Julie’s eyes widened. “God. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well.” Mac fiddled with her purse, the memory rushing back to her. “I just know what it feels like, is all,” she said, peeking at Julie. “To think one thing, to have your life going one way, and then to have the rug snatched out from under you . . . and everyone laughing at your expense.”
Julie flopped onto her bed. “The worst was that I went to school today and thought everything would be fine. I’m such an idiot. I know Beacon. I know what everyone here is capable of.”
“Not everyone,” Mac urged. “You have us.” She looked away, thinking back to Nolan, how she’d wanted so desperately to think he was really into her. “But I get it,” she added. After all, Nolan wasn’t even the worst—look what Claire had done, plotting to mess up her Juilliard audition. And they were supposed to be friends.
She shifted her weight on the bed, and suddenly her purse tipped over and a bunch of things toppled out. A hairbrush skidded across the floor, followed by Mac’s wallet. She dove to collect the stuff, embarrassed to mar Julie’s perfect space. Then Julie said, “What’s that?”
Mac followed her gaze. The card Blake had given her the other day had fallen out. It splayed open, displaying Blake’s heartfelt message inside. Mac quickly snatched it up, but by the look on Julie’s face, she’d probably seen some of it.
Her ears burned red. She lowered her eyes, feeling a sudden onslaught of tears. She hadn’t told any of the film studies girls about the Blake thing. She hadn’t told anyone. It was too confusing, and she was too ashamed of her part in it.
“Want to talk about it?” Julie said softly, a concerned look on her face.
“No!” Mac cried. Then she shook her head. “I mean, god, I don’t want to bug you with my problems. I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”
“Please, I need a distraction.” Julie hitched forward. “What’s going on? It’s a guy, isn’t it?” she said knowingly.
Mac stared at her checkerboard Vans. All at once, it was like a volcano rumbled inside her, threatening to burst. “It’s Blake Strustek,” she blurted. “He’s been a friend for years, and I’ve loved him for years, but now it’s all ruined.”
She spilled out the whole story about Blake—how she’d had a crush on him first but Claire had started dating him; how, according to Blake, Claire had lied and said Mac wasn’t into him. How they were in a band together, and lately, something had started between them—behind Claire’s back. How she’d never meant to hurt Claire. But when she got to the part about Claire and Blake tricking her in order to sabotage her Juilliard audition, Julie’s mouth dropped open.
“That’s not how best friends treat each other!” she cried.
“Don’t I know it,” Mac said darkly.
Julie crossed her arms over her chest. “Now it makes sense why you mentioned Claire that day at film studies. I’d always wondered.”
Mac winced at the memory of that conversation. As soon as she’d said Claire’s name, she’d felt horrible—especially because Claire had been right across the room and could have heard. She’d just been so angry at Claire that day, though—she’d seen her and Blake canoodling in the hall, and all of her feelings of betrayal and resentment had rushed to the surface.
“I should have never said that . . . I was just having a bad day,” she sighed. “It’s not like I actually want her dead.”
“Of course you don’t,” Julie said firmly.
“And, I mean, just because I said it doesn’t mean it’s going to come true,” Mac said loudly, thinking of the theory Caitlin had brought up the other day at Ava’s.
“Of course not,” Julie said. But then she shifted awkwardly. “Still. I hate that those names are even out there, on that notepad. And, I mean, two out of the five people we named are . . . you know.” She averted her eyes.
“No one can link that to us,” Mac said quickly. She needed to say it out loud, somehow, to undo the jinx. “It’s too crazy of a theory. No one would pick off the people we named. It doesn’t make any sense. No one hates all of us like that . . . or everyone we named like that.”
Mac’s phone rang, and she looked at the screen. Her mom was calling. Suddenly, she remembered that she’d made plans to go out to dinner with her parents—more Juilliard celebrations. She stood up, slipping the phone in her pocket. “I have to go,” she said sadly, looking at Julie. “Are you going to be okay?”
Julie nodded. “Thank you for staying and talking with me. It helped, really . . . having you here.”