The gawking follows me into lunch. I haven’t seen Belle all morning, and since chemistry, I haven’t seen Jamie either.
Three freshman girls approach me, eyes excited and wild. It’s scary.
“Yes?”
They look at each other.
“Is Jamie a good kisser?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I say.
All their eyebrows rise together.
“Aces never lies.”
“Yeah,” another says.
“They always tell the truth.”
Is it wrong to hit a freshman?
“If Aces had the guts, they’d stop hiding behind a screen like a coward, and come and tell me what they need to say to my face. Anyway, whatever you read about Jamie and me, it’s made up—”
“Is it?” a voice interrupts.
When I turn back around, Belle is standing there. She looks angry; her eyes squinted, her arms crossed.
“Is it really made up?” she asks.
“This is gonna be so good,” I hear one freshman mutter.
“Yes,” I answer, looking Belle in the eye, trying to seem confident.
“Oh? Because Jamie told me it’s true.”
My stomach drops. “What’s true?”
She shakes her head, looking like she wants to hit me.
“The rumor that you liked him and kept trying to pursue him, even after he told you he wasn’t interested.”
What?
“That’s not true—”
“So you didn’t sleep with him? Or tell him you liked him, after he told you he was dating me?”
I become aware of people lingering, listening in on our conversation.
“Belle—”
“I came here to tell you this—this wholeLola’ssituation, you and him and yourtraditions… You and him, full stop, are over.”
She can’t do that.
“You can’t do that.”
Belle wipes her face harshly. “Oh, but I can! The girlfriend is way more important than the ex–best friend,” she says, giving me one last look before storming back down the hall.
