He said this as though it had just occurred by itself. As though we were walking through school one day and—poof—we weren't a couple anymore.
But it hadn't happened that way. He'd decided that he liked someone better than me, and he'd thrown everything we'd had away. Now he just wanted me to forget about all of that?
I leaned away from him. "Well, what's done is done."
"But that doesn't mean it can't be undone." He took another step toward me. "Look, I know it's been really hard on you. I know that's why you've been acting this way."
"Acting what way?"
He shrugged as though it should be obvious. "The Chelsea I knew would never drink beer while cheering for a game."
Just the reminder made my stomach clench. "I wasn't drinking at the game."
"Your bag was the only one that didn't have a beer can in it. Why was that?"
For a moment I couldn't say anything. All the words rushed to my mouth at the same time and tangled themselves around my tongue. How could he know me and just assume I'd been drinking? He knew I never drank. My father's drinking had made my childhood miserable and I didn't want anything to do with it. Mike and I had had this conversation when we'd dated. Had he forgotten? Or had he never really listened to me in the first place?
"None of those cans were ours." I said. "Rick framed us so we wouldn't be able to audition for High School Idol. "
"If it was Rick, wouldn't he have put something in your duffel bag too? You're his main competition."
I clamped down on the words that wanted to stream out of my mouth. If I admitted that Samantha had taken the can out of my bag and it got back to the coach, I'd be in the same trouble as the rest of the squad.
"It was Rick," I said.
"And do you blame Rick for making you hang out with the Patterson twins, too?"
I lowered my voice to a near whisper. "There is nothing wrong with the Patterson twins."
"Nothing wrong if you want a membership to the Loser-of-the-Month Club. Look, I know you've made them your little project and you gave them makeovers and everything." He held up one hand as though conceding the point. "I'm not saying you didn't do a good job. They look better, but they're never going to matter to anyone but you. They're dead weight, Chelsea, and they're dragging you down. People are talking about it." He put his hand on my shoulder, gently massaging it. "You need to cut them loose and hang out with real people."
The horrible thing was I knew what he said was true. People were talking. Molly and Polly weren't helping my social standing. And they probably would never matter to anyone at school but me and a few others. It was true, and awful, and unfair in a way that stung my insides.
I looked up at Mike and kept my voice even. "Remember when you told me that Naomi understood you better?"
Perhaps he could feel the rigidness in my muscles because his hand moved from my shoulder to my neck, still massaging. "I'm sorry about that."
"No, you were right. She must have understood you better, because I didn't understand you at all." I took his hand and moved it off my neck. "But now I do, and I don't like what I understand."
He let out a sigh. "I know you're upset about Naomi—"
"This isn't about Naomi," I said. "It's about Molly and Polly. What kind of person refers to other people as dead weight?"
"A realistic one."
The bathroom door opened and Polly stepped out. She motioned in my direction. "Chelsea, can you come here for a second?"
I sent Mike a stiff smile. "I've got to go." Then I walked back to Polly.
"How do I look?" she asked. "Does anything look out of place?"
I examined her face. I saw no signs of blood or telltale signs of crying. She didn't even have red eyes. I glanced over her clothes to check for stray drops of blood but didn't see those either. "You look fine, amazingly fine."
She leaned closer to me. "That's because I'm Molly. We switched clothes in the bathroom. We figured if you couldn't tell the difference no one else would."
I looked behind her for Polly, but apparently she had no plans of emerging from the bathroom. "What did you do that for?"
"So I could go make small talk with Joe, and he'd still think she was a normal person." She smoothed out her sweater and shook her head. "This is so awkward."
"Because you don't want to flirt with Joe?"
"Because I can't see. I had to give Polly my glasses to hold."
I put my hand to my face. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."
"Really, Juliet?"
What could I say after that?
Molly adjusted the bottom of her sweater. "I couldn't possibly be worse at flirting than Polly was. Besides, we've done this before. After the party, I'll just tell her everything Joe said to me, and he'll never be the wiser." Molly ran her hand through her hair, fluffing it. "I think Polly should go out on a limb and really lay on the charm, don't you? I mean, what's the point of liking a guy if you're too shy to let him know?"
I glanced back at the bathroom door. "I don't think Polly would want you to do anything drastic."
"Just point me in the right direction. Which one of the tall blurs is Joe?"
I stepped out into the family room with Molly. Mike was still there, lingering near the hallway. He saw me scanning the room and walked up. "Who are you looking for?"
"Joe has my drink," I said.
"I can get you another one." Mike took a step toward the kitchen, but I called after him.
"You don't have to do that. Polly can go get it."
Mike glanced in the direction of the sliding glass door. "Joe might be in the back yard. Garret was showing some girls how his dog retrieves snowballs—oh, there he is."
I looked and noticed Joe pulling open the door for a group of people to go outside. "He's by the sliding glass door," I told Molly.
"Okay," She put her shoulders back, the exact same posture that Polly had adopted lately, and strode across the family room.
Joe and the group stepped out onto the patio and shut the door. The group went out onto the lawn, but Joe stayed next to the door. Perfect. Molly would be able to talk to him alone.
As though Mike had read my mind, he leaned closer to me. "Don't you think you're carrying this project of yours too far? Joe is way out of her league. You'll only make him feel uncomfortable and make her feel stupid."
I tore my gaze away from Molly long enough to glare at Mike. "Molly is smart and funny and any guy should be flattered to talk to her."
"I thought that was Polly."
"It is, and Polly is just as wonderful and smart as—"
I heard a crash from across the room and my gaze swung back in that direction. Molly lay on the floor, blinking in surprise and confusion.
Mike took a slow sip of his drink. "Yeah, real smart. Your friend just walked into the sliding glass door."
Chapter 18
Cringing, Molly sat up and held her hand to her nose. I rushed over, but before I'd reached her, Joe opened the door and stepped inside. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Molly gathered herself and stood up. "I'm fine. I just didn't see the door."
"Is your nose okay?" I asked, because she hadn't moved her hand away from it.
"Um . . . I think it's bleeding."