Her speech is so formal and her posture’s tin-soldier straight. Her hands are clasped in front of her around the handle of her bag—making her look like a kid playing tea party and reinforcing Cross Pointe’s snotty reputation.
There are scoffs and laughter. More people join the crowd. It’s about to be a massacre—she hasn’t even taken ten steps and they’re practically pushing one another out of the way so they can see her social takedown. Ready to hate her because of her zip code when all she’s done is smile. I need to say something, anything, to defuse this, but before I can, she turns to Eliza and delivers the fatal words.
“Are you Carly? I’m dying to meet her!”
The room breaks into fifteen competing conversations. “Cross Pointe snob!” and “Look at her!” are distinct above the roar.
Brighton turns to me in confusion.
Eliza grabs her arm. “Are you kidding me? Jonah, is she kidding?”
Bright steps closer to me, not even realizing that she’s reinforcing the conclusions they’re all jumping to. I’m tempted to step away, to physically demonstrate I’m not paired with her. Instead, I stay frozen and watch it unfold. This isn’t what I planned.
“Priceless! Totally what Carly deserves.” A catty voice slices through the room, but I’m too distracted to figure out who spoke.
“What’s going on? What’d I say?” Brighton’s eyes swim in hurt and reproach as she whispers her questions to me.
“Jonah, we should talk,” says Jeff. He’d been my catcher and best friend. Yeah, we should talk, except there’s too much to say. Months of stuff to say. Nothing will make any sense—but despite this, we should talk.
I follow Jeff through the kitchen, and Brighton follows me. Eliza shoots her predatory glances, someone whistles, and someone else offers a shout of encouragement. Really? There are people who are glad Carly and I broke up?
“Where is she?” I ask. Carly should be front and center, leading the attack or at least reaping a victim’s share of sympathy.
“She’s upset. She stayed home.” Jeff’s answer is sharp, an accusation.
The party crowd thins on the other side of the kitchen—away from the food and the game of flip cup taking place on the table. We hover by the door to his mom’s home office, where Jeff used to be stuck reading for thirty minutes before he was allowed to join the rest of us playing catch in the park. He looks from Brighton to the room. I open the door.
“Bright. Sit here a minute, okay? I need to talk to Jeff. I’ll go get you a drink. Water?”
“No. I want to know what’s going on. Now.” She plants a fist on each hip and stares up at me expectantly.
“I just need a minute. Then I’ll introduce you to everyone.” I try again to herd her into the office.
She resists. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Suit yourself.”
Before she follows up with another question, Jeff says, “Please tell me you work fast. Tell me there was no overlap. Carly’s been obsessed with you cheating since your move. Now you show up with a new girl hours after you broke up?”
“Wait. What?” Her hands slip from her hips and she leans back, clutching the counter behind her.
I ask Jeff, “Have you talked to Carly? Has Maya?”
“Maya’s spent half the night on the phone with her. Sasha’s with Carly at her house.” The crowd has moved, followed us. They’re hoping for a scene and waiting for a chance to spit their questions and judgments. “God, Jonah, did you have do this tonight? My parents are only out of town for one night, and Maya’s going to spend the whole time dealing with Carly’s drama.”
“She broke up with me.” My answer’s defensive, but does he really think this is what I wanted or how I expected to be spending Friday night? “Did you know she was going to? Thanks for giving me a heads-up.”
“Time-out. My turn.” Bright pushes her way between the two of us. “You and Carly broke up? Today? What?”
I don’t get to answer because Eliza invites herself into the conversation, “Can you blame her?”
“Yes!” Brighton turns toward her. “He’s crazy about her!”
I groan. She may be well intentioned, but she’s not helpful.
Eliza chokes on her indignation, and more people press around us. “You’re going to stand here—the one he cheated with—and defend that? Bingley, it’s too bad you’ve got all that money and no way to buy yourself some class.”
I’m trapped in the corner between the door and a wall of gossip-hungry ex-classmates. And Brighton.
“What?” She sputters the word, her face as red as the rooster painting hanging on the wall behind her.
“Let’s not be too hasty,” Felix adds. “She’s pretty smoking. I never would’ve thought Prentiss had it in him—juggling two of them? You’re a god.”
“So it’s true?” Maya joins the group, her cell clutched in one hand, her cheek still imprinted with its outline.
“Wait! Just wait a second,” I say. Everything’s going to hell. This is the lie I wanted to sell, yet now that people are saying it, now that Brighton’s face is crumpling under their accusations, it’s all so screwed up.