Once again, I’ve awoken from the Burner’s embrace frozen inside my own body, my eyelids only half-shut. Though I’m in my own bed and there’s no threat of Josh or Gigi to terrorize me or of Wes to betray me, I’m scared nonetheless.
It’s hard to fully express how total immobility messes with you. How it feels, physically, mentally, to literally find yourself unable to lift a finger or form a word. You feel helpless when you can’t call out, frightened when you realize how exposed your body is, panicked when your brain instructs your head to turn but the impulse is ignored. More than anything though, you feel raging frustration. It is the subtext of every other emotion. Because what’s happening makes absolutely no sense to your fully functioning brain, which keeps thinking it can reason its way into one little twitch.
But even with the lingering anxiety and physical trauma, there is one thing worse—being trapped with your own thoughts. I keep seeing Matt’s face approaching mine, imagine his blank, possessed eyes, smell his hot, wet breath, taste his tongue in my mouth. I try to tell myself it’s Wes I was kissing, to rationalize the event. But I can’t. It’s Matt’s body I’ve done things to that he didn’t okay, to say nothing of Amber. I think of myself lying helpless on the bed at the clinic as Josh and Gigi did their worst. Am I the same as them? The thought makes my stomach turn.
But what really makes me want to puke is that I’d recognized this in the moment and stopped myself, only to give back into temptation the second Wes put up a fight. Am I one of those yes girlfriends? Does he have that much control over me?
Wes. The boy who has been used and exploited since he was a child, who needs my love and support more than words can explain, who knows and understands me in a way that literally no one else can, is now also the boy who went behind my back the moment I disagreed with him. And there’s something else, something in his attitude about our revenge plans that scares me more than I want to admit. The image of Amber’s computer, open and camera on, plays on repeat in my mind. Aren’t he and I in this together? Isn’t there finally someone on my side? Have I been wrong about him? About all this?
Despite having nothing to do but think, by the time the paralysis wears off late Saturday morning (the extra Dexid prolonging my frozen state), I’ve gotten nowhere. The only thing I’m sure of is that Wes went way over the line of acceptable boyfriend and human behavior last night, and the fight we’re going to have isn’t going to be pretty. He’ll have to start playing by my rules, or he’s out. And it’s high time I establish some rules for myself. Like not letting a boy seduce me into delinquency.
I’ve got no plans to see him until later tonight thanks to a prearranged mother-daughter shopping trip and a dinner date with Tessa, and I’m cool with that. A little space sounds like a good thing right about now. So I decide to turn my phone to silent.
The shopping trip ends up being exactly the comedown I need. It’s even fun in a totally normal-life kind of way. Because Mom’s so excited about the positive effect the Dexid has on my nighttime habits, she’s not only ready for some serious retail celebration but, for the first time in ages, our conversation doesn’t linger on sleep. (Save for her excitement that I slept until noon like a regular teenager. Little does she know.) We chat about clothing and movie stars, about college trips and boys. Though I’m not intentionally hiding Wes from her, I know that if I mention him now—specifically where we met—our fun-time, normal-girl’s day out will be toast.
By the time we get home, I’ve only got a few minutes to decide which newly purchased outfit to wear before Tessa picks me up for dinner. Meaning there’s no time to confront the multiple texts and calls from Wes that I’ve ignored. My day of normal has been really nice, and I like the idea of continuing it with fried food and my BFF.
It’s nearly eight o’clock when Tessa and I arrive at the Alp, a greasy Greek diner that’s everyone’s favorite. I’m looking forward to the same easy chitchat that Mom gifted me earlier in the day, but best friends are never as content as parents to keep it superficial.
“So, is Wes the man of your dreams or what?” Tessa asks over cheese fries.
I nearly choke on my soda. “What the…do you…I don’t even…” I stammer.
Tessa laughs. “Relax, Sarah. You’re not in trouble.” A deep thought passes over her face, turning the corners of her mouth down. “Are you?”
“No,” I say, laughing myself. But Tessa’s frown lingers. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. It’s just… Listen, I totally don’t blame you.”
“Blame me for what?” I ask. The tickle of defensiveness straightens my spine.
“Well, not blame…” She searches for words that have been rehearsed.
“Tessa? What’s going on?”
She shifts in her seat and leans in. “Okay, I’m just going to lay it out there. You’re not acting like yourself, Sar. You’re preoccupied. You’re cutting class. This thing with Wes is new, and it’s yours, and with everything that’s been going on lately, I’m glad there’s something fun in your life.” She pauses, but only to catch her breath. “But you’ve gone from zero to sixty with this guy, and I don’t know if he’s really who you should be spending your time with. We already know he’s got a shady history at the other schools he’s gone to.”
“You don’t know the whole story,” I interject. “Wes has been through a lot. It’s not easy for him to let people in.” Even though I’ve got my own issues with my boyfriend, I don’t like anyone else trashing him.
“Maybe, but it’s not like he’s making much of an effort here either. I mean, he was crazy rude to Gigi on his first day.”
My mouth falls open. “Gigi? Who’d just slapped me?”
“Gigi, who he had never met before,” she rebuffs. “I get defending someone’s honor, but at that point, he didn’t know either of you. You have to admit it was a little weird.”
“As I recall, you thought it was pretty awesome,” I say. “And yeah, I may have skipped a few classes, but seriously? I think I’m entitled. Do you have any idea what things have been like?”
“Not really, no,” she says coolly. “You’ve been too busy canoodling with lover boy to even DM me.”
Tessa crosses her arms and waits for my response. Part of me understands she’s telling me she feels shut out because she wants me to know that she’s here for me; that she only wants to be the friend and confidant she’s always been; that she’s even saying things about Wes that I’ve begun to realize on my own. So I should try to explain that, no matter his faults, Wes is the first and only person who actually gets me, and that’s the most comfort I’ve probably had since I was ten. I should tamp down my temper and react to what she’s saying. Instead, I embrace the way in which she says it and throw her words back in her face.
“Oh, I’m so sorry I haven’t been making you and your neediness my priority,” I say.
“My what now?” Tessa shoots back.
“And I’m sorry you’re just too above it all to get it,” I continue. “It must be tough being the one who never gets called out on anything. Or is it a little boring, always standing outside the center, never committing yourself fully enough to rock the boat?”
Tessa and I have been in very few fights during our decade-long friendship, but when they happen, they’re brutal. Neither one of us is good at backing down, and we know each other’s weaknesses better than anyone. I prepare for immediate escalation to epic battle, when a ceasefire is called by the little bell attached to the front door of the Alp, ringing to announce a new arrival.
Amber, surrounded by a clutch of football players and pom girls, enters the diner, laughing loudly and generally stinking up the joint. If they aren’t already drunk, they’re well on their way. The group takes over one of the larger tables at the back. Amber doesn’t acknowledge us as she passes, but for the first time since the slumber party, it doesn’t feel malicious. As the jocks clamber to sit next to her, I realize that she’s too caught up in being the center of attention to bother being a bitch.
“Huh,” a guy’s voice says above us. “Didn’t see that coming.” Wes slides into the booth beside me and attacks me with a passionate, territory-marking kiss. When he’s done deep-throating me, he turns to Tessa and holds out his hand. “Hi. We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Wes Nolan.”
“Okay,” Tessa says evenly, choosing not to comment on the over-the-top PDA. They shake.
Wes digs into our cheese fries while I sit shell-shocked from the kiss, and not in a good way. “What are you girls gabbing about? Must be good for Sarah to ignore my texts.” He doesn’t look at me as he puts his arm around my shoulder. His muscles are tense, his grip awkward. Between this and the cattle-branding kiss, he’s doing me no favors in disproving Tessa’s concerns.
My face heats up. I’m mad. Wes is mad. Tessa’s mad. Amber’s adamantium. In a matter of minutes, my world has been proven flat, and I’m teetering on the edge of oblivion.
“Sorry, it was my fault,” Tessa says suddenly. Her voice is friendly but contrite. “I’ve got some family drama going on, and Sarah was being a pal, talking me through it. We must have lost track. Glad you showed up to join us though. Should we get another order of fries?”
I smile at Tessa, shamefaced. Despite her reservations about Wes and her frustration with me, she always has my back.
“Sure,” he says and waves down a waitress. After ordering, he returns his attention to Tessa. “So you’re supposed to be the girl in the know. What’s going on over there? Didn’t that chick make a porno or something?”
While I tense, Tessa relaxes. There’s nothing like good gossip to perk up my bestie. “She sure did. I mean, it was all over-the-clothes stuff, but yeah, pretty much. Hooked up with her creepola stepbrother while her webcam was on last night.”
“No way.” Wes’s grip softens. If Tessa loves gossip, Wes loves reliving our exploits. I try not to glare at him.
“Truth. I saw it. Total yuck.” She sips her Coke. “The thing that’s crazy though, Amber doesn’t care a bit. The number of times her page has been viewed has increased, like, a billionfold.”
“Any publicity is good publicity,” Wes says.
“That’s what I keep telling Sarah,” she agrees, and for a moment, all feels right in the land of best friends and boyfriends. I pick at the cheese fries.
“It started out kind of funny, like a spoof of a Skinemax movie, and then it cut out. When the feed came back a minute or so later, they were going at it hot and heavy. Like, totally into it for realz.” Tessa giggles. “I’m so embarrassed even talking about it, but I just couldn’t turn it off.”
“No judgment here.” Wes laughs. “I bet it was hot.”
I drop the french fry. Wes doesn’t look at me, but there’s no way he missed my boiling stare scalding his cheek. Though it’s definitely nice to have Tessa and Wes getting along, I’m not sure how much longer I can sit on my rage that he turned the webcam back on when I thought it was just us. Processed cheese bubbles in my stomach, and I resolve to let him have it as soon as Tessa goes for a bathroom break.
“Didn’t something new happen with that Gigi girl too?” Wes asks, changing the subject.
Tessa stops laughing, and her mouth contorts into a grimace. “Yeah, but I don’t think we need to…”
“Wait, wait. I know I heard something,” Wes says, tapping his chin with his index finger as if trying to recall a random bit of information. His nonchalance is as fake as his forgetfulness. Whatever Wes knows, he’s dying for me to hear it almost as much as Tessa wants to avoid me finding out.
As my partner in crime predicted, Gigi’s been giving me a wide berth. On the morning of Kiara’s fall from grace, she came to school with a new pixie cut, courtesy of some brilliant hairdresser who worked his magic on the mangled mess I’d left, and a decent combination of infinity scarf and foundation to cover up her black eye and stress hives. Though she was doing an admirable job playing off her new look as trendsetting change, when our eyes met across the library stacks during study hall, her fearful expression told me that when Gigi MacDonald looked in the mirror, a cute ’do was not what she saw.
At first, I’d told myself that she was merely getting what she deserved. But as I sit here, watching Amber benefit from our intervention and waiting to hear the latest bit of unsettling Gigi news, my resolve falters. So much has changed in the past week. Not just supernaturally, but in my own way of being. I want to drop my head on the table and lose myself in cheese fries. But first, I need to know what happened to Gigi, only not for the reasons Wes thinks I should.
“Tessa, tell me,” I say.
She sighs. “Okay, but I don’t want you thinking this is your fault. Gigi’s got her own stuff to deal with, and you didn’t make her—”
“Tell me,” I repeat.
She glares briefly at Wes, who pretends not to notice. “Well, it seems like Gigi’s new hairstyle wasn’t as much a fashion choice as it was a fashion emergency. For whatever reason,” she says, her tonal emphasis meant to absolve me of guilt, “Gigi had a bit of a psychotic break and hacked off all her hair in the middle of the night. That was Wednesday. She swears she didn’t do it, that she was possessed or something cray like that. I guess she stopped sleeping then, became terrified of the dark and her own bedroom. So her parents checked her into rehab for exhaustion.”
“Exhaustion.” Wes snorts. “Isn’t that what celebs say when they don’t want to admit they’ve got a coke habit?”
Tessa cocks her head to the side, not bothering to hide her distaste for Wes’s response. “Listen. I don’t know why you have it in for Gigi, but she’s our friend.”
“She’s not Sarah’s friend,” he shoots back, all lightness gone.
“Yes, she is,” Tessa replies slowly, to be sure he has understood her. “No matter what’s going on between her and Gigi right now, at the end of the day, I know Sarah would never wish this on anyone. Would you?”
I don’t respond.
Tessa turns her attention from Wes to look at me. “Would you, Sarah?” she asks again, this time with a little less conviction.
What can I say? Yes, I’m appalled that Gigi’s sanity had been pushed so far. I feel genuine concern for her as well as crashing waves of nauseous regret over how she’s come to this state. But no matter how much I want to agree with Tessa’s assessment of me, there’s the irrefutable fact that I am actually the one who did this to her. I try to find words, to say something that will reconcile these two competing parts of me, but I can’t. Tessa stares at me until I can do nothing but look away.
It isn’t long before she makes an excuse and leaves us for the night.
Once she’s gone, I turn to Wes and snap, “What the hell was that?”
He slides to the booth bench opposite me. “What the hell was what?” he asks as he crams some fries into his mouth. He grabs the glass-bottled ketchup and hits the 57 until red goop starts pouring out. I glare, stunned, as he eats.
“Antagonizing Tessa? Making me find out about Gigi’s hospitalization like that? Recording our hookup without telling me? Seriously, what is wrong with you?”
Wes puts down the Heinz. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Gigi’s gone the way of the dodo, and Kiara is not only off your back but a cautionary tale. We weren’t selling the hookup like we needed to, so I motivated you and took some artistic license. Relax.”
“Motivated me? Artistic license?” I bristle. “On what planet is any of this okay?”
Before he can respond, the front door to the Alp jingles again, and Amber’s stepbrother Matt storms in, dragging a flush-faced goth girl behind him. He marches up to Amber’s table.
“Tell her, Amber,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s equal parts pain and fury. “Tell her it wasn’t what it looked like.”
For a second, Amber looks stunned—as confused and haunted as Matt. But she quickly pulls it together and begins her performance. “Oh, honey,” she says in a kewpie-doll voice. “Give yourself some credit.” Amber’s friends laugh, and the girl who I now understand to be Matt’s girlfriend begins to cry. Matt slams his fist on the table, and the laughing stops. Forks clang against plates, and soon, the entire Alp is silent. Amber looks scared, and I realize the truth that Matt’s demanding is way more terrifying to her than the lie she’s embraced.
And why wouldn’t it be? Wes and I have accomplished exactly what we set out to do—haunt Amber and cram the proof down her throat until she chokes on it. Only Amber doesn’t have a gag reflex. As always, she’s swallowed down what she doesn’t understand, because to think about it is paralyzing. Her rationalization is that she wanted the hookup to happen.
But Matt isn’t at the rationalization part yet. He’s too desperate to save his relationship. All he wants is Amber to tell the truth. But how can she if she’s denying it to herself?
She looks around the Alp, taking in the fact that all eyes are on her. She has a choice. Risk seeming nuts by coming clean that she has no recollection of their hookup, admitting that something crazy is going on, and sparing Matt and his girlfriend the obvious pain she—we—have unintentionally inflicted. Or lie.
For a split second, I wonder if it will be Amber, of all people, to lead us out of the valley of scandal, gossip, misunderstanding, and pettiness that defines our high school existence.
Of course, it’s not.
Choosing popular home-wrecker over possessed lunatic, she straightens herself and smooths her hair. Then she leans forward and says, “We hooked up. Too bad we got caught.”
Matt stares at her, his rage momentarily subsiding. “But I…I don’t remember,” he says, his voice small. A crown of sweat erupts on his forehead. His skin pales, and his cheeks sink in on themselves. He looks like he might faint. Until a blubbering sob breaks the spell.
I watch Matt’s girlfriend run from the diner, bawling. I watch Matt stare at Amber until she looks away from him. I watch as he turns and walks out of the Alp, hunched and defeated. And I watch as all my classmates turn into vultures, laughing as they reenact the scene they’ve just observed, tweeting their eyewitness accounts, and snapping selfies to prove they were present when it all went down. Is this really no more than theater to them? A passing diversion for their entertainment?
“Looks like someone needs another lesson,” Wes says. “Looks like they all do.” As he pops another french fry into his mouth, I throw ten bucks on the table, grab my bag, and walk out.