Chapter Nineteen
NOW
The dance isn’t much better than the limo ride, but it’s easier to blend in with the crowd and get some space from the other girls.
Chase is having a great time—that much is clear—and it’s a little infectious.
I do my best to let go of the digs and champagne headache and enjoy the night like I’m supposed to.
When Chase kisses me, I kiss back. When he grinds against me on the dance floor, I press right back against him, feeling how badly he wants me.
I smile for pictures, smile when people comment on how adorable his asking me to the dance was, smile when recent graduates come over to say hi and compliment him on his season, smile when Dee Harker, who was on the JV squad with me when I was a freshman and she was a sophomore, says, “I guess it’s true that patience is a virtue! ” and nods in his direction.
Even people who’ve graduated can’t see me as anything more than The Girl Who’s Always Loved Chase Harding.
Onstage there’s a tap at the mic and a screech of feedback.
My stomach sinks. The time has come to announce Homecoming King and Queen.
Even through all my dreams of standing alongside Chase in our crowns, I’ve never really believed that Homecoming Queen is a title I could win—not as long as Shannon’s around.
And that’s fine; it’s only a cheap plastic crown.
But it was a fun dream … or it was until I realized it might be more than that.
Judging by the amount of attention we’re getting tonight, I might actually have a shot.
I don’t think anyone has ever wanted a crown less.
They announce the court for the guys, and we cheer as Lucas, Chase, and a bunch of other guys jog to the stage.
Immediately, the crowd starts chanting “Harding! Harding! Harding!” and Vice Principal Kanner smiles wryly and says, “Well, I guess your Homecoming King won’t come as any surprise—Chase Harding! ”
I don’t know how to whistle, but I try, and I clap along with everyone as my boyfriend bends to accept his crown. It looks perfect on him, like it was always meant to sit on his head and bring out the sparkle in his eyes.
How would I look in the matching crown?
Would it look like it was made for me too?
I don’t have to wait long to find out whether I’ll be joining him. The more boring job of crowning one of the guys in near-identical tuxes is done, and it’s time for the queens. They announce Shantay Reynolds and Christina Morse and, bam, there it is—“Larissa Bogdan!”
And, quieter but still audible, Shannon and Jasmine’s whispered “Chase’s girlfriend!” and peals of laughter that follow me all the way to the stage.
I’m seething as the rest of the names are called, including Shannon’s, and I watch her sweetly preen like she didn’t just mock her best friend as a pretender ten seconds earlier.
For the first time in our lives, I want to beat her, want to yank this dream of hers she’s acting like she never had all the way out from under her.
And then, I do.
“Your Homecoming Queen is … Larissa Bogdan!”
The room bursts into applause when my name is announced as the winner, and sure, maybe it’s because I’m Chase’s girlfriend, but I don’t give a damn.
I smile so brightly at the sound that I’m sure Jasmine can see it from wherever she is, and Shannon can’t avoid it from her vantage point on the stage.
I don’t want them to miss a single clap as the crown is placed on my head, and I certainly don’t want them to miss Chase sweeping me into a dramatic movie kiss as the entire room explodes.
“Congratulations, my queen,” he murmurs with a smile. “As if there was any doubt.”
“I believe it’s time for us to dance, my king.”
We head down to the dance floor and it feels like I should be wearing something dramatic and floor-sweeping rather than a sparkly full-skirted cocktail dress that barely clears my knees, but the way Chase looks at me when the spotlight finds us in the crowded gym makes it clear he thinks I look plenty regal.
I try to focus all my attention on him, and while I succeed in ignoring the people snapping pics of us to post with crown emojis, I can’t help searching for Jasmine in the crowd.
I want her to see this, how real it is, how real we are.
But when I find her, she’s making vomiting motions at Kiki, who mercifully refuses to laugh.
Suddenly, I can’t see Chase or the spotlight or anything else other than red.
How fucking dare she? What is her absolute need to make sure I’m miserable at all times?
She chose to drop out of touch with me and send me back to my life without so much as a note that whoops, by the way, she’d be moving here and I’d have to see her every fucking day.
What am I supposed to do with that? What am I supposed to do with this?
The minute the dance ends, I tell Chase I’ll be right back.
I have never appreciated more that he is not a follow-up–question kind of guy.
He gives me a quick kiss and turns to his buddies, and I grab Jasmine by the wrist and yank her out into the hallway without giving a single damn who might be watching.
“What the hell, Lar—”
“No,” I cut her off. “That is not your question. That is my question. What the hell happened to you, and why do you hate me?”
“God, Larissa, could you be any more dramatic?”
“Cut the shit, Jasmine. You’ve spent the entire last month acting like I barely exist, like last summer never happened. It happened. We spent every damn day together. Every damn night together. Did it all really mean so little to you?”
I expect a smartass answer, but she draws herself up to her full height, towering over me in her glittering stilettos.
She’s shaking, anger radiating off her skin.
“You don’t get to ask me that.” Her voice drips with venom.
“You don’t get to tell me I’m the one who doesn’t give a shit when you’re the one practically married to someone else. ”
“God, I’m not—”
She throws up her arms, bangles jangling. “Yeah, you are, and that’s fine. You have a life and so do I and neither of us has to explain or apologize.”
“I’m not asking for an explanation or apology! I want you back! Where did you go?”
“I am right. Fucking. Here,” she spits. “How do you not get that? I am here. In my senior year. Away from my friends, my life, my mom. Why do you think that is, Larissa?”
“How am I supposed to know when you won’t tell me anything? When you didn’t even tell me about your parents changing up custody? You knew you were coming to my school and you didn’t even tell me!”
She looks like she wants to tear every meticulously styled strand of her thick black hair out of her head.
“My parents didn’t change up custody; I did.
And I told you why. I fucking sang in front of everyone.
In front of Shannon. In front of your boyfriend.
I made a complete ass of myself, like I’ve been doing every single minute just by being here, and I still have to watch you with him tonight, and then you have the nerve to ask me—”
“You sang?” None of the rest of her words are clicking, and I have to close my eyes to shut them out.
To flash back to the night her cruelty almost broke me.
“You came all the way here to remind me to keep our summer a secret? You really didn’t have to worry about that, Jasmine.
Message received. I haven’t told a soul, and you’ve made it plenty clear that it didn’t mean a damn thing to you. ”
She blinks slowly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“None of this is a joke to me,” I snap. “Apparently you don’t feel the same way. Well, congratulations on making me feel like shit that night, same as you’ve been doing since you got here.”
She buries her face in her hands, and I hear a muffled “fuck” through her fingers.
For the first time since before we got in the limo, I feel my anger slip a little, my guard dropping. Gently, I pry her hands away. “What am I missing here, Jas?”
“Everything,” she says with a short laugh. “God, Larissa. Everything.”
“Well, can you please fill me in? Because you’re confusing me. As usual. Pardon me for not knowing how to interpret things.” I scratch at the top of my dress, which suddenly feels itchy and way too tight.
“Okay, well, apparently I’m about to clear shit right up.” She exhales sharply and folds her arms over her chest, which I think is a defensive move until I realize she’s hugging herself. “The lyrics, Tinkerbell. Or rather, the lyric. You didn’t hear it.”
The lyric.
I was so focused on the song choice, on blocking out what I thought she was trying to say, that I missed the lyrics entirely. In a flash I know exactly which one she means.
Because I’m the one who introduced her to the magic of Demi Lovato when she finally let me take over the music in the Jeep.
I’m the one who taught her that very lyric.
I can picture it like it was ten minutes ago, the wind whipping our salt-sticky hair through the open windows on our drive back from the ferry as “Cool for the Summer” wound down through the speakers.
THEN
“She changed the lyrics of the song for her 2018 tour during Pride month to ‘Go tell your mother.’” I drop a random fun fact I learned from Demi Lovato stans on Instagram.
“Huh,” says Jasmine, tapping a finger on the wheel. “That’s … definitely different.”
“It is,” I agree. “Just one word—‘go’ instead of ‘don’t’—and it made her fans so damn happy, I literally saw pictures of rainbow shrines.”
“Well, makes sense. I mean, it’s Pride month. ‘Tell your mom about it’ is certainly prouder than, like, ‘hide your secret shame girl.’”
I snort. “‘Secret shame girl’ sounds like the title of really terrible porn.”
“You sound like the title of really terrible porn,” Jasmine retorts.
Like that, the conversation is over.
And the next night, in front of a bonfire, everything changes.
NOW
One look at Jasmine’s face, wide open with heartbreak, and I know exactly which version she sang.
“I didn’t sing that to you because I wanted you to forget the summer,” she says softly, confirming.
“I sang it to you because I wanted you to remember how good it was. And I know it was a stupid night to do it, but it felt like my last chance before I lost you for good. When I finally got the nerve to look at you, it was clear I’d already lost you before I even got here.
” Her gaze meets mine, and it looks like it takes all the effort in the world on her part. The least I can do is hold it.
“I moved in with my dad because I could not get you out of my fucking head. I thought about going back to school and pretending our summer was just a summer, and I couldn’t do it.
I thought that maybe if I came here, we’d have a chance to be something real, but I didn’t know how to tell you I was coming.
And before I could even see you, you had a boyfriend, and I was stuck here.
Watching you live this perfect life that was already full without me.
I’ve been trying to carve something out and save what’s left of my dignity and my senior year, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I just need to go crawling back to my mom.
My heart can’t take you breaking it anymore. ”
Her gaze drops, but she doesn’t walk away. “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole all night. For longer than tonight, I guess. I really didn’t handle it well that coming to Stratford wasn’t what I hoped it would be.”
“Because you hoped…” God, I feel slow. And yet my pulse is racing. “Jasmine. Why didn’t you say anything? You had a billion chances!”
“Did I?” she says, and maybe I’ve been breaking her heart, but the sadness in her voice cracks mine wide open. “It feels like I never had one at all.” She turns to walk away, and I don’t know what to say, but I know I don’t want her to go.
Then she turns back.
“Look, I should tell you—I’m bi. I was questioning it for a while, but when you came along this summer I felt like I finally knew for sure.
And maybe for you, it was liking the taste of my cherry ChapStick or whatever.
But even though this has all hurt like hell and honestly kind of sucks, it’s good to know for sure who I am. So, thank you, I guess.”
She sounds so certain. She’s been certain, while I’ve been floating along, thinking we were both in the same weird and nameless territory of summer.
I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what to think.
I don’t know what I am.
And it doesn’t matter, because she’s gone.