“Only because you chickened out.” She folded her arms. “I drew it the way it was supposed to go.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “Did youwantthat to happen to Emma?”
She scoffed, casting me a wounded gaze. “Of course not. I feel horrible, Palmer. It’s awful.” Then she stood, flicking her long red hair behind her shoulder before pulling off her sweater.
I trailed Courtney toward her walk-in closet, gritting my teeth. Through the French door windows leading to Courtney’s second-storybalcony, Sequim’s city lights twinkled at the bottom of Bell Hill. On a clear day, you could see Mount Baker in the distance. The smell of the Ocean Dream perfume inside her closet was so potent it made my eyes burn.
“You saw how bad Emma’s ankle was,” I continued. “She’ll be out for the rest of the season. She could even have permanent damage. We have to tell the truth. What if Bryson and Jake get expelled?”
Watching Courtney change into her Victoria’s SecretPinkpajamas, I thought of the two California sophomores she had said were facing criminal charges for prank calling.
“They won’t. Their reputation doesn’t matter like ours. No one’s going to care if they think Bryson and Jake squirted the dish soap on the floor. But if we saywedid it”—Courtney moved away from her walk-in closet, pointing a finger at her chest—“we’ll get kicked off the volleyball team! Plus, we didn’t say we saw them squirt the dish soap, just that they were in the girls’ locker room being stupid. So, they’ll hate us. Who cares? Trust me, nothing’s going to come of it.”
Later that night, when I laid in the guest room on the other side of Courtney’s wall, I prayed she was right. But as I stared at the ceiling in the dark, all I could think about was that picture Courtney had drawn. Why had she done that?
Courtney’s reassurance that no one would see it didn’t make me feel any better. She had shown me pieces of her diary before, including an entry about how she’d discovered that Gigi had cheated on her boyfriend our sophomore year. Although, after seeing Courtney’s drawing, I wondered if Gigi hadn’t cheated after all. Courtney even took her diary to school in her backpack sometimes. What if she showed someone that drawing?
I rolled onto my side, knowing I couldn’t leave that drawing in Courtney’s diary. Especially if I played along with Courtney’s lie about Bryson and Jake. I’d have to sneak into her room when she wasn’t home and destroy it.
Courtney’s bedroom door opened with a creak. I cringed at the sound, pausing in the darkened doorway to see if I’d woken her. But the only sound coming from inside her room was Courtney’s soft snores.
I crept toward her bed. It had been a week since I’d seen that disgustingly twisted drawing in Courtney’s diary, and I’d given up on thinking I could sneak into her room when she wasn’t home. Today in Spanish class when Courtney unzipped her backpack, I’d spotted her diary tucked between two notebooks. For the rest of the day, I imagined her showing it to Gigi or Beth or worse—Emma—and I knew I couldn’t wait any longer to destroy it.
The photo of me holding the soap on Courtney’s phone was worse than the drawing, but I couldn’t do anything about that until Courtney got her phone back from her parents. They had caught Courtney sneaking out with her boyfriend last Saturday night, leaving her grounded without her phone, and my only chance to get at her diary was when Courtney was asleep.
Yesterday was Emma’s first day back at school, and she’d been crushed to learn that a volleyball scout from UW had watched our playoff game that we’d won while she was still in the hospital. Emma told Beth and me that her mom was looking into suing the school over her hospital bill.
I stepped on a pair of jeans on Courtney’s floor as I moved toward her nightstand. My eyes had adjusted enough to the dark for me to make out the outline of her bed. Courtney continued to snore softly as I opened the nightstand drawer. I held my breath, but thankfully, it slid open without a sound.
I felt inside but couldn’t find anything that resembled her leather-bound diary. I swept my hand around the drawer, knocking around what felt like two bottles of nail polish and a ChapStick. I glanced at Courtney, making sure the noise hadn’t roused her. She rolled over, turning away from me. I froze until her snoring resumed.
I exhaled and pulled my phone from my sweatpants pocket and used the glow from the screen to see inside the drawer. There was hand lotion, nail polish, ChapStick, and aSeventeenmagazine. But no diary.
I shone my phone on top of the nightstand before sweeping the light toward Courtney’s bed. I leaned over to see her face. Her mouth was open, and a fuzzy sleep mask covered her eyes. I shone the light over the bed and spotted the purple leather diary tucked under her arm. Biting my lip, I reached over Courtney and slowly slid it out from under her elbow.
Spit caught in Courtney’s throat, erupting in a sharp sound. Courtney cleared her throat and twisted to the side, draping her arm over my hand gripping the diary. I held still, turning off my phone light, afraid she would be jarred awake by my cold hand beneath her forearm and demand to know what I was doing. If shedidwake up, I had planned to say I couldn’t sleep and had come in to talk. But how would I explain my hand on her diary?
But she remained still, and her snores resumed. I pulled the diary out from under her arm. Using the light from my phone, I flipped through the pages until I found the drawing. My face flushed with anger seeing the uncanny mirror of myself, squirting the dish soap that broke Emma’s ankle. I set my phone on Courtney’s bed and ripped out the page as quietly as I could.
Courtney coughed. Startled, I dropped the diary. I flicked my gaze toward her. She turned onto her other side but appeared to stay asleep. I needed to get out of her room before she caught me. Courtney would probably realize at some point that her drawing was missing, but as long as she didn’t find me in her room, I could deny it was me.
I grabbed my phone and used the screen to light up the diary. Spotting Courtney’s distinct bubbly handwriting, I paused to read the page it had opened to.
October 19, 2004
Dear Diary,
Today I learned that one of my “friends” has been trash-talking me behind my back. I’m crushed. I’vebeen such a good friend to this person for almost our entire lives. It’s more than disappointing. It’s ... sad.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Some people can’t handle it when others are better than them.
I guess my parents are right. No matter how kind you are, there are people who can’t handle having less and think tearing you down will bring them up. Instead of becoming better themselves, they try to hurt you instead.
I’m not ready to share who this traitor is yet. I’m too upset. Plus, I have a plan on how to get her back.
I need to make sure she regrets this. Teach her a lesson. And I know exactly how to make her pay.
I looked over at Courtney, resisting the urge to slap her awake and demand to know who she was talking about. I dropped my gaze to the date at the top of her diary entry. It was the same day Emma broke her ankle from our prank gone wrong. I closed the diary and stared at Courtney sleeping peacefully in her four-poster bed.
