“Then why’d you come?”
“Because…” I say slowly. “… I’m finally ready to look you in the face and say‘How fucking dare you?’Not just because of the Jenny crap—although fuck you for that. But for thinking I wouldn’t figure out what you were doing. Cece, too. You’re not smarter than us. You’re not even smarter than Jenny Wallis, and she’s the dumbest bitch on earth.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve done better.”
“Yeah. You should’ve because anyone willing to be friendly with that cow gets the same treatment from me that she does.”
Jake’s grey eyes flick sideways. “Ada…”
“What?”
“Look, I know I fucked up. But I don’t get why you’re still this angry. What happened with you and her went down years ago. You’re a good person. I don’t get why you’re wasting your energy hating her this much.She’s petty. Caring about her is beneath you. It’s beneath both of us.”
I study my former lover over the rim of my wine glass. I don’t shout. I don’t throw said wine glass at his head. The rage moving through me is glacial, an ancient coldness that’s been forming since I arrived at Pukekohe High.
“If there’s one thing I hate more than being underestimated…” I whisper. “… it’s being told the things that happened to me at school didn’t matter. Like it’s all finenowbecause everyone was underagethen.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did. Do you even know what happened between Jenny and me? Do you haveanyfucking clue?”
Jake’s gaze lifts to the ceiling. Not an eye-roll but close. “For fuck’ssake, she wasjealousof you, Ada.”
“Don’t you dare make excuses for her.”
“I’m not! She was jealous of you because you were beautiful and talented, and every guy in our year wanted to see your tits. I know she made up bullshit about you, but?—”
“Shut up.”
I don’t shout. I don’t even raise my voice. Instead, I make the decision I’ve been toying with since I agreed to show up at this café.
“I’m going to tell you something now,” I say in a voice barely more than a whisper. “And when I’m done, I’m going to ask if you still think it’s wrong for me to be mad at Jenny Wallis. And I’mvery fucking interestedin what your answer’s gonna be.”
Jake stiffens. “You don’t have to?—”
“Oh no, I want to. If I have to carry this, you can take your fucking share.”
“Okay,” he says, looking defeated. “What happened?”
I close my eyes and remember the warmth of the late April sun on my face. The weight of my backpack, crammed with textbooks and the flute case I try to keep hidden at all times. I smell freshly cut grass and meat pies buried in greasy paper bags.
“The day before Anzac Day,” I tell Jake. “Our last year of school. There was that deal with Pukekohe Bakery. We could order cookies and rolls and stuff, and they’d get delivered at lunch. Remember?”
“Yeah.” Jake scrubs a hand through his hair. “I remember.”
“Great. So, I ordered two biscuits and a chocolate milkshake and went to the netball courts at lunch to collect. And who was handing out the food but Head Girl Jenny Wallis, cunting it up as usual. She shoved the bag at me and said, ‘Eat up, slut.’”
“Ada—”
“Oh no,” I say with a laugh that sounds insane even to my own ears. “We’re just getting warmed up.”
He stares at me, and I can tell he doesn’t want to hear what’s coming next. Too fucking bad.
“So, I told Jenny she fucks dead dogs for cash in Italian,” I say to Jake in as conversationala tone as I can manage. “And then I took my food and went to eat by myself, also as usual. And as I walked across the courtyard, I took abigdrink of my milkshake.”
The putrid taste comes back to me. So visceral puke rises in my throat. I choke it down, the way I have a million times since that afternoon.
“Someone had fucked with it, Jake. Do you know what they did?”
