My YourSpace revenge is dead in the water. Anna’s scheme works better than even she anticipated; the re-formation of the Fearsome Fivesome distracts everyone for a second and settles too quickly. Everyone in this school has seen me stand beside Anna before.
It’s new, but it’s old.
Gym.
Nelson is dividing us into teams for basketball when I start feeling not right. I take an antacid before I realize it’s not my stomach—it’s my head. It doesn’t feel attached to my neck, and then it does, and then I’m very aware of a slow-building pressure behind my eyes that threatens to become the kind of headache that will make me vomit—or would, if there was anything in my stomach to vomit up.
I raise my hand. Nelson points at me. “What it is, Afton?”
“Can I be excused?” I ask. “I don’t feel well.”
I wish I could take it back. The whole class hears it. That’s Anna, that’s Michael, that’s Kara, that’s Josh, that’s Donnie. I don’t want them looking at me, and now they are. Nelson studies me, and I must look bad because she doesn’t run me through the usual twenty questions reserved for suspected fakers.
“Hayden,” she says. Michael looks up. “Escort your friend to the nurse’s office.”
It’s like someone dumped a bucket of ice down my shirt. Michael crosses the gym. My eyes meet Anna’s. She gives me a warning look. And a smirk.
“So let’s go,” he says.
Nelson resumes splitting the class, and Michael and I make our way out. The throbbing in my head gets worse. When we hit the hall, I focus on the quiet and pray it stays, but it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. He wants answers.
“What do they have on you?”
I exhale slowly. I don’t know whether to feel really good or bad that he doesn’t believe I’d do that to him. It makes it harder, either way.
“They don’t have anything on me,” I say.
“You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
He grabs me by the arm. “You were so happy to be rid of them and now you’re friends again? Bullshit. What do they have on you?”
“I said they don’t have anything on me—”
“They have to,” he says, desperate. I can see the hurt building, and my stomach isn’t having it. “You wouldn’t be doing this to me if they didn’t have something on you—”
“I—” I focus on the poster tacked to the wall behind his head. A bedraggled kitten is clinging to a tree branch. Hang in there! I can’t think around my headache. “I told you. Anna found out that it was true about Donnie, that Kara lied, so she’s—she felt terrible about it. So—we’re friends again.”
“You can barely lie,” he says. I start protesting halfheartedly, because I really don’t feel well. It makes it easy for him to talk over me. “If that’s the truth, then what about Kara? Anna wouldn’t let Kara get away with that.”
Goddammit. If he were Jeanette or Marta he would’ve bought it by now. I’m not making friends with people who are smart, from this point on. Ever again.
“Tell me,” he begs.
“I told you. We’re friends again. I told Liz—”
“You didn’t mean what you said to Liz.”
“It doesn’t matter, Michael,” I burst out. “Because whatever it is, even after everything between us, I still weighed it—them or you—and I didn’t choose you. I knew how hard it was for you to choose me, and I still picked them. I mean, that’s basically picking their bullshit over you, right? I didn’t choose you, and I totally wasted your time, so even if they do have something on me, it doesn’t matter.”
It’s a hit. Finally. He flinches like I’ve slapped him and takes a step back.
“I put myself out there for you,” he says slowly. “I can’t believe I—”
“I needed someone to put between me and Anna, and you probably never even really liked me.” I dig the knife further in, but I’m not sure I need to. “You were really lonely, and I was there after a long time of no one being there.”
He takes another step back. “You—”
I wish he would shout at me. He doesn’t. This quiet devastation creeps across his face and he fights it, and it reminds me of that day in the diner, and I feel like my heart is breaking. But it’s still not as bad as what Anna will do to him if I tell him the truth.
“I should have known,” he finally says, and I wince because he was the best thing that ever happened to me. He takes another step back. “Easy way out, every single time. Liz told me—fuck—I can’t believe I let you do this to me twice.”
I can’t wait for him to go, so I go.
By the time I reach the washroom, my head is killing me, and the disgusting fluorescent lights overhead makes it feel worse. I gag over the sink, but nothing comes out. I lean forward and take deep, even breaths in and out, and then I run the water as cold as it will go, cupping my hands together for a drink. It doesn’t help. I wet a paper towel, sit on the floor—gross—and press it against my eyes.
After a while, the paper towel loses its chill, but I can’t find the will to get up and wet it again. Michael hates me. He hates me. I start to cry, keeping the paper towel against my eyes and letting it soak up my tears. When the door swings open, I can’t inspire myself to care. Getting up and trying to act okay is so beyond me right now.
“Oh, Regina.”
Anna’s voice is motherly. Awful. I keep the towel against my eyes. She crosses the room and sits beside me. She presses something crumbly and dry into my hands. I look down. An oatmeal cookie. I blink and take in the room. Anna’s beside me. Kara’s leaning against the door, ensuring no one will come in.
I don’t care if Anna sees me cry, but Kara . . .
I wipe at my eyes with my free hand.
“Eat,” Anna urges me. I shake my head. She grabs me by the chin and makes me look at her. “Come on. I don’t make you that sick. Eat or else.”
That whole year she thought I was starving myself—after Kara actually did starve herself—she used that voice. Eat. I take a bite of the cookie and revive a little at the food in my mouth. My stomach doesn’t want it. I clamp my hand over my mouth.
It takes forever to swallow.
“Kara, wait outside,” Anna says, when I finally do.
“What? No way. I want to see this.”
“Wait outside now.”
Kara knows better than to argue. She yanks the door open and steps into the hall.
“Talk to Michael?” Anna asks me. I nod. “Did it hurt?”
The last three words set me off. My face crumples and I bring my knees up to my chest, burying my face in them.
“So now you know exactly how I felt when I found out you slept with Donnie.”
“Jesus Christ, Anna. I didn’t fucking sleep with Donnie. He tried to—”
“Don’t. Shut. Up. Listen to me: All that time I thought you were my best friend,” she says. “You were like a sister to me. Now, thanks to Michael’s journal, I find out I just made you sick. This will never get better for you, okay? I want you to understand what you ruined and how good you had it.” She tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear. I jerk away. “And then . . . I want you to be sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her desperately. “Anna, I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” she says. “I’ll let you know.”