In retrospect, my next move wasn’t the brightest. I should have called my mom or tried to get ahold of the lawyer or at least waited until Sharma and I could do more digging, but I wanted it to be over. So I took a shortcut. Still, I’ll blame Brittany Mulligan for what happened next. If she hadn’t ousted me from Community Club, I would have been dressed as Mrs. Claus right then, inadvisably leading off-key Christmas carols.
Instead I thought I’d won.
Ellie was changing out of her school clothes and into her gym clothes when I found her in the YMCA locker room on Ninth Street thirty minutes later. (Though why bother? Both outfits involved sweatpants.) Even if I hadn’t downloaded the WhereYouAt app that Caleb had told us about and cyberstalked her, I’d have known where to look for Ellie. If she wasn’t at basketball practice, Ellie was always at the Y working out. I’m sure it partially had to do with her court game, but every Park Prepper knew her parents were going through a nasty divorce, trying to gain custody of their brownstone while still both residing in said brownstone. The divorce was Ellie’s mom’s second. Rumor had it, Ellie’s stepdad was the parent she liked better.
For the hundredth time, I thanked the universe for my parents’ happy marriage.
Whatever mix of nationalities Ellie was, not to be mean, but one of them had to be oak tree. Sturdy and thick with muscle, she wore her brown hair in a short bob, which she always tied back for games using one elastic and a hundred thousand bobby pins. She jumped when she caught my reflection in the mirror at the end of the locker row, surprise dribbling across her round features. But then she laughed.
“Oh boy, let me guess.” She faced the mirror and reworked her ponytail so it shot directly out the back of her head. “You’re here to blame me for your hair not coming out right today?”
Wait, seriously, what was wrong with my hair?
“No, actually, Ellie, I found the clip of me that was used to make the sex video. It came from footage you took.”
I don’t know what I was expecting—that she would fess up? Or be floored by my detective work? Or at the very least be creeped out like I was that someone had stolen her innocuous vid to frame me? And, fine, if I’m being 100 percent honest, even though there’s nothing lamer than women fighting women over men, a tiny part of me hoped she’d be as nice as she always was, so I could press her for a little insider info on why Ailey and Mac suddenly looked so chummy.
But instead Ellie laughed again.
“Yeah, Ailey told me you tried to blame her, too. That you’re saying it’s fake.”
“What do you mean, I’m saying it’s fake? It is fake. I just told you. I found the original clip my hater used to doctor the video. A clip that you originally recorded.”
“The only fake thing around here is you.”
“Excuse me?”
This was not the Ellie Cyr I was used to. Ellie Cyr was nice. Ellie Cyr and I took a boot-camp class in the park our sophomore year and immediately got milk shakes afterwards. This version of Ellie was the girl who pushed through two defensive guards to dunk the game winner and smashed the backboard in the process. (Yes, that actually happened. It was amazing.) This Ellie was a girl I didn’t at all want to share frosty beverages with. Or be on the opposing side of.
“You heard me, Cheng.”
One long leg following the other, Ellie stepped over the changing bench to hover over me, like she was trying to engage in one of those chest-bumping competitions. My knees gave. I sat down hard on the bench behind me. She smirked.
“Ailey also told me about how you abandoned her freshman year all because Audra brought you a juice.”
My face was level with Ellie’s belly button.
I frowned, mumbled, “She also said there was only one seat.”
“So you pull up another one. Ailey was your best friend.”
“We were fourteen. Friends break up all the time.” I stood back up. Ellie didn’t move to give me more space, so the top of my head was right beneath her nose. I stepped out from under her. “Look. I didn’t come to talk about Ailey. I came to talk about the video you took.”
“The sex video?” Ellie turned back toward her locker, folding her school clothes and shoving them in her bag.
“No. The video that was used to put me into the sex video.”
“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked genuinely puzzled, but then gave me that smirk again. “‘Put you into’ the sex video? How would I do that, with magic? I didn’t make that video, Kyle. Because no one did. You can’t make reality.”
This was getting me nowhere. It was time for a different tactic.
“Look, Ellie, I have no static with you, but I know you’re friends with Jessie and I thought—”
“So you didn’t come to blame me, you just came to blame my best friend.”
“Wait, I thought Ailey was your best friend.” And she was scolding me for being disloyal? “And actually, I did come to blame you, but now that we’re talking, I’m pretty sure you had nothing to do with it.”
“I meant she’s one of my best friends,” Ellie huffed. “I’m not like you. I stand by my people. Besides, Jessie wouldn’t do this either; she’s not—”
“Creative enough,” I filled in, until I realized that wasn’t the descriptor Ellie was searching for. “Grimacing face. Sorry.”
“I was going to say she’s not that mean. Something else you wouldn’t know anything about. If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna hit the machines or I might hit something else.”
Spinning around faster than I’d expected, Ellie stormed past me and rammed me so hard in the shoulder that I stumbled backwards.
“Geez, Ellie,” I said. “Watch it.”
And then I did something stupid. I pushed her. Only a little, but that was all it took.
Now, at five eight I wasn’t short, but have I mentioned Ellie Cyr was six foot two? Her nickname was Empire State. As in the building. Next thing I knew, a tourist attraction–sized girl slapped me across the face. The force of the slap knocked me back two steps. My head smacked into the lockers behind me.
“Whoa,” Ellie said, as I felt my cheek with a shaky hand.
And maybe if she’d apologized, things would have been different, but she didn’t. Her surprise was immediately replaced by that smirk, and something inside me snapped. I charged. We flew over the bench that divided the row of lockers and tumbled to the floor. Ellie had a fistful of my hair in one hand and was punching my ribs with the other. I tried to shield the blows while also landing a few of my own. I was not successful.
“Hey!” someone shouted. But not at us, because then they said, “No PHDs allowed in the locker room. What are you recording?”