“It was just a harmless prank,” she says, examining a nonexistent chip in her nail polish. “Everyone goes through it. It’s practically a rite of passage.”
“A rite of passage?” My voice rises despite my attempt to stay calm. “Making someone cry? Filming them without consent? Sharing that video with the whole school?”
“God, you’re making it sound so serious.” She rolls her eyes so dramatically I’m surprised they don’t get stuck in the back of her head. “It’s high school, Theo. This is what happens.”
I shake my head, loathing coiling in my mid-section. How did I never see this side of her before? Was I blind, or was she just that good at hiding who she really was?
“No, Paige. This is what happens when people like you think popularity gives them the right to torment others.” My hands tremble, not from telling her off but from restraining the anger that wants to explode. “Did you see her face? Did you even look at Chrissywhen she ran out of there?”
Something shifts in Paige’s expression—a microsecond of doubt, maybe—before her face hardens again. “If she can’t handle a little teasing, that’s on her, not me.”
“You call what you did teasing?”
“Whatever.” She tosses her hair again. A gesture I once found charming now annoys me to no end. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion. She’ll get over it.”
“She’s not at school today because she told her parents she’s sick, but we both know why she’s really absent.”
“Not my problem if she’s that sensitive.”
My hands ball into fists, and I have to remind myself we’re in the middle of a crowded hallway. “You know what? That’s exactly the problem. You don’t think anything is your problem. You don’t think about how your actions affect other people.”
“Spare me the preaching.” Paige’s voice sharpens. “Don’t act all high and mighty with me. You’ve been right there laughing at plenty of my jokes before.”
I get right in her face so she can sense my aggression “Don’t put me down to your level. I should’ve called you out a long time ago. Maybe then Chrissy wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
She studies me for a moment, her head tilting slightly. “This is about more than just some stupid prank, isn’t it? You actually like this girl.”
I neither confirm nor deny. It’s none of her business.
“Wow. I never thoughtyouof all people would fall for someone like her.“ Her voice drips with distaste, but Icouldn’t care less. “What is it? Do you feel like some kind of hero saving the social outcast?”
My patience snaps like a dry twig. “The only person who needs saving here is you. From whatever made you think treating people like garbage is okay.”
She stares at me, clearly not used to being spoken to this way. The bell rings, signaling we’re both late for our next class, but neither of us moves.
“You know what? Forget it. But don’t come crawling back when you realize where you belong.”
“If belonging means becoming someone like you,” I take a deliberate step back, “I’ll pass.”
As the day drags on, one thing emerges clearly: I have to make things right. And it’s not only because of what occurred at the party, but because Chrissy deserves someone who will support her and treat her with respect, admiration, and love she merits.
I’m not sure if I’m worthy of that. All I know is I must do better.
Chapter 16
Aquiet house is so rare these days, I’m making the most of every minute. Now that everyone’s left for the day, I can finally enjoy some peace—much needed after that disaster of a party.
After a quick call from Stephanie, which involves me promising her I’m fine and her insisting on stopping by after school, I go downstairs.
The silence isn’t doing me any favors as snippets of memory from what was the worst night of my life rush to the front of my mind. I need noise. Distraction. Movement.
I attack the kitchen first, filling the sink with hot water that steams up the window above it. The dishes from breakfast with their syrup-crusted edges and coffee rings need the most scrubbing, and my fingers turn pink under the scalding water. Each plate I place in the drying rack is one more barrier between me and the invading memories.
My mind wanders anyway, so I move to the living room, where remnants of this morning’s chaos still linger. Crumplednapkins. An abandoned sock. Dad’s newspaper folded to the crossword he never finished. I snatch each item and tidy up as best as I can.
The laundry basket calls next. Folding clothes seems to be my superpower as I transform the jumbled pile into neat stacks. T-shirts in thirds, then halves, socks matched and rolled—all in record time. Each completed item offers a tiny dose of satisfaction that momentarily drowns out last night’s laughter of ridicule.
It’s not enough. The chores keep my hands busy, but my brain has other ideas; it keeps circling back to the party.
