Getting Caught (19 page)

What could they possibly be talking about? Goosebumps rise on my arms as I move closer, pretending to nonchalantly sway to the music as I crane my neck to listen. The only thing I can understand is Peyton’s shrill voice: “—before I made you ask her out.”

Every ounce of life drains from my body. I stand there, a shell, thinking,
They must be talking about some other
her!
Dave couldn’t have…

So Dave kissing me. Dave holding me. Dave taking me out and being sweet to me.
It was just a prank.

I stand there, not able to breathe. The walls are closing in on me.

Of course. Did you really think a guy like Dave would date you on purpose, Jess? You’re a freak.

Suddenly I’m back at Ken Greeley’s house, behind the bushes, sobbing. Listening to the popular kids snicker and call me names while Peyton sneers and laughs along with them. Suddenly I’m back where I promised myself I’d never, ever be again.

The stupid, “normal” updo is giving me a headache, so I bring my hands behind my head and tear at it, pulling out clips and bobby pins and letting it free. I’m desperate to look like myself, like it’s not too late to throw the walls up. When I finish ripping it apart, it hangs at my shoulders, and I know it’s a mess. A couple of girls walk past, take in my hair and roll their eyes at each other. I know what they’re thinking:
Freak, freak, freak.

No matter what you do, Jess, you’ll always be a freak.

I see Dave hurrying away, through the crowd, and I want to beat at him, murder him, but then again… I have no strength. And that’s when I realize, through bleary eyes, that I’m crying.

Jess Hill,
crying.

I just need to be alone. To run and get away from all of these superficial losers, once and for all.

So I turn, ready to bolt, and run straight into Peyton Brentwood.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Peyton

My jaw drops. Neither of us speaks for a long moment as I study the tears streaming down Jess’ face, leaving tiny mascara trails. Standing there, her hair its natural shade, her dress so pretty and feminine like my own, it’s like I’m seeing Jess from four years ago.

It’s like she’s my best friend again, and there haven’t been a hundred mean pranks and rude comments thrown back and forth, and we haven’t tried so hard to destroy each other. It gives me the overwhelming urge to hug her, to pretend nothing’s gotten between us.

She’s the Jess who scoured Ivy League admissions books with me. She’s the Jess who helped formulate a game plan we jokingly called Operation Harvard. She’s the Jess who, at thirteen, crammed fourteen Oreos in her mouth and then burst out laughing and spit chocolate crumbs all over me.

I’m standing here, searching my memory, and trying to figure out how something so small has spiraled into such epically tragic proportions. I’d wanted to ruin her. I’d wanted blood and tears, and I’d thought it would make me feel better than her. Thought it would make me feel better about losing Harvard.

And I’m suddenly filled with such overwhelming regret my stomach feels a thousand pounds heavier, and I want to burst into tears with her, and hug her, and grovel at her feet for forgiveness.

“How much did you hear?” I say quietly.

“Enough,” she says, her voice even and laced with anger so deep I take a step back.

“I…I don’t know…” I’m not sure what I’d planned to say, but my opportunity disappears as she spins on the heel of her black boot and hurries away.

I rush after her and grab her shoulder, and for a moment, I think she might just clock me in the face. I have to force myself to stand tall in front of her.

As I stand there, looking her in the eyes, I realize how much I want this to be over. How much I want to undo what has just happened. Defeating her is not going to give me Harvard. It’s just going to leave us both unhappy.

And in the last three years, my sole purpose—other than Harvard—was in making her unhappy.

“Please. I don’t know what you heard, but you have to give him another chance.”

She looks up at the ceiling and wipes away the tears. “What was I thinking? That someone like him would really date me, because he wanted to? He belongs with some snotty bitch like you,” she says, crossing her arms.

I can’t even be mad at her for what she says. “It’s not like that. Yes, I asked him to date you. I wanted him to dump you and I wanted to watch you crumble. You took Harvard and turned it into a joke, so I was going to use the only thing I had against you.”

She makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a groan and a whine and starts to leave again, but I grab her elbow. “But you don’t get it. He was so reluctant. He didn’t want anything to do with it. I had to call in a favor just to convince him.

“And…” I stop for a second and give her a sad smile. “
Jeez
, for someone really smart I can be pretty stupid. He tried to tell me before. Twice. What he has for you is real. Whatever you heard, it was probably only half the conversation. He told me he can’t go through with it. He wants you. He loves you.”

She’s still staring at me, but her face doesn’t have that twist of pain. It’s empty of all emotion.

“Don’t you get it? You win. You get everything. It’s over.”

And then I walk away, because I can’t stand next to her anymore while she gets everything she ever wanted, and I get the opposite.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jess

Peyton’s words echo in my ears long after she’s left, but I can only stand there, wondering if I should trust her, wondering if she’s speaking the truth. So much of what she’s told me in the past has been two-faced. Has he really, truly fallen for me?

Even though she’s dressed in a beautiful gown and her hair is in elaborate updo, the entire time she talked to me her skin was the color of eggshells and her eyes were red-rimmed. I’m pretty sure she and I both look like extras from Prom Night Massacre.

I don’t know if I believe her rant about Dave’s feelings being real, but if it’s just part of the prank…then why is she crying?

I push my way into the crowd. I have to find her. I’m ready to explain about the Harvard acceptance and put an end to the insanity. I see her for one quick moment, her face framed by dozens of others who are oblivious to what’s going on. She turns for a second, gives me a look of wild, unfocused pain and vanishes so quickly I barely have time to form the words, “Peyton, wait!” before I’m completely alone, the pulsing beat of the music echoing my own heartbeat.

I turn quickly and see Dave sidling back from the refreshment stand with two cups of Coke. He starts to say something, but then stops when he takes in my hair. “What hap—” he begins, but the truth must occur to him before he can say anymore.

“I know about Peyton’s prank,” I say quietly. “
Switzerland
.
What a bunch of crap. You were never neutral.” I wanted to yell it at him, to be angry and back in my comfort zone, but I couldn’t even fake the fury I know I should feel. Instead I feel empty and alone, and I wish I’d never put up that Princess Peyton poster in ninth grade, the one that started this whole crazy thing, the reason Peyton was so mad and pushed me in the pool.

He gives me the Coke, reaches into my hair, and gently pulls out a stray bobby pin. “I can explain.”

“Look, I don’t want a long, dramatic thing here,” I say as toughly as I can, trying to sip my soda casually, even though my hands are still shaking. “Were you really planning to dump me tonight?”

I take a deep breath and wait for the answer.

He takes the soda out of my hands and puts both of them on a nearby table. Then he shakes his head. “I agreed to help her because she once helped me, but as soon as it began, I regretted it. I tried to tell her before tonight. There was more to you than I’d expected. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

I shake my head, not believing him. This was all a lie…every date, every kiss, every word. This perfect guy wasn’t perfect.

I step back, but he grabs my hand, stopping me. “Please. You have to give me another chance.” His voice sounds desperate, pleading. “You have no idea how guilty I’ve felt through all this. It’s why I kept pushing you to prank her—just knowing what she wanted me to do, how much she wanted me to hurt you—it’s been eating at me for months. I’d been trying to ignore it. Trying to pretend this hadn’t started as a prank. But every time I saw her it would gnaw at me. You have to let me prove it to you.”

“But how can I trust you? How can I believe—” I’m interrupted when he weaves his fingers into my tangled mess of hair and kisses me, and I’m breathless when he pulls away and rests his lips on my forehead.

“I know, I know,” I sigh, feeling like a child who has just been slapped on the wrist. The truth is, Peyton didn’t have to tell me that Dave had fallen for me. She knew I’d fallen for the prank, hook, line, and sinker. She could have just let me go on, thinking he’d only dated me because she’d forced it on him. She could have still whipped me good and won the prank war. But she didn’t. For some reason, she’d called it quits and told me the truth.

Suddenly, I’m hit with the stinging memory of going through Harvard catalogs with Peyton, watching her bite her lip in anticipation all those years ago. I remember mapping it out, her road that would take her to Harvard, lined with AP courses and thousands of hours of studying and homework. But it had never fazed her. She’d wanted this forever. And I was the only one keeping her from it. Me. Stealing her dreams to win a stupid game.

I hear Dave clear his throat. “Um, Houston, we have a problem.”

I turn around and follow his line of vision. I have to blink twice. I can’t be seeing what I think I’m seeing.

Peyton looks…drunk. Her cheeks are ruddy and she’s actually
stumbling
through the crowd. She yells at a sophomore for stepping on her dress and then trips and bumps into a table, sending a bunch of prom queen and king voting slips fluttering to the floor.

“I think you’d better go intercept,” Dave says, nudging me towards her.

I nod and move purposefully through the crowd, toward the doors. Neither of us had to say it, but we both know what this means. If Peyton gets caught drinking, she’ll get expelled.

And getting expelled means
losing Harvard.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Peyton

Getting vodka from Tim is the best thing I’ve done all night. I don’t even care anymore that I lost Harvard. I don’t care that Jess won the prank war
and
Dave all in one night. I don’t care that Bryn keeps giving me dirty looks and trying to take the flask away, and she’s still furious at Tim for giving it to me in the first place.

Actually, Tim looks a little annoyed too. I think he’s mad I’m hogging it all or something. Or maybe they’re both mad because I interrupted their full-frontal snogging. Who knew Bryn would finally notice someone other than Ken? At any other time, I’d be excited for her.

I don’t understand how life went so terribly wrong. Three months ago, I had everything—I was about to be admitted to Harvard, and I had a plan that would win me the prank war. Now I can’t figure out why I’d thought the stupid war had
ever
been a good idea. All it had done is succeed in humiliating me and in hurting Jess.

And suddenly I feel all nostalgic, like I wish I could rewind and fix whatever had been creating the rift between Jess and me almost four years ago. There’ll always be this hole left behind. It wasn’t until she was gone that I went into full-on Peyton-must-be-perfect mode. Maybe if I’d kept her around, she would have kept me grounded.

I pull Bryn towards the center of the room because I suddenly feel like dancing. I do my best imitation of my
drop it like it’s hot
dance, and it must be really good since people are staring at me. I wish it were easier to keep my balance, but my heels must be too tall. I keep scrambling around in an effort to keep my feet underneath me.

When I go to dirty dance with Bryn, she pushes me gently away, but it’s enough to throw me completely off-kilter. I stumble back and knock straight into someone.

“Just come on. I need to talk to you.” She’s looking over my shoulder at something. She looks worried, like she’s afraid to be seen with me, but I don’t care.

“No, thank you,” I say, my voice saccharine. “You’ve done quite enough for me. And my brother, too.”

Jess narrows her eyes. “What’s your brother got to do with it?”

I laugh, so much louder than I’d meant to, and a few people give me an odd look. “I saw you send the cops over to arrest him.
I saw you do it.
You ruined his life.”