“You’re running your campaign on school unity, but you’re so cliquish you’ve spent your entire high-school existence associating only with those people who could pass for fashion models.”
“I have not.” Aubrie was too short to be a fashion model.
“You’re only being nice to people now because you want to win the election.
Afterward you’ll go back to being exactly the same—a person who only thinks about herself.”
Logan had said a hundred mean things to me over the years, and I had always let them roll off me. This time it hit me with a resounding thud. I could barely say anything at all for a few seconds, and then I wasn’t sure what to say. I wanted to say, Oh, you must want to see the beauty of me bursting into tears again, but I couldn’t pull it off in a lighthearted manner. I probably would actually burst into tears right there on the dance floor, and what was left of the evening would be ruined. My pictures would show puffy eyes and giant mas -
cara stains, and I’d forever be known as the girl who cried at the prom.
Logan must have felt bad when I didn’t say anything, because after a minute of dancing in silence, he said, “I’m sorry, Samantha. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Right. Of course. He wasn’t sorry. “Go ahead and think all sorts of horrible things about me,” I said. “You don’t really know me at all.”
And then because I thought I might cry anyway, I pulled away from Logan and stormed off the dance floor. He had no choice but to follow after me, but I didn’t even glance back at him.
I walked toward the table where Josh and Cassidy sat. They were looking at each other, not at me, and I heard a snatch of their conversation.
Cassidy said, “If you didn’t want me to treat you coldly, then you shouldn’t have broken up with me.”
“I thought you could be a little more mature about this,” he said.
“I’m sorry. You must have me confused with some of your other ex-girlfriends.”
“Cassidy—” he said, and then noticed me walking toward him. “Samantha,” he said in a startled voice. He must not have known what else to say so he added, “There you are.”
“Yes, here I am.” I forced a smile and pretended I hadn’t heard them arguing. I sat down in the chair next to Josh, only slightly consoled that Cassidy and Josh weren’t having a better time than Logan and I just had.
Logan came up to the table and sat down next to Cassidy but looked over at me. I put my hand possessively on Josh’s arm. “Are you ready to get our pictures taken?”
“Sure.” He seemed relieved. Relieved, perhaps, to get away from Cassidy?
I smiled again. I would refuse to think about Logan and all of his accusations f or the rest of the night. I would only think of Josh. True, I was still a little angry at him, but think -
ing of him was better than thinking of Logan.
And besides, now that Josh had an opportunity to get Cassidy out of his system, maybe he’d start paying attention to me. So Josh it was. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and he thought I’d grown up a lot since last year.
This thought gave me a small twinge of guilt. Josh thought I’d matured because I wasn’t insulting anyone, and the only reason I wasn’t insulting anyone was because of Logan’s bet. Could Logan be right about the other things he’d said too?
I shook the thought off. I didn’t think only of myself. I didn’t.
As we walked toward the photographer I gave Josh’s arm another squeeze. He smiled back at me. Which was a form of paying attention to me, which meant the evening was bound to get better. Logan was definitely so, so wrong. I wanted to turn back to him and say, See, someone thinks I’m nice enough to date. Plus he’s in college, so therefore he’s smarter than you.
Before we reached the photographer, Chelsea and Mike strolled up to us.
She gave me a hug, complimented me on the prom decorations, and then gave me a quick critique on who looked stunning, who looked so-last-season, and who looked like a hooker with a corsage. Then she turned to Josh. “Have you seen the new improvements here at PHS?”
“Improvements?” he asked.
“Vintage Samantha Taylor artwork.” Chelsea took Josh’s hand and pulled him toward the drinking fountain, where a couple of posters hung on the wall.
We all parked in front of one of my posters while Chelsea lifted a hand toward it in appraisement. “Notice the subtle shading and fine craftsmanship behind the lettering. One day when she’s president of the United States, this will be worth money.”
Josh gazed at it with placid interest. “It’s really nice.” What else could he say?
“It’s much better than the paltry competition’s,” Chelsea said, pointing with a grand wave to one of Rick’s posters.
It was then I looked, really looked, at the other poster. It was one of Rick’s newer ones, and I hadn’t seen it before. It read: RICK DEBROCK RULES THE SCHOOL. VOTE FOR RICK
ON ELECTION DAY.
But that’s not what caught my eye. What struck me was the e’s—they were tilted upward like sloppy i's.
I continued to stare at the poster. In fact, for several moments that poster and my thoughts floated and twisted together, the only things existing in the universe.
Rick had made the flyers.
I knew this now, but still I couldn’t fathom it. How had he known my SAT score?
Surely Cassidy wouldn’t have told him. Cassidy and Rick belonged to two completely different high-school stratas. They didn’t talk to each other. They had absolutely no reason to associate with each other.
Then it all fit, like puzzle pieces snapping together to finish the picture.
Chelsea had a reason, or rather Chelsea’s little sister did. Adrian had gone out with Rick. Suddenly, like a movie playing in my mind, I remembered exactly the time and place I told my friends about my SAT score.
I don’t know what was stronger, my anger or my disappointment. I turned to Chelsea.
“You told Rick my SAT score, didn’t you?”
Her eyes riveted to me, and her smile vanished. “No, I didn’t.”
Now I was even more certain. “Yes, you did.” I put my fingers across my mouth and felt my hand shaking. In a low voice I said, “I can’t believe this, Chelsea—I trusted you.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, and both Josh and Mike stared at us, unspeaking.
Then, as if it were almost an apology, her voice dropped. “I didn’t tell him. I told Adrian. I didn’t know she’d tell Rick about it.”
“You didn’t know?” My anger now outweighed my disappointment. “You just expected little Miss Black Death to keep that information to herself?”
Chelsea folded her arms, and her lips pursed into a rigid line. “Look, I didn’t know Rick would make those flyers.”
“You could have at least told me what you’d done, and then I wouldn’t have . . .”
Then I wouldn’t have done an ugly thing myself by taking down Amy’s posters. Then I wouldn’t have blamed Cassidy for the past two weeks for betraying me.
With her arms still folded, Chelsea said, “I didn’t tell you to go on a poster-tearing rampage. You guys did that all by yourselves. If I had known you were going to destroy Amy’s stuff, I would have tried to stop you. But what was the point in telling you the truth after you’d already done it? I knew it would just make you feel bad.”
“How noble of you.” I turned and walked away from her, my dress making angry swishing sounds with every step I took back to the photographer.
I hadn’t seen Josh’s expression during my exchange with Chelsea, and now with him walking beside me, I was afraid to know what it was. We took our place in the back of the picture line, and for a moment neither of us said anything. Then slowly, as though he was talking to himself as much as talking to me, he said, “You tore down Amy’s posters?”