“Maybe not now, but he seems like the type of guy who knows what he likes, and latches onto it, all in.” She kissed the side of Faith’s forehead. “I’m as in the dark as you are. And I’m sorry it turned out this way. I liked him. Your dad did, too. That’s saying something.”
Faith couldn’t remember dating anyone her father approved of, which made all this even worse. She wouldn’t have worried about Kyle’s reputation one bit if he’d kept treating her like she mattered. Like she was special. That’s what made this so frustrating—even after five days, she could see a future with him. Maybe not forever, but definitely past graduation. She’d been so infatuated with this guy, to the point that she thought he could’ve been the one—the guy she could finally say she cared about enough to take that next step. That if he had asked, she would’ve slept with him.
And wouldn’t have regretted a thing.
Blood rushed to her cheeks, and her heart ached. She would’ve given him anything, everything he wanted. A rational person would be ashamed of that, probably, but she was nothing but hurt. This stung more than seeing Cameron in bed with Holly.
She stood and turned her back on the yard. “I guess he fooled all of us.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Faith
When school started Monday morning, people stared at Faith everywhere she went. Lots of whispering, lots of laughter behind her back.
She didn’t care. None of it mattered anymore.
Violet stopped her at her locker. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Faith slammed her locker door shut. “Peachy.”
“Girl…”
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “Although I heard Cameron is looking to beat Kyle up after school.”
“Good luck with that,” Vi said. “He’ll be at baseball practice. Only an idiot would pick a fight with a guy who has access to friends with bats.”
“We’re talking about Cam.”
“Oh, right. Then I hope he succeeds in finding Kyle. A beating would do him good.”
“Just so long as he lands a punch or two.”
Vi put a hand on her hip. “What happened?”
Faith shook her head. When she walked into school that morning, she’d passed right by Kyle. He’d smiled briefly at her, like a casual friend would, but didn’t say anything. That hurt, but if she told Violet, her best friend would take on Cameron’s quest—an enemy of my enemy is my friend, so to speak. “It’s nothing. Just all the gossip.”
“Ignore it. The scheme did what it was supposed to do. You aren’t getting nasty texts from football players anymore, are you?”
“Only a few.” Faith snorted. “I got twelve more asking if I’d meet up with them for lunch or coffee. Apparently, I’m now the school slut, which is laughable.”
“It’s going to be fine.” Vi gave her arm a bracing pat. “See you at lunch?”
“Sure.”
The day didn’t get any better, though. She was so preoccupied, she failed a pop quiz in political science, and couldn’t find her homework in English. When she walked into Spanish, Holly Masterson hissed, “Bitch,” as she passed by.
Faith waved a hand, exhausted with the fight. “Whatever.”
Snickers ran around the room and Se?ora Cabraya gave everyone a stern look. “Seats, por favor.”
Faith went to her desk, wondering if there’d ever be an end to this godforsaken day.
When school finally let out, she only had an hour to run home, do homework, and be back up to the performing arts center for rehearsal, but there was no way she was staying at school. She dashed out to her car before most people had cleared their lockers. She hadn’t seen Kyle since that morning, which wasn’t a surprise—the school was huge. Still, she half wondered if he was avoiding her.
She let herself in through the garage door. A pile of mail sat on the kitchen table, as usual, but there was a letter sitting at her place. A letter with NYU’s logo on it.
She approached the letter with caution, heart hammering. The envelope was thin. What did that mean? Was it good news? Or bad? She reached for it with shaking hands and tore open the end.
Dear Ms. Gladwell,
Thank you for your interest in the New York University musical theater program. Your audition was reviewed by a panel of three tenured faculty. Unfortunately, we are unable to extend you an admission at this time. You may audition again next year. We wish you all the best in your future endeavors.
Sincerely,
Dr. J. Rabin
The letter dropped to the floor, falling from numb fingers. They passed on her. She wasn’t going to NYU. They didn’t want her. She wasn’t good enough.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and every nerve was raw with pain. What was she going to do? Where would she go now? None of the Texas schools that accepted her had musical theater programs that compared with NYU.