Okay, talk about twisted logic.
“So you really did it?” I can’t hide the hurt in my tone. “You hooked up with Knox before we were broken up?”
She stares at me like I’m pitiful. “Ash, I hate to break this to you, but Knox has been messing around with other girls pretty much since you guys started going out.” She erupts in laughter. “Okay, that’s a total lie. Well, not the part about him cheating on you, just the part about me hating to break the news to you. God, I’m so glad I did. The look on your face is priceless.” She turns for the door, still laughing.
My ears ring and my vision spots as anger and hurt roars through me. “Why are you doing this? I was your best friend, and then you just tossed me aside when some stranger told you I kissed a guy you liked. And don’t try to feed me some shit about that photo proving I did it. I know you photoshopped that damn thing, and you did a really shitty job of it, too.”
She spins around, her humor gone. “You want to know why I’m doing this? Because I hate you. Just like everyone important does.” She reaches for the door handle. “You and I were never friends, Ash. Did I mind hanging out with you? No, not always. At least, not when you weren’t acting like a total pathetic loser.
“It’s not like I needed you in my life. You were just there because I didn’t care enough to kick you out. I wish I would’ve—No, I wish I never had been stupid enough to let you in, in the first place. But I did, and now I can’t do anything except regret my decision. And I hate regret. The only thing that’ll make me feel better is to make you regret, too, which I haven’t felt like I’ve done yet. At all. Not until I get ahold of your heart and rip it to shreds. Just like you did mine.”
She draws open the door then pauses. “And FYI, the person who told me you kissed Zane isn’t a stranger. They’re close to me, and they’re completely trustworthy, unlike you.” She strides out of the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.
I hunch over, bracing my hands on my knees as I suck in a huge breath of air. Her words … they hurt, more than I wish they did. Knox cheating on me all this time … Her never being my friend … Did she really mean all of it? Was all of this—the last six years—just a game to her? Was mine and Knox’s relationship a joke? Was every relationship I’ve ever had with anyone outside of my family a joke?
I don’t know, which is sad. Really, really depressingly sad. Regardless, I can’t just stand in the bathroom and wallow over the past, no matter how much I want to.
Heaving a weight-of-the-world-on-my-shoulders sigh, I sling my bag over my shoulder and step into the hallway packed with people gossiping about me. Despite the crappiness happening, one positive thing has come out of being held against my will in the bathroom by Queeny. She let it slip that she is close to the person who said I kissed Zane, which means I probably was at one time, too.
I push my way down the hallway, feeling more determined to find out who this mystery friendship wrecker is. Not to get my friendship with Queeny back, but to clear my name. That’s all I want anymore—a fresh start, one where I can be a better person and not have to walk up the hallway feeling like I’m wearing a bright red letter A.
Chapter Thirteen
The staring and whispering doesn’t let up, and by second period, I discover why. Not only has Queeny mass texted the fake photo of me kissing Zane to almost the entire student body, but she also tacts on an image and a very detailed message about the day I was handcuffed in the mall for shoplifting. I wasn’t officially arrested, thanks to my dad having a friend in law enforcement. I did get some major grounding time, though.
The thing is, I’ve never shoplifted in my life. How that makeup got into my bag has never made any sense. At least, it used to not. Now I wonder if Queeny did it. She mentioned wanting the makeup right before we left the store, but she didn’t have any money on her to pay for it …
Jeez. I bet she did do it. Man, talk about people not wanting to see what’s right in front of them. Guess I’m like everyone else—blind to Queen Bitchton’s lies.
Sighing, I read the message that came with the photo.
Sweet, innocent Ashlynn Wynterland is getting less sweet by the second. Screwing around, being a slut, and now a thief. What’s next? One thing’s for sure, everyone better watch their wallets and purses when you’re around her.
Nice, Queeny, real nice.
Keep your chin up, Ash. Don’t let her win.
As the lunch bell rings, I put my phone away and head out of class to raid the vending machines. I walk down the hallway with my chin held high, pretending not to notice the abundance of people clutching their bags and pant pockets. By the time I make it back to Mr. Chester’s room, I feel like a criminal. Thankfully, I don’t have to eat in the lunch room. Otherwise, my badass mofo act might crumble.
“So, I was right. You are a little pickpocketer?” Clove’s teasing voice sails over my shoulder as I’m about to sit down at my desk.
Startled, I drop my Cheetos. “Okay, now you’ve done it.” I bend over to pick them up. “These yummy things”—I stand upright and wave the bag in his face—“should never, ever touch the floor.”
He shifts the laptop he’s carrying to underneath his arm and gives me a goofy smile. “Why? Are they magical chips?”
I rip open the bag and pop a chip into my mouth. “Yep. They hold the magical cure to Queen Bitchton-itis, which I’m severely suffering from.” I set the bag of chips and my soda on my desk then take a seat. “And what happened in that photo was a misunderstanding.”
“Says every criminal ever.” He plops down in the desk in front of mine and rotates around to face me. When he catches sight of my expression, the humor in his eyes evaporates. “Ash, I’m just messing with you.” He places the laptop on my desk. “I really don’t think you’re a criminal. And I never believe anything Queeny says.”
“Well, then you’re a rare unicorn because everyone else does.”
“A unicorn?”
“What? They’re rare.”
“No, they’re fictional.”
“How can you be so sure?” I twist the cap off my soda and take a drink. “We live in a really big world, and not every inch has been explored. What if there’s one single unicorn living out there somewhere, maybe on some remote island or in the middle of the rainforest?”
He ponders my absurd theory, tapping his finger against his lips. “I can see your point.” He lowers his finger from his mouth, grinning. “All right, you’ve persuaded me.”
“To believe what?” Clarissa asks as she enters the classroom, carrying an apple, a sandwich, and a soda.
Clove spins around in his chair and greets her with a smile. “That unicorns might exist.”
Clarissa narrows her eyes on me before fixing her attention on Clove. “Did she, by chance, give you”—she makes air quotes with her free hand—“ ‘painkillers’ before convincing you of this?”
“What’s with the air quotes?” he asks. “Because I feel like they mean something.”
“Air quotes always do.” Kinslee wanders in, barely looking at us, too engrossed with her phone.
Clarissa ignores her, shooting me a snide look. “Ash knows what I’m talking about, don’t you, Ash?”
Clove turns toward me, his eyes swirling with confusion. “What’s she talking about?”
Clarissa smirks at me, looking completely opposite from the girl I met when I started high school.
I study her, wondering if the kind, sweet, and peppy, never-said-anything-rude-to-anyone girl still exists. The girl who told me she loved my outfit on the first day of school, who let me cut in line in front of her at the cafeteria when I was going to be late for lunch detention, who was happy. Could she be gone completely? Did Queeny and I completely destroy her? If we did, then the world would be a sadder place, and I hate myself for it. Well, more than I already do.
I offer her an apologetic smile, even though she might not know what I’m sorry for, which really, is everything.
Whe
n the hatred burning in her eyes dims a notch, I breathe easier.
She does still exist.
“It’s an inside joke between Clarissa and me,” I tell Clove, digging out a handful of chips.
Clarissa seems bummed out by my answer, like she wanted me to tattle on her for accusing me of slipping people roofies. I’m not sure why. Maybe so she could stay peeved at me.
Clove’s gaze skitters between Clarissa and me, and I wonder how much she’s told him about our history; if she told him I helped Queeny break up her and Judd’s relationship.
“All right, fine. Keep your girlie secrets.” Clove spins back around in the chair and faces the laptop on my desk while Clarissa walks off to join Kinslee at the back of the classroom. “I have important work to do.”
He opens the computer, cracks his knuckles and neck, then aligns his fingers on the keyboard. He clicks a few keys and the computer hums to life.
“So, Ash, I’m going to need some info from you.” He types a few more keys then taps the mouse. “I’m hoping you have it, or this is going to be a real pain in the ass. Not completely undoable, but complicated. And I’m really not a fan of complicated.”
I pull the reins back on the smile wanting to possess my face. “I’m sure you’re not.”
His gaze snaps to me. “What exactly are you trying to say? That I’m a complicated kind of guy?”
“No.” I take a swig of my soda to hide my grin. “Although, you do seem to like stirring up trouble.”
“Yeah, maybe. But the good kind of trouble.” He winks. “The kind of trouble that makes you laugh.”
“Me, laugh at trouble?” I let out an evil laugh. “Never.”
“No, you just cause it.” Kinslee approaches my desk with her hands set on her hips and the most unwelcoming look on her face.
“Knock it off, Kins,” Clove warns. “We already talked about this.”
Talked about what? Me hanging out with them? Them being nice to me while I hang out with them? Did Maxon talk to them about this? Hmmm … I wonder if he had to give them another PowerPoint presentation to read through. Wow, I would feel super pathetic if he did.
“No, you and Maxon talked about this.” Kinslee’s cold tone could freeze the hellfire of hatred blazing around me. “Clarissa, Huntley, and I listened, but none of us ever agreed to this …” She gives a dramatic wave of her hand in my direction.
“Well, you should’ve said something about it when we were discussing this,” Clove replies coolly. “Now you’re shit out of luck.”
Kinslee huffs furiously, her bangs blowing away from her face. “You know I need time to process the facts before I come up with a counterargument.”
He squints at the computer screen. “Well, your processing took too long this time, and we’ve already moved past the arguing point of this debate. In fact, the debate has ended and will probably never be reopened again.”
I shift in my seat, eyeballing the door, unsure if I should get up and leave or not. Clearly, I’m the debate in the argument taking place, and I don’t like that I am. I mean, I’m not upset or anything that they had to discuss if they should be friends with me, but clearly not all parties are on board with the final decision, Kinslee being one, and Clarissa, too, probably. That leaves Maxon, Clove, and Huntley as voting yes. That is, if they held a vote. Perhaps Maxon came to the final decision since he’s their leader.
“Don’t even think about it,” Clove says without looking away from the computer.
“Think about what?” I ask, subtly lowering my behind back into the chair.
“Leaving.” He glances up at me then skates his gaze to Kinslee. “Kins, I love you to death, but this isn’t really your decision. You can choose not to be part of this, but my choice is my choice.”
She grinds her teeth. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me and asking me to pull the knife out of your back when she stabs you.” Her braid nearly whips Clove in the face as she whirls around and storms off to the back of the classroom with Clarissa.
I feel awful, like the scum at the bottom of a pond. Like those really gross ponds that are the color of diarrhea.
“Clove, I—”
“Do you have a piece of paper and a pen on you?” he cuts me off with a small yet firm smile. “I need some info about her account. An email address, her account name—stuff like that.”
“Fine. Okay.” I give up on protesting this friendship thing, dig a pen and paper out of my backpack, and scribble down all the info he asked for.
As I’m finishing up, he steals a handful of chips from my bag.
“Talk about being a little thief,” I joke, sliding the piece of paper toward him.
“Call it payment for giving you full-access to Queeny’s messages.” He stuffs the chips into his mouth.
“If you actually can make that happen, I’ll give you all my chips.”
“Then prepare to hand over the magical, cheesy goodness.” He picks up the paper, reads it over, then begins clicking keys wicked fast. The more he types, the more his eyes glaze over as he gets into some sort of hacking zone.
I munch on my lunch until I become bored. Normally, I’d bring out the tarot cards, but I left them at home today. Since I have nothing else to do but wait, I almost get up to move around, but where would I go? Back with Clarissa and Kinslee, who are huddled at the far back table, whispering about something? Yeah, I can only guess what that something is.
Maybe if Maxon were here, I’d dare to enter their lion’s den. He’s not, though. I haven’t seen him since this morning—we don’t have any classes together until after lunch. Still, usually I pass him in the hallway at least once or twice.
“Maxon’s helping Huntley build a birdhouse for shop class,” Clove tells me suddenly. “That kid is really smart, except when it comes to using power tools. Then it’s like watching a two-year-old try to translate Japanese.”
I pretend to be deeply engrossed with my chipped fingernails. “Why are you telling me this?”
“So you’ll stop waiting for a certain someone to walk through that door.” His gaze fleetingly lands on me. What I see in his eyes makes my stomach do the Hokey Pokey.
Crap. Does he know about my crush?
“I’m not waiting for anyone to walk through that door,” I lie, the epitome of cool. On the outside, anyway. “Other than maybe Queeny.”
His lips dip downward. “You think she’d come in here?”
I lift a shoulder. “Who knows? She did barricade me in the bathroom today.”
“Using what?”
“Her body.”
“And you didn’t just push her out of the way?”
I cross my arms on my desk and sigh. “I wanted to, but I promised Maxon I wouldn’t do anything violent.”
The corners of his lips spasm, as if he’s fighting a difficult battle against his smile.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, most likely knowing the answer. I’m trying to live in Denial Land for a bit longer.
“Nothing.” He redirects his focus back on the computer. “It just seems weird that you’d listen to a guy who’s been your friend for, like, two seconds.”
My heart trips. “Have you been talking to Clarissa?”
He shakes his head, glancing at me. “I know the same things Clarissa does. Plus, I’m observant.”
Yesterday Maxon told me Clove was a people watcher and that he watched me sometimes …
Holy effing trolls, he does know about my crush on Maxon!
“Don’t worry; he doesn’t know.” He looks at my list while continuing to hammer his fingers against the keyboard. “He’s kind of clueless when it comes to those things. And by things, I mean girls. Especially pretty, popular, and surprisingly charming ones.”
“I’m not charming.” I slouch back in the chair. “And I think you might be wrong.”
“About what?”
“About Maxon knowing I …” I bite down on my lip, unsure how to finish that sentence, or if I want to. Sure, Clove said he kno
ws about my little crush on my adorable next-door neighbor, but that doesn’t mean I have to admit it out loud.
“That you have the hots for his tots,” Clove finishes for me.
I throw a chip at him. “Ew.”
Laughing, he ducks out of the way and the chip lands on the floor. “That’s not what I meant.”
I give him a really look. “Then what did you mean?”
He taps the side of his temple. “His mind, of course.”
“Of course.” I roll my eyes, and he giggles. “That’s so not what you meant.”
He chuckles, concentrating back on the computer. “He doesn’t know, though. Trust me.”
“How do you know that for sure?”
“Because he told me so.”
“How would that even come up in a conversation?”
He opens and flexes his hand, stretching out his fingers. “I can’t really remember how the conversation started. I just know we’ve talked about it before.”
I think he might be lying, but why?
“About Maxon knowing I don’t have the hots for his tots?” I double-check, and he nods. “When did you have this convo? Before or after Monday night?”
He peers up at me, utterly confused yet entirely intrigued. “Why? What happened Monday night?”
So Maxon didn’t tell him about the little gawker/stalker incident.
I shrug. “Oh, you know, the sun set and the moon rose.”
“And the world fell into a blissful night’s rest,” he adds thoughtfully then puts on a serious face. “No, seriously, what happened Monday night?”
I shake my head. “I can’t tell you.”
He sulks. “Why not?”
“Because it’s embarrassing.”
“You know I can always ask Maxon.”
“That’s fine by me. And that saves me from my own embarrassment of telling you myself.”
He stares me down for a jittery heartbeat of a second before refocusing on the computer screen. “You could always tell him you like him. I don’t think it would upset him too much.”
I remember what Clarissa said about me bringing ugly drama into Maxon’s life. “That’s probably not such a good idea.”