“You gave me a great life,” I blurt, and Dad laughs, pulling me in for a hug. I’m wearing my new cheerleading uniform: a polyester shell with long sleeves, and red and white stripes under the word Burberry sewn into the front, paired with a short black skirt and sneakers. Underneath, I’ve got on shiny black shorts with the school logo on the right butt cheek. Seems a weird place to put it, but it is what it is. The uncomfortable material rubs me the wrong way as Dad gives me a squeeze for the ages.
He pulls back and puts his hands on my shoulders.
“My little girl, a cheerleader,” he says, and then he chuckles as I narrow my eyes. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“I’m just doing it for college,” I repeat, and then silently add in my head and revenge. “Besides, it’s good exercise.” Dad grins at me and hooks an arm around my shoulders, trying to head us in the wrong direction. I laugh and turn him around, guiding him to the back door and the waiting academy cars. The football field is so far from the chapel building that it takes a good half hour to walk down there. Some people left a while ago to head down, but Dad and I ate in The Mess together, and I refused to be rushed.
“Whatever the reason, I’m excited to see you perform,” he says, leading us out to the vehicle. We slide in, and the driver moves to shut the door when I hear a voice call out to hold the car.
It’s Zayd fucking Kaiser.
Great.
He climbs in, and then freezes when he sees my dad and me.
A frown pulls at the edges of my lips, but then the driver is shutting the door, and it’s a bit late to back out. Dad must recognize Zayd as one of the panty-throwers because he does not smile at him or greet him.
Zayd slumps down on the opposite side of the limo, dressed in a white tank with his band’s name—Afterglow—scrawled in black cursive across the front. His jeans are black, and far too tight, which I actually like. He’s got on Doc Martens covered in roses, and I’m pretty sure he added a few new tattoos over the summer. My fingers remember tracing his ink as we made out in my dorm room. Of course, he was doing it all just to film it and humiliate, but … that’s a whole other issue.
“Your dad cares so little about you he didn’t bother to show up again?” I ask, and Charlie gapes at me.
“Marnye,” he warns, but that’s the only chastising I get.
Zayd just stares back at me, his lids ringed in liner, his lip piercings black and pointy, his brow piercing a black hoop. He nibbles at his lip rings for a moment before responding.
“He’s got a job that people actually care about,” Zayd snaps back, and I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. Good. Screw him. I chose him. I chose him and he betrayed me. It makes everything so much worse. His characteristic tobacco, clove, and sage scent fills the air in the limo, and my nostrils flare. “He’s not, like, you know, some easily replaceable blue collar worker that could be substituted with a monkey or a machine.”
“At least my dad has a heart and gives two craps about me,” I snarl, and Charlie puts a hand on my knee. “Musicians are a dime a dozen. Your dad is nothing but a performing monkey dressed in tattoos and the words of some ghost writers who pen hits for the masses. Give me a break.”
Zayd scowls at me, shoving up from his seat and pushing open the door while the car’s still rolling to a stop. He takes off as Dad sighs and gives me a look. I cringe, but only because I’m frustrated that he had to listen to this bullshit. Zayd deserves whatever I throw at him.
The football stadium is huge, much fancier than you’d expect for a high school. Actually, it reminds me of that one time Dad took us to a U of O home game at Autzen Stadium in Eugene, Oregon. It’s far too elaborate, especially considering that before this year, our team was ranked, like, dead last in their district.
Zack has changed all of that.
If they win tonight’s game, they’ll be going to the playoffs.
I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.
Tonight, we’re playing Grenadine Heights High—the number one team in our district for almost two straight decades. It’s sort of a big deal.
Dad leaves me to go take his seat in the stands while I join Coach Hannah and the rest of the girls just outside the entrance to the stadium. The way they look at me as I saunter up to them … priceless. Ileana curses under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear, but not enough that the coach notices.
Coach runs us through our warm up and stretches, my heart racing, sweat dripping down my spine. And it’s from more than just the exercise—I’m about to wreck Zack Brooks’ football career, and bring down the rest of the team with him.
I might move slow, but I’m a planner. It’s what I do.
After we warm up, we head into the stadium and take up our positions at the edge of the field. As far as coach is concerned, games are practice. We’re gearing up for competition. When the Burberry Prep football team is licking their wounds, I’ll be helping their cheer team get their first ever trophies.
The timing was delicate on this one, so I shift from side to side, glancing briefly up at the scoreboard and the clock. The minutes tick past slow as hours as we gear up for our first ever cheer. I’m a bit of an academic and a bookworm, and this is so not my scene, but I force a smile. It’s hard, though, with Tristan, Zayd, and Creed in the audience. I can see them, front and center, flanked by the Inner Circle. Pretty sure they’re all staring at me.
As we start our routine, I notice that Coach Hannah’s phone is buzzing.
My mouth twitches, half in grimace and half in grin.
If I’d wanted to, I could’ve done any number of things to Zack Brooks, something like spiking his food or drink with steroids and reporting him. But that’s not my game here. I don’t want to bring myself down to their level. Does it make things harder? Sure. When I sat down and made those rules though, I was serious.
Let them hang themselves with their own rope.
If they didn’t fuck with me, if they stopped fucking with me, then nothing bad would happen to them.
Coach Hannah glances from her screen and up to me, my arms in the air, my tight polyester shell riding slightly up. She turns to her assistant coach, and I see them whisper briefly. In the stand, Principal Collins has her gray brows raised, her mouth slightly agape. And as we finish our cheer, I glance over my shoulder and see the varsity football coach—Buck Rolands—calling Zack off the field.
Zack jogs over, pulling off his shiny black helmet, his brows crinkled, his big, muscular body made to look even larger with all the pads he’s wearing. He pauses next to his coach and glances down at the video on the phone screen.
His face goes shock-white before he glances over at me and meets my eyes. I smile, but it’s not a pretty smile. No, it’s one of those fuck you smiles that the Idols have given me countless times in the past year and a half.
What goes around comes around, I think as Principal Collins makes her way down the steps, and the crowd begins to buzz with gossip. I’ve sent the same video to every member of staff. It wasn’t hard to get their numbers. Actually, because this is a boarding school, every student is given an emergency list of the staff’s personal cell numbers in case of an accident or emergency during off-hours. Using it for a non-emergency is strict grounds for suspension, but I have that covered: I used a burner phone.
Remember those imperative items that I just had to shop for?
Yeah, well, that was on the list.
A hushed argument is carried out between Principal Collins, Vice Principal Castor, Coach Rolands, and, a few moments later, Zack’s mother, Robin. All I’ve ever seen or heard about that woman is that she’s nice to a fault. I used to wonder, back at LBMS, how she ever created such a monster as Zack Brooks. I hear his father and grandfather are real pieces of work, but Robin was never anything but nice to me, even when her son was bullying me to the point of suicide.
The look on Zack’s face as she watches that video … it almost hurts me.
I toyed with this for a while, wondering if it broke rules two and three: No friendly fire and No innocent bystanders. But … all I did was reveal the truth.
Briefly, I close my eyes. I don’t need to see the video to know that it says.
There’s Zack, telling me to kill myself and filming it. He sent me the video, too, all those years ago, emailed it to me, so I could watch it over and over again. I never told anyone. Not once. But I still had it, buried under years of other emails.
It’s followed by his voice, from just a few days ago. When I made that bet, I didn’t think about the name and face of the girl who would die. I’m sorry. A hundred times over, I’m sorry. But I did it: I made that bet to get you to kill yourself, and I came at you relentlessly. There is no such thing as forgiveness for me.
Let’s see how this zero tolerance bullying policy works.
Zack’s face falls as his mother turns to him, looking at her son like she doesn’t even recognize him. His helmet falls from his fingers, and within minutes—minutes—phones all across the stadium are pinging with the link to the video. Students share it with each other, leaning their heads together and whispering. Parents see it. It’s out there, and it can’t be taken back.
My heart is racing so fast that I feel dizzy, and everyone is looking at me now.
“May I use the restroom?” I ask Coach Hannah, and she blinks stupidly at me. There’s pity and sympathy in her gaze now, but I don’t care. She nods, and I push past the other girls, heading for the long, dark tunnel that leads from the locker rooms to the field.
As soon as I’m hidden in its shadowy depths, I lean my back against the wall, my breath coming in panting gasps.
When I hear footsteps, I don’t expect to see Zack storming down the hall, his face dark and drawn in. He sees me and pauses close, too close, so close that I can see the pain in his eyes. I expect, like Zayd, for him to throw his hurt back in my face.
“I’m not playing in tonight’s game,” he whispers, and we both know that that means: Burberry Prep will lose. “And I’m off the team.” I purse my lips, and he closes his eyes, his head sagging, chin falling to his chest. “In-school suspension, at a minimum. No off-campus privileges. My Mom’s going to disown me.” He groans and crouches down, putting his hands over his face. For a moment, I just watch him. “They’re going to discuss the rest of my punishment on Monday.”