Page 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

My chest fills with rage and hurt, making it difficult to breathe. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Little Birdie, it’s that there is truth to her words. Of all the things she’s written about me, I’ve only ever detected a bit of embellishment in the content of her writing. Some added effect, for the sake of drama.

But the core of her stories are true.

I think that’s why—hidden in the bathroom, phone still in hand—I choose to run.

My heart feels like the strings of a guitar, thrumming at top speed. Zayne was using me. He was using me all along. Tears prick in the corners of my eyes, but I wipe them away and duck my head down as I push through the exit to the bathroom.

I half expected there to be a crowd waiting for me on the other side of the door, but luckily that’s not the case. Almost everyone is still crowded on the dance floor. Maybe, since we’re at a dance with loud music playing, there’s a chance no one read the blast yet. But there’s also a chance everyone has, including Zayne. I have no intentions of waiting around to find out or hear whatever sorry lie he’s cooking up to serve me next. I am so done with the lies. After everything I just went through with Mom, I don’t think I can survive another one of this magnitude. I don’t want to listen to Zayne try to explain this away.

I keep my gaze on the floor and speed to the doors in the back of the room.

“Dot!” a male voice calls. I have no idea who it is, and I don’t care. I run faster, pushing through the exit and down the dark, empty halls. My heels clack rapidly against the ancient stone, and finally, I’m outside.

And then I remember Zayne drove me here. The tears come faster now. Unstoppable. They sting against my cheeks in the cold night air. I let them fall. Somehow, I knew my makeup would be getting ruined tonight.

“Dot!” I turn at the voice. It’s Carlton. He stops running once I look at him, bending over to catch his breath. “Dot, wait.”

“Are you following me or something?” I hate that he can probably tell from the sound of my voice that I’m fighting tears.

He straightens and holds up his phone. “I saw it. Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” I face the street again. “I just want to go home so I can be alone.”

When he speaks again, he’s closer. Right at my side. “Let me drive you.” I don’t answer, don’t even acknowledge him. He tries again. “We don’t have to talk. I can drive you home in silence, and then you can get out of the car and leave.”

I frown. “What about Meredith?”

“What about her? She has her sister. She’ll be great.”

I sigh. If it weren’t for the fact that I have no other ride home, I wouldn’t even consider it. “Fine.”

The corner of his lip turns up, but he tries to hide it. I follow him to his car and get in. The familiarity of it, the smell, the feel of the heated leather seats, the dashboard I’ve stared at as he drove us around all summer, hits me like a brick wall. It feels like flipping through an old album full of unflattering photos.

Carlton keeps his promise. He doesn’t try to talk to me, though I can tell he wants to. But I don’t care. I stare out the window, watching my own pathetic reflection mirrored back at me.

My phone starts vibrating incessantly, call after call from Zayne. I ignore them all. Texts come through, one after the other, but I don’t read any of them.

Carlton makes a little chuckling sound in the back of his throat, and I shoot him a glare. “I know what you’re thinking,” I say, breaking the silence.

He tilts his head. “Am I allowed to talk now?”

“You’re thinking that you were right about Zayne and that I never should have trusted him.”

“He’s just not a good guy, Dot.” He sighs. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “So am I.”

Carlton drives off when I’m at my front door. It’s then that I allow the tears to really fall. The sobs I’ve been holding in burst from my chest. I let the angry thoughts have their way, shouting in my mind.

Zayne is nothing but a liar.

How could he do this?

I trusted him!

The anger builds inside me until I can’t see straight. I unlock the front door and walk in. Dad is on the couch in the living room. A football game has him leaning forward, palms perched on his knees like he’s ready to sprint.

I try to walk past him to my room, but he hears my heels on the floor. His gaze darts away from the TV to my face and he stands, a look of confusion crossing his features. “You’re back early?” And then he sees my tearstained face, and his own transforms, going from alarmed to murderous. “What happened? Do I need to pay Zayne a visit? Did he hurt you?”

Did he hurt me? I want to laugh. “I guess that depends on your definition of hurt. Read this, Dad.” I take out my phone and show him the Little Birdie post.

I’m tempted to walk away while he holds my phone and reads so I don’t have to see his reaction. But I don’t. I watch the redness appear on his cheeks. I watch as the corners of his brows turn down. I can only imagine how similar Mom’s reaction would be if she were here.

Dad’s eyes flicker to my face. “What’s the meaning of this, Bardot?” He hands me my phone and crosses his arms. “Is this true?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Probably.” My voice sounds so small, even to my own ears. I just want to crawl under a rock, hide, and never come out. Everyone at Fallbrook is going to have a field day with this news. My shoulders sag. “I just want to go to bed and forget all about this.”

At first, he looks like he wants to argue with me, but then his gaze seems to soften. He nods. “Alright, baby. Let me know if you need anything.”

I shuffle down the hall to my room, kicking my heels off once I’m inside and the door is shut. My breathing starts to come in heavier, faster spurts, and my vision blurs once again. Zayne lied, my brain screams. He lied, he lied, he lied.

I strip out of my dress with harsh, rushed, movements. There’s a chance I’ll tear the fabric of this beautiful dress if I carry on like this, but I don’t care. At least not right now. The sound of a thread snapping does nothing to my heart as the dress falls around my ankles. I kick it to the corner of my room and get into bed wearing nothing but my undergarments.

And then I continue crying.

I don’t know how much time passes, but it feels good to let it all out. Really good. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I cried like this, and part of me wonders if this is really all because of Zayne, or if my emotion is the product of other, heavier things as well. Either way, I don’t stop until I’m all cried out, eyes dry and throat hoarse. My temples are sore from the strain, and my nose is stuffed.

Quietly, I dress into pajamas so I can get a glass of water and some tissues from the kitchen. When I crack my door open, I hear a familiar voice that leaves my heart thundering.

“Please,” Zayne begs. “Please, Mr. Bennett. Just let me talk to her.” I can’t see him, but I imagine him holding up his hands in a praying motion. “This is all a huge misunderstanding.”

“Seemed pretty clear to me,” Dad growls. “I read the passage that—what was its name— Little Birdie put out.”

“Little Birdie lied .” Zayne’s voice is strained. “Please. I’m telling you it was a lie. I never said any of that. Not one word.”

“Goodnight, young man,” Dad says. The door closes in Zayne’s face.

I disappear back into my room before Dad can notice my eavesdropping. He trudges down the hall past my cracked door to his own. My heart softens with gratitude for him. It’s a good feeling, having someone stand up for me no matter what. But I can’t deny my hope that maybe, just maybe, Zayne’s being honest.

My phone chimes with a text. I open his message.

Zayne

Please talk to me, Dot.

And another.

Please.

I just want to explain

I know you don’t believe me, but Little Birdie was lying.

Unable to resist, I respond.

Me

So there is no Cassidy?

I can practically feel his relief like a palpable thing on the other end of the line.

Zayne

Not exactly…

Me

That’s what I thought.

The knot reappears in my chest as I send one last text.

Goodbye, Zayne.

And then I block his number.

It feels like cutting off my own arm.

My throat clogs with emotion. I have to do this. I have to let him go. And then the realization smacks into me with way too much force. I love him.

And along with the love, there’s a mix of bitterness and gratitude, because I can’t deny that I’m also thankful to Zayne. After all, he introduced me to a different side of acting than Carlton. It’s through him that I discovered what makes me feel alive. I finally know what I want to do with my future.

I, Bardot Bennet, want to be an actress, and I want to go to Underwood.

Not to make my parents proud. Not to prove to Zayne that I’m good enough. Not even to steal Carlton’s hopes for a spot this year.

I want to go for me.

And all I can do, after everything, is hope that I’m good enough.