#Scandal (30 page)

“And you took a picture of us?”

“
Lucy
. Not an hour earlier, you were all judgy about me hooking up with guys. Then I catch you making out with your best friend’s boyfriend? That’s some serious what-the-fuckage.” She opens her eyes, stares out across the park. “I had my phone out, so I just snapped it, not thinking. Half the time my camera doesn’t even work, but it did that time. I figured I’d give you shit about the picture later.

“Then
literally
a few seconds later you’re making out with Marceau. And again I’m like,
Who’s calling
me
a slut?

Then you come inside with a jab about me making out with Paul—my date, not someone else’s boyfriend, by the way.

Next thing, Cole comes down and tells me you’re sick. I 372

knew there was more to it, but I figured we’d just talk in the morning, sober up.”

Night nudges Griffin’s hand with his nose, like,
The last
guy brought me bologna.
Griff ignores him.

“I’m hanging out with Paul,” she says, “and suddenly people are saying you and Cole are upstairs doing it. I go check it out, never thinking it would go
that
far, but they’re kind of right. I mean, you weren’t
doing
it—”

“You think?”

“It looked bad, Lucy. You were all cuddled up. I couldn’t even tell if you had clothes on. You know that saying ‘seeing red?’ I saw it. I whipped out my phone, only it was one of those times where I couldn’t get it to work, and then I saw yours on the dresser. I grabbed it, took a few shots. You guys were the living dead—didn’t even wake up. Someone else was coming up the stairs, so I just swiped the phone and vanished. My phone still wasn’t working, so I just started taking random party shots with yours, passing it around to whoever. A little while later, Olivia and Quinn were laughing about you guys, joking that someone should take pictures in Cole’s room and send them to Miss D’s scandal thing.”

“So you offered?”

Griff shrugs. “I told them to drop it, which they did because they were wasted and Olivia has a crush on Cole 373

and anyway, who cares? It was just a party thing. But the idea got in my head. I was so pissed about the stuff you said to me, and all the times you scoffed at me about hooking up or whatever, and I just . . . I snapped. I woke up in the morning hoping I’d feel better, but you and Cole were gone, and that made it even worse.”

“I had to get out of there.”

“Yeah, without even saying goodbye or trying to talk to me, after everything that happened that night. You just . .

. you bailed on me. And you didn’t call—”

“You had my phone!”

“You didn’t even call me from your house to make sure I got home okay. That was the last straw. I wanted revenge.” I laugh. “Safe to say, you got it.”

Griff shakes her head, her eyes red and glassy. “I didn’t think about it like some big viral campaign. I swear I never meant for the Juicy thing to happen, or for you and Cole to get targeted like that.”

“We were a Lav-Oaks Internet scandal, Griff. What did you expect?”

“I was venting. I wanted to embarrass you, call you out.

And I thought maybe it would bring me and Ellie closer instead of me always being, like, the add-on friend. But it just got crazy.”

Griff’s crying now, and I know I should be angrier at 374

her, that nothing she says can explain this, can make it okay.

The only reason I agreed to meet her at the picnic early was to tell her off, to make a scene and stomp out in a blaze of glory. Friendless, maybe, but avenged. Right.

But Griffin’s right too. She
was
the add-on friend, and I judged her every time, with every new crush and eye-candy target, her football boy hookups and fake British accent and hairstyle-of-the-month. I looked down on her.

Not intentionally. Not with true malice in my heart. But the judgment was there nevertheless, and to deny it I’d have to bury myself even deeper in the sand than I already have.

Everything in me is exhausted and broken, and when I open my mouth again all that comes out is a whisper.

“Should I tell her, or will you?”

“It was Griffin,” I say.

Cole and I didn’t have a chance to go private at the picnic, and now we’re leaning on our boulder just before dusk, catching up while the dogs run in circles through the woods.

I tell him the whole story—Miss Demeanor’s photo evidence. Kiara’s metadata research. How I confronted Griff this morning, how she promised she’d tell Ellie. How she and Ellie were still BFFing around at the picnic all 375

day, sharing drinks, reading under the trees. Hugging like everything was cool while I watched from the sidelines.

Griffin didn’t tell her.

I gave her the chance to confess, and she snubbed it, because she knows I’m the girl who never says anything, not when it counts. Griff left me out to dry, to shoulder the blame for embarrassing Ellie and outing everyone at that party. Half of them are grounded for their last summer in Lav-Oaks, all because of pictures they think
I
posted. I’m lucky the worst I endured was posters on my locker, gum in my hair, chocolate milk on my boots. People could seriously kick my ass if they wanted to.

Because I’m the girl who never says anything, not when it counts. Right?

No. That girl is gone.

I have the evidence. And one last, epic chance to clear my name completely, to expose the perp to everyone: graduation.

I tell Cole my plan. “I have to do it,” I say.

His eyes hold nothing but sorrow. “Maybe it sounds like a good idea in your head, but I really think you should drop it.”

“And let Ellie think I posted all that stuff? Graduate as the class narc? The slut? The insert-favorite-name-here?” Cole runs a hand through his hair. “Tell Ellie in private.

376

Tell Griffin’s parents. Do what you need to do directly. . .

. I just don’t see the point of making a spectacle just to call Griffin out. That’s not you, Lucy.”

“She called
me
out, and she totally screwed us over.” He levels those coppery green eyes on me. “Okay, what she did was seriously jacked. I’m shocked, honestly.

But we’re here, right? Together? Alone in our woods with two awesome dogs?” He traces his fingers along the fringe of my bangs. “All that stuff she posted doesn’t change it.

Doesn’t change this.” His lips brush my cheekbone, trail softly to the edge of my mouth, and there he stays, lingering, breathing.

I shiver and pull back. “Distractions won’t distract me.

I’m serious.”

“So am I. Look, I know you dealt with most of the crap at school, and trust me, it about killed me watching it happen, not being able to stop it. But it’s done. Our fifteen minutes of shame are over. Everyone’s focusing on exams next week; then we’re at graduation, and who cares? The bullshit of Lav-Oaks High is already a memory.”

“But I
never
say what I’m feeling. Yeah, I’m snarky and opinionated, but I don’t say stuff when it matters. I liked you forever, and I didn’t . . . This is something I have to do. For me.”

“I never said how I felt about you either. So for four 377

years, we didn’t say anything. And now there’s just a few months left before we’re both getting into cars, driving off in opposite directions.”

I lean back against the boulder, looking around for Night and Spike. I spot them romping behind a tree, sniffing each other’s butts, digging in the dirt, not a care in the world. “Don’t remind me.”

“I’m just saying. We lost four years by not talking.

There’s a million things I want to know about you, stories I need to tell you. We can’t spend our last few months together obsessing about this scandal. About Griffin.” His eyes are pleading, but he doesn’t understand how important this is, what a Really Big Deal in the whole spectrum of my life.

If I let Griff get away with this, if I graduate with this scandal looming over me, I’ll never be able to look at myself in the mirror. I’ll never be able to trust anyone, including Cole, because I won’t be able to trust myself.

I’ll spend the rest of forever walking under a cloud of shame and regret, wondering why—just once—I didn’t do the right thing.

“You can’t do this,” he says. “It’s cruel and mean spirited and it’s nothing like the Lucy I fell in love with.” Cole must see the hurt in my eyes, but he’s not backing down, and neither am I.

378

“I have to do it, Cole. And there’s nothing more to say about it.”

He nods once, calls for Spike. We hook up the dogs in silence and lead them back into the world beyond the woods, and when the houses of our perfectly beige neighborhood come into view, he goes his way, and I go mine, only the dogs looking back at each other, wondering where the fun went.

379

ALL W E ARE SAYING IS GIV E (E)VIll A CHANCE

N
estled in my pocket on a flash drive the size of a Her-shey’s miniature Mr. Goodbar is all the evidence I need. My thoughts are drawn to it, heat-seeking, guilt-seeking, seeking anything other than crushing sadness.

After thirteen years of formal education and the last week of high school exams I’ll ever take, I’m graduating today.

It’s nothing like I imagined.

Here on the Swordfish football field, all decked out for the ceremony, I’m not waving at Griff and Ellie across the crowd, ticking down the hours until we celebrate our freedom, barbecuing and swimming and counting the stars.

We were supposed to go with Cole and his family back to the cabin for the week.

380

Now Cole’s going without us.

I’m not smiling at my parents, secretly proud with each cheesy photo they snap, secretly glad that my sister’s here to share this day.

Instead, I’m sitting uncomfortably in a stiff metal folding chair between Pete Underfell and Kessa Vans, the three of us brought together by the alphabet for more than a decade of classes, assemblies, and ceremonies. I’ve watched them grow up, change glasses and hair colors and outfits and friends, but we’ve never shared more than a smile and a few polite words.

Next to Ellie’s moms and the Fosters, my parents sit in the bleachers, faces still tanned from their time in Laguna but etched with new lines. Lines that weren’t there until they came home last weekend to more photographers on the lawn, to Jayla crying in her rental car, locked in the garage.

She finally told them everything. Had to, really, and they wanted her to cancel her commencement obligations, to take some time to just be Janey again—
our Janey-girl
, they said—but she refused.

I don’t want to disappoint Lucy.

She’s kept my secrets, though, assuring my parents that my last weeks of school went just fine in their absence.

Smooth sailing.

381

Even though, as Marceau can attest, we’re landlocked.

My former best friends are in their chairs somewhere too, all the parents and grandparents and cousins looking on, no one meeting my eyes but Principal Zeff, offering her occasional smile, a double thumbs-up on acing my exams and surviving the scandal.

We’ve already crossed the temporary outdoor stage, and sitting here in my metal chair, I’m holding a rolled-up piece of paper that tells the world I made it. I graduated high school. I’m ready for bigger and better things, ready to be an adult. There’s a couple of signatures and an official gold seal, so it must be true.

It’s hot on the bright green field, hot under the black graduation robe, hot under the cap and the too-bright Colorado sun, and in my pocket, on that flash drive the size of a chocolate, I have everything I need to throw someone else to the gossip hounds.

Franklin’s onstage now, telling family-friendly jokes and giving us the traditional valedictorian send-off, and I watch him, smiling, momentarily distracted from the burn in my pocket. His curly hair makes a fuzzy halo beneath his graduation cap, and he looks happy up there, like he was made to be this great orator, a leader of the people. In the final moments of his speech, I feel his eyes on me, his smile broad and genuine.

382

“I’ve always thought that the people who made a difference in this world were the ones who shouted the loudest,” he says, “no matter who or what tried to drown them out.

It’s why I started writing, reporting. I wanted to be one of those loud voices, a voice from which people could learn.

But sometimes the quietest person is the one who makes the most impact, just by refusing to give in. By refusing to be anyone other than herself, even if she’s not shouting it from the rooftops. Or, you know . . . an online fake gossip column.” The audience cracks up. “So as you leave the world of high school behind, no matter what challenges await you beyond, find your own voice. Trust it. Loud, soft. Online, offline. Find it, and don’t let anyone silence it. Thank you inspiring me to do the same.”

“Thank you, Mr. Margolis,” Principal Zeff says, applauding at the podium. Her voice is thick with emotion after Franklin’s speech.

“Speaking of bright futures,” she says, “it’s my great honor to now introduce a very special speaker, a Lavender Oaks High School alum who really knows what it means to get out there and follow your dreams. Please join me in giving a warm welcome to our very own little darling, Miss Jayla Heart!”

There’s an overblown cheer from the crowd, half a standing ovation, fake plastic glee rising above our heads.

383

The camera crews and photographers that had been snooz-ing on the sidelines for most of the ceremony now surge forward, each one jostling for the best angle as my sister takes the podium.

She smiles for a moment, waves to her fake fans, gives the cameras time to get her best features. The flashes continue as she flips through her note cards.

“So, I wrote this whole speech about following your dreams and reaching for the stars, but Margolis basically stole my lines. . . .” Jayla narrows her eyes at Franklin, then gives him a playful wink. “Angelica might have a few choice words for you, Margs. You’re lucky this is a family event.” Everyone laughs.

“Can I just . . .” Jayla holds up her note cards, examining them as if they’re strangers to her. As if she hadn’t spent the last week crafting Angelica Darling jokes, reviewing them to cross out the R-rated ones. She fans them with her thumb, then grabs them in both hands and shreds. “Who needs notes? I’m a so-called adult living in the so-called real world, also known as Hollywood. Yes, I’ll give you a moment to wrap your minds around that.”