Chapter 28
Mr. Shelder assumed—wrongly—that I would leave the Guidance Office.
But I refused to move until I had a little more clarity on my life. Somehow I had gone from the role of the supportive best friend to the villain in under a day. Except . . . I refused to be the only one to pay for a mistake that was only partially mine.
It was time for me to live up to my new reputation for recklessness.
“Mr. Shelder needs you to page Lisa Anne Montgomery,” I lied to his secretary without feeling even a shred of guilt.
She nodded, and I had the satisfaction of hearing, “Lisa Anne Montgomery, please come to the Guidance Office. Lisa Anne Montgomery to the Guidance Office.”
Excellent.
I mentally began rehearsing my speech so that I’d be prepared to blast her the moment she arrived.
How dare you print this story without checking with me first!
Lisa Anne didn’t give me a chance to say any of it. She strolled into the Guidance Office wearing another one of her annoyingly perfect interview outfits, took one look at me, and rolled her eyes.
“I should’ve known. You’re not going to start whining, are you, Grammar Girl? You should be thanking me for helping you.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “For helping me?”
“Yeah!” she said as if it were obvious. “If it weren’t for me, you would still be a complete nobody, quivering in the cesspool of your own ineptitude.”
I glared at her. “That’s not true.”
“Oh sure it is, Grammar Girl. I saved you from obscurity. Now maybe people will have something to remember you by when they flip through the high school yearbook. You know that inserting commas isn’t a real talent, right?”
She sauntered forward with every word, and as my anger built I couldn’t stop myself from shoving her backward hard enough to slam her into the wall, dislodging some pamphlets about dealing with depression. “What’s your talent, Lisa Anne? Destroying lives?”
I probably should have known by the way the secretary kept clearing her throat and saying stuff like, “Really, girls! Inside voices!” that we were going to be busted by Mr. Shelder.
Correction: that I was going to be busted by Mr. Shelder.
Still, not even hearing him snap “Into my office, Jean!” could make me want to back down from this particular fight.
Not when Lisa Anne had it coming.
“He doesn’t even know your name!” she crowed triumphantly, even as she darted out of range of my fists. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the nice reporters at People magazine will cite their source correctly.”
One good blow was all I wanted. A single punch right to her snobby, stuck-up nose so that she would bleed all over her stupid, preppy argyle sweater—but Mr. Shelder dragged me into his office before I could try. Then he just sat there watching me while I struggled to get my breathing under control and my fists to unclench.
“Er, Jane, right?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything even remotely civil.
“Look, in light of recent events, I’m concerned that your fight with Alex Thompson was not an isolated incident. I’m seeing a pattern of violence. I want you to go home for a few days. Cool down a little bit. Do you want me to call your parents and have them pick you up?”
“No!” I took a deep breath. “They’re at work right now and . . . I’ll call someone else, okay?”
I pulled out my cell phone and began scrolling through my contacts before he even had the chance to nod in agreement. Although maybe having my parents show up would have been less painful, since I wasn’t sure if any of my contacts were still speaking to me.
Corey: No.
Kenzie: Maybe.
Logan: Less likely.
Isobel?
I paused for a moment on the name, feeling guilty for nearly forgetting her. After the Alex Thompson cafeteria incident, if there was one person who should believe I only had good intentions, it was her. But Isobel couldn’t drive.
There was really only one person I could call for a ride, albeit with a great deal of groveling.
“I’m working on important forms right now, so unless you are bleeding—”
“I need you to pick me up from school, Elle.”
Long pause.
“Are you bleeding?”
“No, but I think I’ve been suspended.”
I glanced at Mr. Shelder for confirmation, and he nodded. Well, that was going to look great on my permanent record, right next to my time in detention.
“Jane, this isn’t funny. Stop wasting my time.”
“It’s not a joke, Elle. Please pick me up. I’ll wait outside on the steps, okay?”
“Fine. But you’ll owe me, and don’t think I won’t collect!”
She disconnected, and I left the Guidance Office, relieved to discover that Lisa Anne hadn’t stuck around. I was less excited to see Scott leaning against the lockers outside the room, almost exactly where he’d waited after my fight with Alex.
Except that time I was surrounded by my friends.
Now it was just him.
Scott scrutinized me, his eyes lingering on the blotchy evidence of tears on my face. “Jesus, Jane. You look like hell.”
I managed a feeble grin. “You mean you don’t want to take a photo? That’s a first.”
“I’d rather not remember you looking this way.”
“What way?”
“Like you’ve lost every ounce of fight in you.”
“Did I have any fight in me to begin with?” I doubted it. Sam had the courage to fight for what she believed in by taping up condoms in bathrooms, regardless of the punishments Principal Taylor devised.
I had a tendency to screw things up—not the same thing.
“Yeah, you’ve got fight, Jane. You just don’t always know how to use it.”
“Well, I think I used the last bit of it getting myself suspended.”
His eyes darkened with concern. “What happened?”
“I confronted Lisa Anne.” I shrugged and started walking toward the parking lot. “Apparently, I’m starting to demonstrate a pattern of aggression.”
Scott grinned. “Really? I’m having a hard time picturing that. Actually, girl-on-girl fighting . . . got it. Any hair pulling?”
I laughed. “Almost. Mr. Shelder blocked me before I got the chance.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” His smirk said otherwise. “So . . . you’re suspended.”
“Looks like it.”
“Do you need a ride home?”
“My sister is picking me up.” I was both surprised that he had offered and . . . not. Scott could be a really great guy—when he felt like it. He could’ve easily backed out of playing the role of the respectful new boyfriend for my parents, but he hadn’t. Scott nearly made me believe there was something between us. Which there wasn’t. Because he was interested in Kenzie.
I just had to keep reminding myself of that fact.
“Thanks for the offer, Scott.”
On impulse, I raised my arms so that they linked around his neck and pulled him into a quick hug. The familiar warmth radiating from his body made me feel safe while I pretended that my world hadn’t just imploded and started spraying nearby planets with shrapnel.
It felt dangerously nice.
Until we were interrupted by the most intrusive people on the face of the earth: celebrity reporters. Given my interest in high school journalism, I probably should have found them fascinating. It was a great opportunity for me to tap someone on the shoulder and politely ask how they got into journalism.
Except I had seen reporters like them in action before Kenzie’s fame peaked. The kind who follow teenagers home from school, snapping photos the whole way. The kind who would willingly jostle my best friend for an excuse to use TRIPPING OVER FAME! THE MACKENZIE WELLESLEY STORY as their headline. After Kenzie told Ellen DeGeneres that she had no intention of pursuing a life in the spotlight, it looked like they might leave us alone.
But they were back, determined to dig up as much dirt as possible on the romance between rock sensation Timothy Goff and high school student Corey O’Neal.
I never wanted to be the target of this kind of media insanity, and I hoped that Corey and his dad were able to safely make it home before the newshounds picked up their scent.
“Do either of you know Corey O’Neal?”
“Do you think he is dating Timothy Goff?”
“What’s it like having the boyfriend of a celebrity at your school?”
We weren’t even their intended targets and they were already hounding us . . . probably because everyone else was in class, whereas we were ditching our responsibilities. Actually, Scott was the only one ditching. I had been suspended.
He casually slung an arm over my shoulder and repeated, “No comment” until we were in the parking lot next to his beat-up car. “Are you sure you still want to stick around here waiting for your sister?”
I almost took him up on the offer, but before I could even pull out my cell phone to let Elle know I had found an alternative method of transportation, she pulled up to the school, rolled down her window . . . and promptly began shouting at me.
“Are you kidding me! You think you can ditch class with your boyfriend and I’ll pick you up? Well, screw that! And don’t think for a second that I’ll cover for you with Mom and Dad!”
Without giving me a chance to explain, she gunned out of the lot as quickly as she’d entered it. So much for sisterly support.
“Well”—Scott broke my stupefied silence—“I guess jumping to conclusions runs in the family.”
“Um, about that ride you offered . . .”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I stared up at him in horror. “But—but you just said that—”
He laughed. “I’m kidding, Jane. Get in.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice.