Page 13

I MAY NOT HAVE BEEN UP for Truth or Dare in the woods, but I am absolutely kicking ass at the Badass Treasure Hunt list devised and financed by Matt and Salem. It helps that I’ve brought a backpack, so no one else on Camden’s Target shuttle will have to see what I’m carrying back. Oh, and that I’m wearing dark sunglasses, so I don’t have to make eye contact with anyone. But still! I’m doing it!

Condoms? Check.

Lube? Flavored and unflavored.

Tampons? Okay, not exactly a “badass” thing, but Salem did point out that he would not be playing midnight messenger boy again, and those Lockwood tampons are the awful cardboard kind.

And finally, the most badass item of them all (but only because I flat-out refused to attempt to buy a vibrator at Target): snacks.

When I’ve finished filling my basket, I rest it on the floor and take a picture for Matt and Salem, making sure the copious amounts of condoms and lube are highly visible. “Who’s a good girl now?” I mutter as I shift to get it from different angles.

“Am I interrupting something?”

The surprise of Heather Cherette’s voice in my ear has me dropping my phone into the basket, and I carefully retrieve it from the condom-box nest. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she says, glancing down at the basket, her eyes widening.

“I didn’t see you on the shuttle.” I debate covering up the contents of my basket, but I suspect that ship has sailed. I settle for taking off my sunglasses instead, so I look like slightly less of a weirdo.

“Yeah, I made it at the last second. Realized I could use a few things.”

Reflexively, I glance at her basket. It’s completely empty.

“Right,” she says, her cheeks flushing pink. “So, I’m having some trouble picking out those things, and you seem…” Her eyes flicker to my basket, then back up. “Um. Could you help me, maybe?”

It takes me a full minute to figure out what she’s asking, and when I do, I think I might throw up right there at the corner of aisle 9.

“Condoms,” I choke out. “You want my help buying condoms?”

Her cheeks get even redder as she nods. “And Plan B, maybe? Not that I need it,” she says quickly. “I just think it’d be good to have.”

“Certainly can’t argue with that,” I mutter, the very idea of Lucas Burke procreating utterly vomitous. “But I… I mean, these aren’t for me. I’m just shopping for Matt.” Then I hear how that sounds. “ Not that I’m screwing Matt. He just asked for help so he can be prepared, because, well, isn’t it the person wearing the condoms who generally buys the condoms?” I take a beat. “Maybe that’s unenlightened of me. It feels like it is. But if you’re not comfortable doing it, why don’t you have Lucas do it?”

“Oh, he’s just as uncomfortable as I am,” she says shyly, but also a little… proudly? “We’re both new to this and have no idea what we’re doing. God, please don’t repeat that. This is all mortifying. He doesn’t even know I’m getting them. I just thought he’d probably be too shy, and so I figured, well. Taking a leap, I guess.”

Lucas may be a virgin, but judging by his confidence—and pushiness—that first night, I have a feeling he’s nowhere near as “new to this” as he’s told Heather he is.

What a stupid fuck-faced liar.

But of course, I can’t say that, so I go ahead and help Heather pick out protection so that she can have sex with the worst guy on the planet, feeling decidedly the opposite of badass.

As soon as I get back, I trudge upstairs, eager to get rid of my new purchases. Matt and Salem’s door is open, a rare occurrence, and it’s immediately clear that Salem’s not inside. Matt, however, gives me a huge smile and throws out his arms. “Dormie! Did you make Big Papa proud?”

“Matthew, I really need you to know that if you ever call yourself that again, I’m going to throw up on every pair of shoes you own. That said…” I reach into my bag and toss item after item onto his bed, shoving aside the disappointment that Salem isn’t here to witness my triumph. “I sure did.”

“Oh, hell yes.” He dives in, and immediately makes a face. “Gingerbread-flavored lube? Seriously?”

“It’s festive!”

“It sounds disgusting.”

“Well, so does eating lube,” I point out.

He sighs and shakes his head. “You don’t exactly eat — You know what? This feels too much like giving my little sister the sex talk, and I’d rather not.”

Ouch. “Wow, okay. Even the school player thinks I’m an uncool, immature little girl. Good to know.”

“Evie, that’s not—”

“I just bought you condoms, Matt. Not even just you! Condoms for everybody!” I kick the leg of Salem’s bed, wishing it were Lucas’s face, and immediately regret it when my toe throbs in response.

“Okay, I’m going to guess that whatever’s going on here isn’t about me, and since my roommate’s not here to translate, I’m just gonna say thank you for these and ask if you wanna talk about whatever bug is up your butt.”

It’s stupid in the grand scheme of things, I know. Lucas and I didn’t exactly do anything earth-shattering, and Heather and I aren’t best friends. But still, holding back on her feels like doing exactly what I flipped out at Claire for doing, and the combo of guilt and hypocrisy is a hard pill to swallow.

“You ever… wish you could make someone see what you see, and know what you know, but you… can’t?”

Matt narrows his eyes at me. “You’re joking, right?”

“What?”

He sighs. “Yes, Evie. I know this phenomenon very well.”

“Yeah, well, there’s that, and some drama from home, and I think I’m just gonna go take a nap and ignore the outside world for a while.” I head out, but pause to catch my hand on the doorframe. “Enjoy the gingerbread.”

For the rest of the week, I throw myself into the talent show, practicing my cardistry, finalizing outfits with Isabel, and watching videos of other people performing so I can practice gestures and facial expressions in the mirror, like the natural I am.

By the time the event actually arrives, I never want to do a card trick again. But I know I’m not the only one who’s been practicing to death; I feel like I’ve already seen and heard everything that’ll be happening tonight. Darryl and Jason from upstairs have been rapping in the halls, Kayla’s been singing under her breath all week, Henry from a few doors down has been getting us all way too well acquainted with his clarinet, the cheerleaders have been jumping all over the quad, and oh my God why are there so many jugglers?

I text Sabrina on my way out so we can walk together, and she confirms that she and Heather are heading out the door now and will meet me out front. Seeing Heather isn’t exactly helping my nerves tonight, and it makes me queasy to see her being extra cheerful and bouncy in her enthusiasm about performing. If I didn’t know she was getting some, I would absolutely know she was getting some.

“Hey, lovelies.” I overcompensate for my nausea by linking my arms through theirs and leading us across the quad, trying not to get bogged down in my ugly thoughts. “Heather, you nervous at all?”

“Mostly just excited,” she says serenely, and I want to hate her so badly that I almost do. “I used to be in all the plays in junior high, and I’ve been missing performing, so this is really nice.”

“Me too.” Sabrina widens her eyes to a comic degree and brings her fists to her chest. “I can’t wait to get that baton twirling in my hands again.”

“Your routine is going to be epic,” I agree. “I assume your sequined leotard is underneath that outfit?”

“You know it.”

Heather shakes her head, smiling. “You two were definitely meant to become friends.”

We find seats inside, and thankfully, Lucas is nowhere to be found. Next to me, Heather is texting him, but there aren’t any free seats near us, and hopefully that won’t be changing any time soon.

The room quiets down as Hoffman takes the stage. “Welcome, everybody, to the seventh annual Camden Academy Talent Show!” There’s lots of applause, some whistling, and an a cappella outburst that does not portend good things to come. “Can we have everyone named Michael please stand up?”

A few confused looks are exchanged, but finally, a few guys stand up, including one I recognize from Rumson.

“Great, thank you—that concludes the Mike check.”

The groans drown out whatever few laughs there might’ve been, but Hoffman doesn’t look remotely fazed. “We have so many great acts to come tonight, so let’s get started! Quite literally kicking us off, as always, we have the Camden Academy Dance Team, led by Captain Ashleigh Cartwright!”

The cheering goes wild as the team gets into position, and Ash is front and center, looking absolutely stunning—her warm brown skin glows with glitter, her long dark curls are gathered on her head, and her white crop top shows off abs that belong in a museum. Landon’s hollering is the loudest, and I turn to see him sitting at the back with Matt, Salem, Jenna, Isabel, Priya, and Sebastian Giang, the hot basketball player from the club fair. It’s weird to see Salem sitting with that crowd, but at least I can pretend for a minute that it’s because he wants to hang out with his roommate and not because he’s going to abandon me completely for his hot, popular girlfriend.

I exchange a wave with Isabel, letting her know I’ve arrived, and then the music kicks up and I turn back, not wanting to miss a minute. Ashleigh is phenomenal; I had no idea her body could move like that, but I sense Landon is an extremely lucky man. By the time they finish up, in a pose that shouldn’t be physically possible, half the room is on its feet, and I’m pretty sure everyone feels bad for whoever has to follow that.

Turns out, that honor belongs to 10/10, No Notes, the school’s premier a cappella group, which absolutely slays a Taylor Swift medley. Then there’s a juggler, followed by a gymnast, followed by Henry the Rumson clarinetist, and then Jesse goes up there for his “stand-up” act, which is spot-on but also silly. Priya follows that with an Adele cover that has my jaw on the floor. By the time Hoffman takes the stage again, I’m having such a good time that I forget I’m performing until I hear Isabel’s and my names.

Oh God. What have I done? I do not want to perform in front of all these people, actually! This is not even a cool thing to do! What was I thinking?

“Stop freaking out,” Isabel mutters in my ear as she wraps an arm around my waist and steers me up to the stage. “You’re annoyingly good at this. Just smile and have fun. There is literally nothing riding on success here.”

Okay, she has a good point. I adjust the bottom of the blazer I borrowed from Priya, taking care to make sure the lace corset from my mall outing with Salem is being nicely displayed, and then I step up to introduce myself. But before I can, Isabel beats me to the mic, and the mere sight of her in her glittery bodysuit and heels has the room exploding with whistles and applause.

Weirdly, it takes a lot of the edge off to be reminded that as long as Isabel’s up there in next to nothing, no one really cares what I do. So when she sweeps her arm in my direction and says, “Ladies and gentlefolk, please allow me to introduce the Magnificent Everett Riley,” I’m actually feeling relaxed enough to smile, wave, and curtsy in my little shorts.

From across the room, I catch Salem’s eye and see him biting his lip as he tries not to laugh, and I can’t help winking.

“As some of you know,” I announce into the mic, “though I couldn’t possibly say how—so random, right?—I have a particular skill with cards.” A couple of the Rumson guys who’ve lost way too much money to me boo from the back, and the portion of the crowd that knows exactly why laughs. “As such, the cards are only happy to do what I tell them.”

I do a riffle shuffle of a new deck I purchased on my condom run as I talk, and then cut the deck with one hand, sweeping it into two individual, impressive fans. There’s some polite oohing to start with, but as I run through a series of flourishes and twirls, I see people start to crane their necks for better views.

“I believe you all know my lovely assistant, Isabel McEvoy.” I combine the cards into a single deck and sweep them into a thumb fan that I extend in her direction. It took me hours of practice to master that one, and I’m gratified when it works beautifully, even if I’m well aware the applause is for the strawberry blonde next to me and not because of the seamlessness with which I just displayed every card in the deck in my small hand. “Isabel, would you please pick a card?”

She prances over and bends to eye it closely, which has even more necks craning from the audience. Finally, she selects a card, and I dramatically cover my eyes while she shows it to the audience.

“Three of hearts!” yells out a voice from the back I’m pretty sure belongs to my dear friend Archie.

“Seven of spades!” adds another one—Duncan, I’m almost positive.

A few more voices yell out random cards, and it takes everything in me not to let it mess with my concentration. “If the gentlemen in the back could kindly shut their pieholes!” I declare cheerfully, grateful that Isabel waits until they do before slipping the card back in.

I take note of the spot where she returned the card, and cut the deck accordingly. It’s a silly trick, one I’ve practiced with Isabel no fewer than ten times, and it drives her nuts that she can’t figure it out. I flash the bottom of the deck to her and show it to the audience. “Is this your card?”

“It is not!” she says triumphantly.

“All right, then! Let’s put that card down, and move one to the back of the deck.” We go through this for four more cards, and when we hit the last one, I offer a dramatic “Still no?” and Isabel shakes her head slowly and smugly, making the audience laugh.

Thank God I did not attempt to do this myself with a random volunteer, although it would’ve been fun to pick Salem or Sabrina, just to torture them.

Or Archie. I really would not mind torturing Archie. Would that I were at a level in cardistry where I could kill a man with a two of spades.

As if on cue, someone yells out from the audience, “Rumson Girl fucked up the trick!”

“Language!” calls a disembodied authoritative voice.

I could kill every single one of Archie’s friends right now, but thankfully, their cluelessness actually makes this a little more fun. “Oh no, did I?” I gasp dramatically as I take hold of the four face-down cards on the table and flip one over. “Isabel, are you telling me this is not your card?”

She holds it up for everyone to see. “It is not!”

“And this one?” I push forward the second card with an exaggerated pout on my face. “This one’s not either?”

“She already told you it’s not! Can’t you hear, Rumson Girl?”

My teeth are going to crack if I clench them any harder, but Isabel plays it cool and just says, “Nope, that’s not it either.”

“And this third one?” I widen my eyes in panic. “You’re sure it’s not this one?”

“I’m sure,” says Isabel, holding up the third card.

“Then I guess it must be this one,” I say, pointing to the fourth. I wait for an annoying outburst from the audience, and so does Isabel, neither of us wanting the punch line to drown in it, but it doesn’t come. Finally, Isabel picks up the card, and her face breaks into a huge smile.

“That’s it!” she says, holding up the card as if it were a newborn lion. I knew she could act, but the wonder on her face, as if she’s never seen this trick before, is perfect. The entire audience cheers, and for the rest of the routine, there’s no more shit from the crowd, even when I slip slightly on an aerial and nearly drop the deck.

By the time they announce the end of our performance, I could not be readier to get off that stage.

“That went great!” Isabel whispers excitedly, squeezing my arm. “You really do have to show me how you do that stuff.”

“I will,” I promise. I go to take my seat with Heather and Sabrina, and watch as Isabel takes hers. Salem catches my eye and gives me a little golf clap, which I respond to with a dramatic bow.

“That was so great!” Heather gushes. “You— Oh! Lucas is up!”

Well, that was some short-lived joy. I take my seat quietly and dig my nails into my thighs as I watch Lucas perform an entire comedy routine by John Mulaney, though he does admittedly nail the voice and intonations. The audience eats it up, despite the fact that they watched Jesse do something similar a few acts ago, breaking into laughter at all the right points, and I want to remind them that it isn’t because Lucas is funny.

Mercifully, it’s a short set, after which Heather immediately goes to find him, tell him he’s brilliant, and abandon me and Sabrina to go sit with him. Sabs and I sit through an impressive quick-change routine, an even more impressive singing performance by Heather and Kayla, a tap dance by a girl in my chem class, Darryl and Jason’s rap battle, a ventriloquist, and a Shakespearean monologue by the Lockwood prefect. The night seems to be winding down when Hoffman declares, “And next up, we have a late addition to the roster… from the illustrious Rumson Hall, please welcome Salem Grayson and his guitar, playing Guns N’ Roses’ ‘Patience’!”

“I’m sorry, it’s who doing what now?” But even as the words leave my lips my eyes track Salem’s long, lean body shuffling up to the stage, a guitar I’ve never even seen before slung over his shoulder.

Sabrina rolls her eyes. “I knew he couldn’t resist.”

“He what ?” I’m still stunned by the sight of Salem up there on the stage, hopping onto a stool, admittedly looking every inch the rock star.

Jenna must be so proud. I’ve never seen her play anything but cool, but the way her eyes are fixed on the stage, a tiny smile playing at her lips, her eyes glittering in the dim light of the room… against all odds, she really does like Salem. It’s fascinating.

Salem coughs into the mic and says, “It’s actually Chris Cornell’s cover of ‘Patience,’ but uh, yeah.”

He starts strumming, and from the very first melancholy notes, my breath catches in my throat. The melody is beautiful, yeah, but there’s something about the way his fingers look curved around the wood of the guitar’s neck, the effortlessness with which they pluck at the chords, and the contemplative look on his face, peaceful but focused, as if whatever—or whoever—is inspiring him right now is right there behind his eyelids.

And when he opens his mouth, his playing is nothing compared to his voice. His voice. It’s a low rasp coated in honey, achingly romantic, and even though I know those grungy jeans and that Black Flag T-shirt and corded leather bracelet as well as I know my own wardrobe, I cannot believe that voice is coming out of Salem Grayson, of all people. The voice and the words. He made it sound like he and Jenna are a casual thing, like they’re just hooking up, but… this isn’t a song you sing about a girl you’re just having fun with. A song about waiting? Having patience? Believing that you’ll make it?

Salem’s singing like he’s in love.

If I were Jenna—or, hell, if this were anyone other than Salem—I’d be fully weak in the knees by now.

As it is, I’m not feeling too hot. I know he’s not trying to rub salt in the wounds Lucas and Craig left behind—he couldn’t be—but it’s so brutal to hear him singing about taking it slow and having a future when I’m still so full of regrets. It almost feels like he knows, like he’s somehow reached into my brain and my heart and decided to claw me open and drag me in front of the entire school.

And when he looks up and locks eyes with me for a second, the faintest of smiles on his lips, intellectually I know it’s a nod to my saying I knew he’d play guitar at the talent show, but still, it hurts like hell.

When he comes down off the final notes, the room absolutely explodes in applause and whistles, including from Sabrina. It’s total chaos, and if I were to look in Jenna’s direction, I might see her sailing down toward the stage, claiming her man with a big, proud kiss.

But I don’t have time to look in Jenna’s direction; I have to take this opportunity to get the hell out of there ASAP. And so without another glance at Salem, without a word to Sabrina, without so much as another breath, I bolt.

No one follows me out. As far as I know, no one even notices I’m gone. And who would? As far as everyone else knows, I’m fine, absolutely fine, everything is fine. I have no one to call, nothing to do in my room except solitaire, which seems way too on point at the moment.

So I go to bed, hoping sleep will take me and I won’t have to think about any of these things, any of these people. But hours later I’ve tried everything from counting sheep to recounting all my Spanish vocabulary words, and still nothing. I hear the boys file back into the dorm, loud voices carrying as they talk about the talent show, and there’s little I can make out in the individual conversations that twist and tangle together. Eventually, that too dies down, giving way to the sounds of showers turning on and doors closing.

And then, a knock, so quiet I think I’m imagining it until I hear it again, a little louder this time.

“I’m asleep,” I call.

The door cracks open, and Salem steps inside. After the reception to his performance, I half expect him to have his clothing clawed to shreds and his face covered in lipstick prints, but it’s just my dormmate and study buddy, my pact partner, a hesitant look on his face I can barely make out in the moonlight streaming through my window. “You almost had me.”

“Shouldn’t you be off somewhere, rolling around in your fandom?”

“Am I— Is this not my fan club meeting?” He scratches his head. “Dammit, I always get lost on the way to my shrine.”

“So I was right about you being an emo-boy cliché.”

“I guess you were.” He steps closer, takes a tentative seat on the edge of my bed. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” I lie. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He sighs. “Can we skip that part where you keep lying and I keep asking and just get to it?”

I don’t know what’s worse—that Salem noticed I’m not okay or that Salem noticed I’m not okay. We were supposed to be on equal footing, each of us wanting a life we couldn’t quite achieve on our own. But now he’s so far overshot while I’ve failed at attempt after attempt to grow at all, and it hurts just to be in the same room.

Even more painful? How badly I just want a hug. I need someone to hold me and tell me things are gonna be okay like I need air. We may not be in the best place right now, but I would give anything for my mom to sit where Salem is sitting and give me one of the lazy back scratches she used to when I wormed into her bed for safety during thunderstorms. And looking at Salem, at the concern on his face, I know that if I asked him, he would give me at least a brief squeeze. And it would feel amazing.

But I am not about to ask that of another girl’s boyfriend, after everything. And I need him to leave so I can stop thinking about doing it anyway.

“I’m fine, Salem. You should go to bed.”

“You’re fine? That’s why you bolted out of the talent show?” He sighs. “Look, I get that you don’t want to talk to me, but you should talk to someone. Sometimes, like right now, you just get this vibe about you, like…”

“Like?”

His eyes glitter in the darkness of my room. “Like you should talk to someone.”

I don’t know if he means a friend or a therapist, but I don’t have either one—at least not a friend I can tell about everything—so I stay silent, staring up at my dark ceiling and wishing I at least had those glow-in-the-dark stars or something. Way too much of my life right now is staring out into nothingness.

Where do I even go from here?

“It’s just… you remind me of her when you drift off like this. Of Sabrina. After she and Molly broke up and she couldn’t get out of bed. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t anything. It was so bad,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, and I’m not even sure he’s still talking to me. “I wouldn’t have done what I did if I didn’t think I absolutely had to, if I didn’t think she literally needed to move somewhere else to survive.”

“And now you want to be the hero again?” It comes out meaner than I intend, but I’m not sure I even care. It’s physically painful, having him so close and having to keep him so far away. Having to keep my secret, to keep my distance, to keep from telling him how badly I just need a fucking hug.

To keep from telling him how much his stupid fucking song broke my heart all over again for reasons I can’t even begin to understand.

“I know you don’t think it’s about that,” he says flatly. “We both know I’m not a hero. Hell, you had to teach me how to be a decent guy.”

“No, I didn’t.” As I say it, I realize how true it is. “You were always a decent guy. You were always the guy who risked his own reputation and future for his sister, and who helped me when I asked for it, and who brought me tampons under cover of darkness. And now you’re the guy checking on me in the middle of the night. It was stupid to think you were anything else just because you dressed like you rolled out of a dumpster and smelled like a bong.”

“I’m flattered, I think?”

“I’m not flattering you. I’m telling you that you don’t need me and you never did. And I don’t need you either. So can you please. Just. Go?”

There’s an endless silence where he doesn’t respond but he doesn’t get up, either, and I pretend my eyes are closed but I’m actually looking at where his hand rests on his thigh and willing it to stroke my hair. It’s the stupidest thing, but my entire heart feels like it’s seizing in the hopes of receiving exactly that one small touch. Ignore what I’m saying, I want to scream, but I don’t, of course I don’t, and I don’t take his hand and I don’t move closer and I don’t take a breath.

And then he says, “You know where to find me,” and leaves me alone to cry in the dark.