"You're not leaving with me. Stay." I hear someone actually bet on me, and I add, "Win that lot, and when you go to pay, put Asha's name on the ticket."
He runs a hand through his hair. "Trigg, she's my cousin. I can't hurt her like that." My eyes hold his in silent challenge. We've been close since I arrived at Ridgewood. Out of peoplewho truly know me, not just here but in life, he's one. I shouldn't need to defend my character to him. He should know without words that I wouldn't hurt someone he cares about, so I wait.
He concedes with an exasperated sigh before turning on his heel, and I exit the hall. Tonight, I gave her enough pieces to start seeing the truth. Tonight, I changed the game.
JUNIOR YEAR
ASHA
"This is pointless, Buttercup." I shove my AP calculus book off my lap and onto the hay-covered stall floor.
The past few months have been a mess. After homecoming, I was convinced my pen pal was the one person I couldn't stand, someone wrapped in memories I didn't want to touch. I stopped responding and considered failing the project rather than knowing I'd been confiding in him.
However, when I cut contact, I started noticing things about Eldridge, small habits, phrases, references to things I'd never shared with him. He appeared right when the texts dried up. It seemed pretty clear: Eldridge was the guy on the other end of my texts. Or at least that was what I thought until a few days ago, when I discovered what was really going on. It's why I'm hiding at the stables instead of my dorm. I can't face Emma.
I was cutting through the courtyard behind Hill House when I heard voices drifting from the shadowed alcove near the service entrance. I almost kept walking, but then I recognized Emma's laugh—not just any laugh, the one shemakes when she's nervous. I slowed, ready to rescue her from an uncomfortable situation. Instead, I caught her in a lie.
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this, Eldridge." Emma's voice was strained.
"You love me. Stop acting like this is so terrible. It's a white lie. Harmless. You know I'm not going to hurt her, otherwise you wouldn't be helping me," Eldridge answered confidently.
"We both know that's not why I'm helping you," she hissed back.
I should have kept walking. Emma and Eldridge got into arguments all the time, and this sounded like another one of their endless sibling fights, but just as I was about to continue walking, Eldridge's response stopped me cold in my tracks.
"Make sure when you put this back on her nightstand, you check the picture. If the cord isn't exactly as she left it, she'll know."
I could feel the heat in my cheeks as my anger instantly skyrocketed. Sure, I was betrayed, but even worse than that, I was made a fool. Emma had gone behind my back again, and I still couldn't figure out why. I kept playing the friend, kept showing up, and kept pretending I didn't know because her betrayals didn’t add up. They were scattered, inconsistent, like pieces from different puzzles forced together, and you couldn’t fight what you didn’t understand. It was why I stayed.
"What are you going to do senior year when the other person on the end of that phone is revealed and it isn't you?"
"It won't get that far. I just need to get close. I need her to see me, and since we both know she wouldn't risk asking me directly because doing so would mean failing the assignment, we won't get caught," he argued.
"I don't know, Eldridge. She really likes the person on the other end of those texts, and if she decides to start texting him again?—"
I never told her I had feelings for my pen pal, but it was yet another detail that proved I was even failing at maintaining a fake friendship. Just being in my orbit, she was privy to every flicker of emotion that crossed my face when I’d respond to messages.
"She'll be in love with me by then."
"And how do you plan on getting her actual boyfriend out of the way?"
"Who, Penn?" he chuckled. "She's not into him. He's a beard."
That was it. The last straw, not because I was offended for Penn, but because I was tired of being made a fool. I stepped around the corner, closed the distance, and held out my hand.
"I think you have something that belongs to me," I said, my tone void of any emotion.
Eldridge looked defeated and held onto to a sliver of dignity by not offering me fake apologies. Emma, however, has been blowing up my phone and waiting by my door all week. That's why I've stayed away.
Being around Buttercup always soothes me, so after our show this evening, instead of heading back to my dorm room to study, I stayed with her in the stables. Taking my time, I brushed her coat, cleaned her hooves, gave her fresh water and a banana for getting us in first place at tonight's competition. You'd think that would be enough to clear my head, but it isn't. The minutes I'm not unraveling Emma's deception, I'm thinking about Penn Hadley.
After Penn ditched me at homecoming, I wrote him off. As much as I hate admitting it, Trigger was right—someone truly interested would've shown up. And truth be told, in hindsight, a big reason I said yes to Penn that night was because I knew it would get under Trigger's skin. There were too many stolen glances during that game for it not to. Plus, dating someonefrom another school had its perks: it kept the guys at my school at a distance, which was exactly what I wanted.
The problem was, the following weekend on our off-campus day, Penn showed up with purple flowers he thought were my favorite, but he got the species wrong. Purple wisteria is my favorite. My mother loved them so much that she planted them all over the property. They were her favorite, and for that reason, they are mine too. Then he took me to a five-star Indian restaurant he'd rented out for two hours. We cooked alongside their master chef, and I learned to make my father's favorite dish: chicken tikka masala. My mother's recipe. One of the last dishes we made together before she died.
Penn didn't know how important that day would become. He only knew what I'd told him once: I'd like to learn to cook authentic Indian cuisine for my dad. Working with the chef, I discovered what I'd been missing—the pizza oven. My mother always cooked it that way. Traditional tikka needs a scorching-hot clay oven for that charred flavor.
That day, Penn notched himself into my heart. He gave me back a piece of my mom I thought I'd lost forever.
