The Revenge Playbook (22 page)

I get a rush of anxiety—the kind that makes you feel cornered and queasy at the same time. “Um, sure.”

“What were you talking to that guy about?”

“Nothing. He was just asking me if I wanted to help with teaching dance to some little kids.”

“So, that's what you were talking about all morning in the cafeteria?
Dance?
”

“No, he helps me study for geometry.”

“I should be the one helping you study for geometry.”

It didn't click before, but now it does. “Were you watching me?”

Karl ignores my question. “I don't like the way he was looking at you. Is he your boyfriend?” The way he says it implies I'm not allowed to have one.

“No.” I hurry to say it, almost like it's an apology, and then I remember it's absolutely none of Karl's business. I lift my chin the way I've seen Melanie Jane do. “I'd like him to be my boyfriend.”

Karl narrows his eyes. “So, what, are you trying to make me jealous?”

“No, I . . . Look, you're not my boyfriend anymore. And you treated me so badly that I don't think it's good for me to have you in my life at all.” I force my voice to stay calmer than I feel. “I don't think we should talk anymore.”

“Wow. You must really like this guy, huh? What's his name?”

“I don't want to talk to you about him.” I feel protective, as if by knowing about Rey, Karl could somehow infect that relationship too.

He sighs into his hands like he's exhausted. “I miss you, okay? I love you so much.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, and his blue eyes sear into mine. “I know I've made mistakes, and I'm sorry. But we can work on things, I promise. We'll make it just like last year, like when it was just you and me. You'll see.”

I cross my arms. “Look, I'm glad you're realizing this, but I can't get back together with someone who treats me like dirt and tries to control me.”

“We've shared something that makes us inseparable for life. I had a good reason.”

“No.” I shake my head firmly. “There is never a good reason to talk that way to someone you love.”

Karl steps backward in surprise. “Maybe I didn't treat you well, but I gave you all the respect you demanded.”

“Wait, so now you're saying it's my fault you treated me badly? You're only confirming the fact that this is a good decision.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but I raise a hand to stop him.

“We're not together anymore. That means I don't have to argue with you if I don't want to.”

Karl takes another shocked backward step. If he goes any farther, he'll trip over a newspaper stand.

“I have to go. I can't answer anymore if you call me.”

I see him realize that I mean it. That we really are over. Permanently. The shock turns to hurt turns to desperation turns to him grabbing my arm like I'm a disobedient toddler.

“No one will ever be able to love you like me,” he says into my ear. “You probably can't get the kind of guy you want anyway. Good guys want girls who are virgins.”

“That's not true.” I say it fast, like a reflex. Because that is my secret dark fear, and now that he's named it, it feels more real.

I walk away like it doesn't matter, but how could he know I worry about that? My mind drifts to this lesson we had in Sunday school last year on one of the days they split up the girls and boys. They brought in this rose and had us pass it around. “You can pull petals off, turn it upside down, smell it, whatever.” When it got to me, I just sniffed it and passed it to the next girl. It smelled like how a rose was supposed to smell. I didn't really get where we were going with this. By the time the rose went around the entire circle, it wasn't looking so great. The Sunday school teacher placed it on the table, and then she brought in a box of new roses and put them in a pile beside it. She said we could each pick a rose to take home. Well, of course, every girl picked one of the fresh, pristine roses and not the sad lonely rose with the bruised petals falling every which way. Then our teacher talked all about how you're supposed to save your virginity until you're married and how nobody good is going to want you if you're used. And a part of me knows that's not really the way the world works. But another part of me thinks,
Why would a guy like Rey Lemalu, a guy who could have any girl in this school, want to pick the ugly flower?

I'm still thinking of that Sunday school lesson and what Karl said—all through school, all through
dance team practice, right up until it's time to go to Wednesday night church. Mom and I drive there together, and then she leaves for her class, and I should go to mine, but instead I plop down on a bench in the middle of the courtyard. And I start bawling. I cry until I run out of tears. Even then, my body keeps going through the motions of crying, like when you get really sick with the stomach flu and you dry-heave even though there's nothing left.

My eyes drift to two children playing on the balcony over the courtyard which reminds me of us hiding out in the hayloft in Big Tom's barn which makes me think of the vow which makes me realize I desperately do not want to be alone right now. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my fist and text Melanie Jane. The Montgomerys never miss a church service.

A few minutes later, she hops onto the bench next to me. “Hey, girl!”

“Hey,” I reply, the word coming out shakier than I want it to.

“Are you okay?”

“N-n-nooo.” A sob rises in my throat, but I manage to turn it into a hiccup. I hate crying in front of people.

“Oh, no. Peyton. Hey, it's going to be okay. If you want to talk about it now, that's fine. And if you don't, that's fine too. I'll just sit here.”

I'm still working on not crying, so I don't say anything back. Melanie Jane has her hands clasped in front of her like she's restraining herself from doing any number of things. And then she does the best thing she could possibly do. She drops her hands and scoots closer to me so our shoulders touch. It was just six inches, but I feel like she crossed miles and years to pull me back from a precipice.

I try talking again. “Karl and I had a fight, and I told him I can't talk to him anymore. It was bad, I guess, but not that bad. I mean, I stood up to him, so I should be happy. I'm embarrassed I cried so much.”

“Maybe you're crying about more than the fight,” Melanie Jane says.

I nod. “I think I am.” I try to organize my thoughts, while she waits, as promised. “I feel like an idiot. I wasn't ready to have sex, but I did it anyway, and then I realized Karl was toxic, and I'm upset I waited so long and then had sex with some guy who isn't the one and didn't even treat me that well.”

“You're not with him now. That's something. A big something.”

I shake my head. She makes it sound so simple. “But I lost my virginity. And my religion says . . . I mean . . . we're Southern Baptist. I feel like Karl and I are bound for life. Like it was wrong to have sex with him and now it's wrong to break up with him because it's like we were married.”

“Whoa.” Melanie Jane grabs my shoulders and turns me so we're looking each other straight in the eye. “Peyton, you are not and never were married to Karl. Losing your virginity doesn't condemn you to a lifetime of misery.”

I almost start crying again. I want so badly to believe her. I tell her the story about Sunday school and roses—I'm pretty sure she was there that day. She looks like she wants to kick something.

“Okay, first of all, that's a bunch of crap, and you should forget it right now. Side note: I'm a little disappointed that they used such a tired metaphor. And second of all, I want to know what the boys were doing in their class because you know for damn sure they weren't talking about saving their flowers.”

I snort. “Maybe they taught them that girls who don't wait for marriage are worthless. It would make a lot of sense.” The overwhelming feelings hit again. Hard. “I don't know what to do. A part of me still believes it—that no one will want me now.”

“You can't talk like that. Anyone with a brain would want you. Look, choosing to wait until marriage makes me feel empowered. But if the same choice cripples you, then it wasn't the right one.”

I sigh. “I wish I could be more like you.”

She smiles. “Well, I wish I could be more like you. You leapt into love, and it didn't work out, but at least you went for it. And you'll leap again, and next time it'll be for someone who's worth it. And I'll probably miss out because I'm scared.”

It's funny because I can't imagine her being scared of anything. “Maybe we should both make a promise that we won't be scared this time around.”

She links her pinky with mine. “It's worth a shot.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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1.
  
   
Fill a condom up with water. Draw a face on it. Put it on Principal Corso's doormat, and ding-dong ditch. (One person)

2.
  
   
The egg-on-a-string trick. Hang an egg from a power line by a string and watch a car run into it. (Everyone)

3.
  
   
Paint the David Bowie statue at Old Lady Howard's corn maze. (Everyone)

4.
  
   
Chair race through Walmart. (Everyone)

5.
  
   
Get a picture of the team with the Ranburne Panther. (Everyone)

6.
  
   
Go to the Dawsonville football field. Find that stupid rock they touch before their games. Pee on it. (Everyone)

1.
  
   
Visit the illustrious Delta Tau Beta fraternity at Vanderbilt. Have a beer with Panther alum TJ McNeil and take a picture of the legendary scar he got during a game-winning play against Dawsonville. (One person)

2.
  
   Go to LP Field and reenact the “Music City Miracle.” (Everyone)

3.
  
   Go to Centennial Park and jump into the pond behind the Parthenon. (Everyone)

4.
  
   
Go to The Jackrabbit Saloon. Walk to the very middle of the dance floor and attempt to do the worm. (One person)

5.
  
   
Go up to a girl who is totally out of your league, get down on your knees, and ask her to marry you.
(One person)

6.
  
   Go up to a fat girl and tell her “You're so beautiful . . . for a fat chick.” Bonus points if she throws her drink on you. (One person)

7.
  
   
Hug a biker. Bonus points if he has a mullet. (One person)

8.
  
   Get a girl to give you her thong. (One person)

DARES REMAINING:
4.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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12:35 A.M.

MELANIE JANE

The cheerleader throng is in full party mode. I exchange side hugs with everybody, making a big show of hanging out.

“Hey, girl!” yells Aubrey. Whew. Someone started their night early.

“We didn't know if you were going to show!” says Chloe.

“Of course!” I try to mimic their excitement. “I wouldn't miss spending tonight with my girls.”

I can't stay long though. We need to knock out the rest of these dares and get out of here. Hopefully, they'll be able to get a couple done without me. I sneak a glance at the friends I just abandoned, my gaze lingering on Ana. She looks up, and it's like she wants to say something to me, like the words are just waiting to pour out of her mouth, even though I'm on the other side of the bar. And I feel exactly the same way. It's like this whenever we're around each other lately. Like this Yaghan word,
Mamihlapinatapai
the look that passes between two people when they're desperate to make something happen, but neither knows where to begin. Greg barrels past me like a drunken rhinoceros, and the connection is broken, and our twin wishes dissolve.

The guys must be feeling pretty cocky about how much of the hunt they've finished because they're mostly just hitting on chicks and hanging out with the older Varsity guys. Better do some recon just to be sure. I snake around the circle to see who's got the list. It's Trevor. That makes sense.

“Trevor!” I laugh, and push his shoulder and try to sound more like Aubrey. “Are y'all gonna make it or are you gonna be naked at Homecoming?”

He grins. “Just a few more things to go. I think I get to keep my birthday suit to myself.”

I pretend to teeter on my heels so I can grab his arm and get a good look at the list. He's been checking it off like a good boy—only the last three items are left.

“Oops, here you go.” He helps me stand straight again.

“Thanks.” I smile sheepishly. “Stupid heels.”

Yeah, right. With all my pageant practice, I could run across a lava field in stilettos.

“What's up, Trevor?” Chad comes up behind him and squeezes his shoulders in a way that would be friendly if his fingers weren't digging in like talons. “Did you forget that girls aren't supposed to see the list?”

“Oh, right.” Trevor folds the list in clumsy creases and shoves it into his pocket.

“Now what are we going to do about your lack of respect?” There's a boyish grin on Chad's face, but
his eyes are mean. “I'm thinking—”

Before he can dole out any kind of punishment, Greg starts puking into a trashcan. Big Tom yells at Mason, asking him why the hell he let Greg drink so much.