’t think so,” she says with fake sweetness. “They’re not mine. I don’t know if I’m allowed to give them out.”

I know Tally well enough to understand what a delicious challenge this is for her. Not only because someone is trying to deprive her of something, but because that someone is a popular girl she’s resented for a long time.

“Really,” Tally says dryly. Her hatred for Irene practically crackles on the air. “And who put you on guard duty?”

Irene shrugs. “I just like to play by the rules. Don’t you?”

My heartbeat quickens. It’s a showdown like the Wild West, and the crazy thing is, I want Irene to win.

Tally lunges around her and grabs a garlic stick. Irene pretends to be affronted, but I don’t think the fury in her eyes is fake.

“Mmm,” Tally says, chowing down. She cocks her head. “I can see why you were hoarding them.”

“Yeah, you can see right through me,” Irene says coolly. She turns and stalks off, but not before catching my eye.

Tally eats another garlic stick before she licks the crumbs off her fingers and struts back to the center of the party. My friends and I watch intently, trying to figure out what’s supposed to happen next. Where was Irene going with this?

And then, as Tally slithers up to the pretty girl she was making out with earlier, it hits me.

“Oh shit—”

Tally leans in to kiss the girl again. For a blistering moment they’re wrapped together, mouths open, Tally devouring her, and then—

“AUGH!” the girl gags, rearing backward. She covers her mouth with her hand.

Tally looks stricken. She tries to say something in the girl’s ear.

“Back off!” the girl says, lunging away from her. “God, that smell!”

The whole party is watching now. A bunch of people are laughing; one girl has her phone out to record the humiliation. Some guy yells, “Come on, Gibson, brush your teeth for once!”

Tally freezes, mortified, before turning on her heel and fleeing the room. I watch with my mouth hanging open, dazzled by the brilliance of Irene’s scheme.

“Shit,” Kevin says, his eyes wide. “That was the best thing I’ve seen in years.”

“You gotta hand it to Irene,” Danielle says, shaking her head. “She knew exactly how to push Tally.”

---

We stay just long enough for the party to reach its peak. Tally never returns, leaving the Candlehawk girl behind. Danielle and Kevin melt into conversation with a bunch of other smart kids who won’t stop talking about college applications. Gunther, to my surprise, manages to capture Honey-Belle’s attention. They sit at the kitchen table, whispering and laughing at each other, so oblivious to everything around them that Gunther doesn’t flinch when someone spills beer on his shoulder. If Honey-Belle can smell the garlic on Gunther’s breath, she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Pretty diabolical plan,” I tell Irene when I find her in the hallway.

She shrugs. “I can be evil when I want to be.”

“And here I thought you had no control over it.”

“Ha ha.”

“So we’ve slain one beast tonight. Where’s the other?”

Irene scans the vicinity, searching for Charlotte. “I don’t know. I keep waiting for her to strike.”

“Maybe she doesn’t care that you’re here. She’s too busy hosting.”

“Believe me, she cares. She’s probably plotting with her soccer henchmen.”

“Henchwomen.”

“Henchpeople.”

I shrug and gulp down the beer in my hand. I feel much more relaxed now that Tally is out of sight. “Whatever. I think you’re being paranoid,” I say, bumping her with my shoulder. My skin tingles, but I ignore it.

“You’re being arrogant. You don’t know Charlotte like I do.”

Unfortunately, Irene proves to be right. It’s only a few minutes later that the music cuts off and the party splits into silence again.

Charlotte Pascal, with her gorgeous auburn locks and shrewd green eyes, climbs atop a chair. Her boyfriend gives her a hand up, even though she doesn’t need it. He looks pompous and bored.

“Hel-lo, everyone,” Charlotte says in her usual affected tone. “Thanks so much for coming over tonight. People from Candlehawk, thank you for making the drive.” She pauses. “And everyone else, please remember to vote for me for Student Athlete of the Year.”

“Oh god,” Irene mutters under her breath.

“Speaking of SAOY…” Charlotte’s expression turns malicious. “I know we have at least one other candidate here tonight: the newly gay Irene Abraham.”

Heads swivel in our direction. A trickle of nervous laughter runs around the room. Most people here are too chickenshit to challenge Irene’s social position, but they obviously don’t mind another popular girl doing it. The expressions on their faces are thirsty. The Cleveland triplets actually stand on their tiptoes to get a better look.

Irene stiffens and leans the slightest bit into me. Her elbow brushes mine. I lean my weight toward her without thinking about it.

“I’m so very happy for anyone who finds their truth,” Charlotte drawls on. “It’s so important to celebrate diversity in this day and age. But I also think that truth should be authentic, and I’m a little concerned that Irene Abraham is anything but.”

My blood simmers. Across the room, Danielle catches my eye. I can tell we’re on the same page about this: We can shit-talk Irene all we want, but at this point, no one else can.

Charlotte gestures elaborately at the TV in the center of the room. Her Candlehawk boyfriend has connected his laptop to it, and at a signal from Charlotte, he pops a video onto the screen. At first it’s just a still frame: Irene, dark hair and hazy eyes, smirking at the camera.

He presses PLAY.

Charlotte’s voice blares from behind the camera. “You are sooo drunk! Admit it. You’re drunk.”

“Am not,” Irene says on screen, but she’s slurring. She’s not looking at the camera; I can’t tell whether she knew she was being filmed. Charlotte laughs hysterically off-screen. The video must be at least a year old, before their friendship blew up.

“You were totally hitting on me earlier,” Charlotte says. “You get so gay when you’re wasted.”

“Whaaat? Don’t be weird, Char. I’m not gay.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” Charlotte’s voice replies. But the way she says it makes my skin crawl; it’s almost like she’s baiting Irene.

“I know that,” video-Irene slurs. “I just happen to be straight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Half the people at school are only ‘gay’ because they think it makes them more interesting. They’re so desperate. It’s embarrassing.”

“So you’d never hook up with a girl?”

Video-Irene snorts. She rubs a hand down her face. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t. But you know it wouldn’t mean anything to me.”

The video ends. Candlehawk Boyfriend unplugs his computer and smirks at Charlotte. There’s a ringing silence as everyone turns in our direction. I’ve never felt so exposed, and the video wasn’t even about me.

The real Irene is stock-still next to me. Her cheeks are flushed with dark patches. I wait for her to recover and deliver her usual acidic retort, but for the first time since I’ve known her, she’s mute. On impulse, I grab her hand and tug her away, through the hallway and outside to the sharp, cold air.