TMI (2 page)

Gag
.

Meg tossed more napkins at her best friend, who now sat in shocked silence. “I'm not the one hitting on cheerleaders when I'm supposed to be with someone else.”

“I wasn't cheating!”

Meg laughed. “Sure.”

Simon ignored her and turned to Bailey. “Do you believe her or me?”

Meg wondered about the answer to that herself. Last week, after she'd caught Simon hitting on Caitlyn, the head cheerleader, there had been no apology, no explanation. Bailey swore—she
promised
—she was through, but Meg never expected Bailey to actually
keep
that promise.…or worse, keep it from
her
. Whatever. She and Bailey would discuss that later. Right now, she had more important things to do.

“Bailey, can I make him cry now?”

Simon's blue eyes went dark as he stared Meg down. “Just mind your own business. You did enough.”

“Meg. It's okay. Sit down.” Bailey murmured, tugging Meg's arm.

“No, it is not okay.” Meg glared at both of them. “Those are fifty-dollar jeans, and Gatorade never washes out. You should buy her a new pair, Simon.”

“Megan, stop,” Bailey said.

“Oh, I
should
, huh?” Simon laughed once and his blue eyes narrowed. “I'd have bought her tons of jeans. I'd have bought her anything she wanted. If she were nice to me, I'd have been nice to her.” He shot Bailey a wounded look.

Bailey looked at him like he was diseased. “I'm done, Simon. Get over it.”

A muscle in Simon's jaw clenched. “You know what, Bailey? I
am
over it. I can get any girl I want. You're not even that hot.” He high-fived one of his friends with a loud laugh.

Meg was about to defend Bailey when she saw the hurt in Simon's eyes. Well, jeez, she'd never expected that. She looked at Bailey. Had she caught Simon's expression too? But Bailey's face was frozen, her eyes just as hurt, and Meg knew Simon's insult had hit home. Bailey was curvy with long blond curls, huge blue eyes, and a smile bright enough to power a city block. She was the definition of hot, no matter what Simon Kane had to say about it. But Bailey never believed the compliments. Simon would know all about Bailey's insecurities, and Meg's eyes narrowed. It was a low blow, an arrow aimed straight at Bailey's Achilles' heel.

And it had pierced the target.

Meg gripped Bailey's hand and squeezed hard.

“Simon, get lost. Nobody here is impressed.” Bailey retorted, her face pale.

Simon's male-model smile full of capped teeth went tight. Vibrating with fury from the soles of his high-priced tennis shoes to the tips of his designer haircut, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Fine. I'll leave you and your little dyke girlfriend and go find a real woman.” He stalked around the table and motioned for his pals to follow.

Meg's eyes met Bailey's and she gave her a signal she knew no one else would see, a raised eyebrow that said,
Is
that
the
best
you
got?
Bailey acknowledged it with a tiny close-lipped smile and turned back to Simon to fire off one last taunt. “Simon, you should take lessons from Meg. Unlike you,
she
knows how to keep me coming back for more.”

Everyone in earshot applauded. Someone's shout of “Burn!” rippled over the small crowd that watched like it was reality TV.

“You'll be back. You're crazy about me.” Simon shot them both one last glare and finally strode away, his pals on his tail.

Onlookers went back to their meals, chattering loudly about the floor show, but Meg just grinned proudly at Bailey.

“Close your mouth, Meg,” Bailey snapped.

“You did it.” Meg giggled. “You really did it. That was…it was—
wow
—really impressive. But why didn't you tell me? I
knew
something was bothering you.”

Bailey sighed and didn't answer her for a moment. “You didn't see Facebook last night?” she finally asked and grabbed Meg's water bottle to blot the stains from her jeans.

Meg shook her head. “No, I was painting. What did he say?”

Bailey put the water bottle back on the tray and pulled out her phone. “Here. Check it out.” She opened her Facebook app and scrolled down, and there it was—Simon's attempt at being smooth.

I've got two tickets to I-CON. One of them has your name on it, Bailey Grant. You know you want it. Meet me at ten on Saturday. Your welcome.

Meg snorted at the spelling error and figured Simon didn't need brains as long as he had money. Meg's amusement faded when she noticed the time the message had been posted. She'd been drowning French fries in ketchup and feeling sorry for herself. “Oh, my God, Bay, he didn't even post this on
you
r
Wall.”

She rolled her eyes. “Or apologize. That's why I wrote this.” She scrolled down a bit further and showed Meg the screen again.

You no longer have anything that interests me even a little. Maybe Caitlyn's interested. Have you tried her? Oh, I forgot. You already have.

Meg laughed and took Bailey's phone. She scrolled down, read some of the other comments. “Oh, wow. This got so many Likes.”

Bailey boiled. “Good. I hope it makes him see what an ass he is.”

“Still, I-CON, Bailey.”

Bailey lived for I-CON, the annual science-fiction convention held at a college campus on Long Island. It was a huge multiday event that attracted the biggest names in video and role-playing games, animation, comic books, and sci-fi/fantasy fiction. If there was one thing Bailey adored more than hair and makeup, more than going shopping, more than even boys, it was video games—something that made her very popular with the guys. Dangling I-CON tickets in front of her should have made her putty in Simon's hands. Meg was even more impressed with her friend's sudden resolve.

She flopped back into her seat and blew a curl out of her eyes. “You can't stand Simon. Figured you'd be happy I finally listened to you.” She covered her face.

Meg shifted in her seat but didn't say anything. True, she wasn't a huge fan of Simon's. But she certainly never wanted to see Bailey hurt like this. “I
am
happy. He treated you like crap, and it's about time you did something about it. I just wish you didn't do it so—you know—publicly. You have to think of your safety.” Bailey wasn't a think-ahead kind of girl, so Meg usually did that for her. “Remember Josh from last summer? He followed you for two weeks. Oh, and that guy Ian from the stables! Didn't he like…threaten you or something?”

Bailey mashed her lips into a tight line. “Simon wouldn't do anything like that.”

“No, he'd just run to a hot cheerleader behind your back.” At Bailey's hiss of pain, Meg gave her hand a squeeze.

Several minutes passed.

“By the way, you might want to talk to Chase.”

Meg tensed. Talk to him? That was never a good idea. “Why?”

Bailey handed Meg her phone again. “Take a look at his status.”

Meg scrolled down and hissed in a breath.

Chase Gallagher is in a relationship.

“I never accepted that request!” Meg's hand curled into a fist. Bailey pried her phone away, tucked it carefully into her bag.

“Meg, before you freak out, why don't you—”

“Bay, we've been over this.”

Bailey snapped her teeth together and rolled her eyes.

Meg boiled in silence and then remembered the art show flyer. God, could the timing be any worse?

“Uh-oh. Your shoulders are doing that hunchy thing. What do you want?”

And
there's my cue
. Meg opened her mouth and then chickened out. “It's not important.”

“Meg, come on. What is it?” Bailey nudged her.

Meg slid the art exhibit flyer over to her and girded her eardrums for the assault she expected in three…two…one.

“No.” Bailey moaned the word out for one long beat.

“Come on, Bay! I'll go with you to I-CON if you'll come with me to the museum.”

She sighed in misery. “Do I have to? I'd rather have flat hair.”

Bailey hated art in all shapes and all forms, and dragging her to Manhattan's Museum of Modern Art to see the upcoming exhibit on printed art ranked right up there with asking her to wear last year's styles. In other words: So. Not. Happening.

“Please, Bailey?”

“Megan!” She hit a new high on the shrill scale, and Meg cringed. “I really hate when you do this.”

“It's called a compromise, Bay. I'm willing to subject myself to guys wearing underwear over tights in exchange for you looking at art with me.”

Bailey rolled her huge blue eyes. “That stuff's not art. It's a bunch of posters and advertisements somebody stuck on the walls and sold tickets to.”

“Please?”

Bailey gritted her teeth. “Fine! But you totally owe me.”

Meg shrugged and happily bit into her sandwich. When she looked up again, Chase was heading toward them, carrying his lunch tray. She quickly folded the flyer and slipped it into her pocket, hoping no one noticed her lame
Here comes
Chase
smile, especially him.

“Hey.” Chase jerked his chin toward the rear of the cafeteria, sliding into the empty chair across from them. “What did you do to Simon? He's crying all over Caitlyn's shoulder.”

Uh-oh
. Meg thought with a worried glance at Bailey.

Bailey nibbled a fingernail. “Crying? Like seriously crying?”

Chase rolled his eyes. “No, not really. He's just putting the moves on her.”

“Oh—”

“So what did you do?”

“I broke up with him.”

Chase nodded with approval. “Good for you. Guy should get a clue.”

Meg huffed out a laugh and muttered, “He's not the only one.”

Chase raised his eyes to hers, and Meg stopped breathing. She never got tired of staring at his eyes. They hypnotized her and taunted her to find the hue and tint on a color wheel that could accurately render them, but that color didn't exist. Flecks of beige, gold, green. Streaks of brown and gray with a rim of black—the colors seemed to swirl as he stared at her, and then Meg realized why.

She'd hurt him.

“Sorry,” Meg murmured.

Chase lowered those variegated eyes. “Um. Yeah. Whatever.”

Bailey took pity on him. “We're going to an art exhibit in Manhattan. Why don't you come?”

The words were out of Bailey's mouth before Meg could kick her under the table. She gave Meg a bright smile. “And I-CON. You should come to that too.”

Meg's teeth almost cracked from the strength of her clench.

“Really?” Chase looked to Meg for confirmation, hope glinting in his eyes, and Meg sighed, unable to resist. She
hated
that.

“It's up to you.” She shrugged, hoping he couldn't tell how much she really did want him to come. “You didn't like the modern art exhibit at the library. You said it all looked like finger paints to you.”

“It did.”

“And what about the last time we went to MoMA? You stared at
The
Scream
and said you—”

“Yeah. I remember what I said, Megan.” He cut her off with a furrowed brow that intensified the color of his eyes.

“I'm sorry. I just don't want to waste your time, so if you have something better to do—”

“Megan, I like hanging out with you. I don't care what we do.” Chase shrugged, and Meg looked away with a wince. That's exactly what she was afraid of.

“Chase, it's not a date.”

He looked away, and she swore she could see him physically deflate. “Why not?”

“Delete your relationship status,” she said abruptly.

He straightened up and glared at her. “I thought we were—”

She cut him off. “We're friends, Chase. That's all.”

He sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands, and she wanted to kick her own butt.

“Fine. I'll delete the status when I get home.”

The disappointment in his voice rattled the gate around her heart, and she wished she were stronger, tougher, with a heart coated in steel.

She
had
to resist him. It was essential. He was graduating in a few more months and would go off to college. She and Bailey still had another year. She would not be the one who ruined his plans.

And he would not ruin hers.

“Megan?”

“Um. Yeah.” Meg jerked when she saw Chase waving a hand in front of her face.

He smiled, and it was a toothpaste commercial kind of smile that had her looking for the little twinkle that always sparkled at the end of those ads.

“I gotta go. Later?”

Her face burned. However, Meg nodded once and he was gone.

“Meg—” Bailey began, but Meg cut her off.