“You’ve been saying that for over two months. I feel like I’m getting the runaround, and I don’t appreciate it. May fifteenth is this Friday.”
I want to hang up. I never want to hear his voice again, never answer another break-up email. “I—I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” I say, trying my hardest to control the shaking in my voice.
“You’re so close. Steve went down to Texas to visit this weekend. He’s loving football again. But the kid got drunk and blabbed to everyone who’d listen about his girlfriend and how he’s so in love with her and couldn’t leave her.”
Hearing that provides me with a fleeting smile. I wish I could tell Huxley. “I’ll give you a refund.”
“I’m not interested.”
I pace around the room, hop in place, but I can’t get calm. There’s no protocol for when your true identity gets discovered.
“I think he’s in love with her.”
“You and I both know that’s a boatload of crap. It’s not love, never is,” Mr. Towne says. “You agreed to do this, Rebecca.”
My voice becomes more erratic. “Why do you want to break them up? Why can’t you just leave them alone?”
“Are you rooting for the lovebirds now?” He lets out a hearty chortle that pierces my eardrum. “Let me provide you with better incentive. If Steve chooses Vermilion on Friday, then I will make sure that every student and parent and Burger King employee in your town knows what you’ve been up to, Miss Break-Up Artist. I don’t think high-school life will be so much fun after that.”
Before I can say anything, he hangs up. When I *69 him, his number comes up as unlisted. I go upstairs, walk into my bedroom without turning on the lights and crawl into bed. I pull the covers up over my head.
I march through Monday perpetually on edge. Each second of the day is spent mentally preparing myself. Ms. Hardwick drops her dry-erase marker, and I nearly shoot into the ceiling. She asks me if I’m okay.
“I’m fine.”
Except for my life teetering on the verge of utter ruin.
At lunch, Greg will not shut up about the weekend at Chandler. He leaves out any mention of the party Saturday night. Huxley and Steve focus on their plates, both embarrassed for different reasons. It’s sweet how much they care about each other’s feelings.
Finally, after what seems like a week, the day is over. I pull Huxley aside before we get changed for the final SDA rehearsal. I sit her down on a bench by the main office, a place where nobody will interrupt us. I don’t have to beg for a moment of her time anymore.
“Have you spoken to Steve about the weekend at all?”
“No. He won’t bring it up. Which means he had an amazing time, probably with one of those blondes.” Huxley hides her face in her hands.
“I have to tell you something. But promise you won’t say I told you.”
She springs back to life. “I promise.”
And because we’re such good friends, I trust her. “I overheard Steve and the coach talking a while back. Steve is having trouble affording Vermilion. They didn’t offer him any scholarships.”
I think back to my reconnaissance in the boys’ locker room. I was so excited. I was so stupid.
“He never told me,” she says.
“Maybe that’s what’s stopping him from going. Chandler University is probably offering him a full ride.”
I study Huxley, watching as the wheels turn in her head.
“Do you think that’s really all it is? Chandler has football.”
“He’d only be going because he could afford it. He doesn’t want football. He wants you,” I say. I’m only telling a partial lie, but that doesn’t make me feel better. My chest tightens. “He loves you, Huxley.”
“My family could pay for it no problem. Steve would never go for it, though.”
“Only if you made him ask you for the money.”
Huxley strums her fingers against her knee as she contemplates the idea.
“If Steve goes to Chandler University, then you know what will happen to your relationship. Do you want to let him go over dollars and cents?” I stop talking. I can’t be too pushy.
We sit there in silence for a minute. We hear the echoes of our teammates warming up. Huxley glances at me, a smile emerging, one full of hope.
“Steve does like surprises,” she says. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
Bile rises in my throat, but not before I say, “What are friends for?”
34
There’s no time left. All my hard work pays off tonight. As unsure as I may be, I have to go through with it.
Tonight, I dance.
“I am going to have a talk with the principal. They have some nerve making girls wear this getup.” My mom stares at me in my stripper-pole tracksuit costume. I should agree with her that this outfit is a total affront to feminism, but I look so good in it, I can’t complain.
“It has to be like this, so we can dance,” I say. I load up on hair spray to get my hair into the tight bun required.
“You wear it well, I guess.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
We pass Diane’s room on our way downstairs. Her door is shut. I can make out the laugh track blaring on her TV. I hear it more often now, since Diane has given up the Throne. She’s treating our house like a hotel, and I’m just another random guest.
My mom knocks on her door. “Diane, we’re leaving for Becca’s show. Are you coming with us?”
We trade looks, neither of us hopeful. My dad joins us, tapping his watch, but quickly he gets the holdup.
My mom has to knock on the door again to get a response.
“Yeah. Give me one second!” Diane yells through the door.
“I’m worried,” my dad says, always a bit behind current events.
“Maybe it’s Sankresh’s wedding coming up,” my mom says.
“Did you ever detect any problems between Diane and Sankresh?”
My mom’s cheerful demeanor fades, and she gets serious, diplomatic almost. “No couple is perfect.” I can sense the slight pain in her voice. I wonder if my parents knew it before they reserved a church.
“Why didn’t you try to stop them?” I ask, anger rising toward my parents. Did they know this was going to happen? Why didn’t I?
“We couldn’t,” my mom says.
“Don’t worry. She’ll get back on that saddle,” my dad says, totally unaware of how girls think.
“What if she doesn’t?” my mom asks. “What if she stays like this?”
“Single?” I ask. “I’d rather her be single and happy than married and miserable.”
“But she’s not happy.”
The door bursts open, and Diane whooshes out in a wrinkled outfit. “You can stop talking about me. I’m ready.”
Students and parents crowd the gym floor, looking for friends and seats. I gave my parents strict instructions where to sit so they’d have a clear view of me. Fingers crossed they remember.
Nerves and adrenaline inject an extra skip in my step. Fifth row up, Val and Ezra take a seat. I stare at her, hoping she will sense my presence, but Val won’t make eye contact. She and Ezra canoodle in plain sight, their goal of proving me wrong no doubt bringing them closer together.
Huxley dumps out a shopping bag of Pixy Stix onto the locker-room benches.
“Get a boost, guys. I want 1000 percent energy levels out there,” Huxley says.
Girls lunge at the sugar salvation. They rip them open and pour sugar down their throats. Some dancers rub the sugar on their gums and teeth. I will hold off. I don’t want to crash before I go on stage.
“Rebecca.” Huxley taps me on the shoulder. Her outfit has a blue, glittered streak across the front, letting spectators know she’s the captain. Of course, most of them probably know that already. “Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know that you have surpassed all of my expectations.”