Chapter 8
On my way to the stage, I stopped by a different bathroom than the one I knew that Tabitha Keith would soon be weeping in. There wasn’t anything I could do about that now—in this moment, I just wanted to find my best friend and spend as much time with her as possible.
I looked around the crowd that was starting to gather in front of the stage but didn’t see her and the Emmas anywhere.
I was here earlier than I normally was—there were ten minutes on the countdown clock—so I wasn’t sure exactly when she’d be arriving.
I looked down at my watch, to try and note the time, before I gave it up.
I was already keeping so much in my head—where people were at any given moment, facts about Freddie, random poker players’ cards—I wasn’t sure I could add more to it without losing something.
I pulled out my phone, figuring that maybe it would be better to text Bryony so that she wouldn’t be shocked to see me.
But just for a moment, I stared down at the picture on my lock screen—Oscar and Angelo and me.
Freddie’s words were rattling around in my head, and I was trying my best to dismiss them.
I wasn’t mad at them. Maybe I was mad at the situation, but not at them.
It wasn’t like they could have done anything different…
right? I’d been working so hard to be part of our little unit, a team player, that these were questions I’d never asked.
I realized with a shock that I’d never once told them how I felt about it all. And suddenly, standing in the middle of a Grad Nite crowd, looking down at a picture of our smiling faces, I wished that I had.
“Cass?” It was a guy’s voice, and I felt my heart lift as I looked up, expecting to see Freddie standing in front of me. But a second later, I registered that the voice had been American, not British. Which made sense, because Bruce was standing in front of me, arms folded across his chest.
I inwardly sighed as I realized that I hadn’t accounted for him here, which I absolutely should have. I’d run into him twice before, after all. But constantly avoiding people, and having to keep ever-changing maps in my head, was truly starting to get exhausting.
“Hey, Bruce,” I said with a wave, as he stared in surprise at me. A second later, I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be expecting to see him here. “I mean,” I said, scrambling. “Hey! Bruce? I’m so very surprised to see you here. Why are you so far from home here, in California?”
“We won an academic award,” Bruce said. His eyes were still wide as he looked at me, like he’d just seen a ghost—which was probably what this felt like for him.
I’d seen him enough tonight that the shock was wearing off.
He was even starting to look familiar—his light brown hair, black backpack, Cereal T-shirt…
“Wait,” I said, taking a step closer. His Evergreen High sweatshirt was off, and now I could see that he was wearing a T-shirt touting Bryony’s favorite podcast. His read SNAP CRACKLE POP CULTURE under the Cereal logo. “You listen to Cereal?”
“Uh, yes,” he said, looking a little discomfited. “Do you?”
“No,” I said immediately. “But I’ve heard a lot about it, believe me.
In fact…” I turned away, scanning the crowd, which was getting steadily bigger.
I could see the music manager taking her spot, I could see people jockeying for better positions.
I could even see…“Bryony!” I yelled the second I spotted her, rising up on my toes and waving.
“Cass?” she called, then started to make her way over to me, Emma R. following behind her. The other two Emmas, as expected, were bickering together in low tones, both looking miserable. “When did you get here? Why didn’t you text me?”
“I was about to,” I said, holding up my phone like it was proof. “But I knew you’d be here soon.” She took a breath, and I continued on before she could ask a follow-up. “But I wanted you to meet Bruce.”
“Hi!” Emma R. said, striding forward to wave at him. “I’m Emma.”
“Hello,” Bruce said politely, even as he was looking increasingly confused.
“This is Bryony,” I said, gesturing to her, and noticing that she was playing with her bangs again, which was all the sign I needed.
I knew now I hadn’t been imagining the sparks I’d felt between them earlier.
“I just thought you should meet, since you’re both Cereal fans.
” I saw them both clock the other’s shirt.
“Cereal, like for eating?” Emma R. asked, sounding baffled.
“It’s a podcast,” Bryony and Bruce said at the same time, then smiled at each other.
“Is it a murder podcast?” Emma R. asked. “Because those are the only ones I listen to.”
I turned to her. “Wait, really?”
She shrugged like this should have been obvious. “Of course.”
“How do you know Cass?” Bryony asked, looking up at Bruce and fussing with her bangs again.
“We knew each other in Seattle,” I said, jumping in before Bruce could.
“We were neighbors. Friends. And then…I wrecked everything.” I didn’t know I was going to speak the truth before I was saying it, and it just reverberated between us for a moment, like when a tuning fork finds the correct pitch.
“You—what?” Bryony asked.
I looked at Bruce and saw that his expression had softened a little. The hurt fury that had been on his face every other time we’d seen each other tonight was starting to fade.
“Okay, I’m going to need this story,” Emma R. said.
I took a breath to answer, just as the lights started to swirl and the announcer’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker. “Disney Grad Nite seniors and chaperones! Please welcome—all the way from jolly olde England—Eton Mess!”
I turned to the stage, feeling like my heart was in my throat. “Please,” I muttered under my breath. “Please, please.”
As before, I could glimpse Niall and Freddie backstage. But this time, I saw Niall hand Freddie his bottle of water right before they stepped out onstage, Niall slapping Freddie on the back.
“Hey there, seniors! Congratulations on graduating!” Niall yelled, the way he always did. But I wasn’t looking at him—I was focused on Alfie, who looked a little better than he normally did. “Are you having fun at Grad Nite?” Niall asked as Freddie took a drink of his water.
I glanced behind me and saw the manager, dressed all in black, her eyes fixed on the stage.
I turned back to the band, my eyes scanning all the members of Eton Mess—well, except for Tristram/Doug; he never seemed to be part of the problem—looking for indications that things might be going off the rails again, hoping this was the one time they wouldn’t.
“Chuffed to hear it,” Niall said to the crowd in his posh accent that I now knew was totally fake.
I remembered the coldness in his eyes and the startled look he’d had when we’d caught him with Freddie’s phone.
My eyes drifted to the bottle of water in Freddie’s hand—the bottle that Niall had handed him—and I started to get a bad feeling. “We’re Eton Mess, and we’re—”
As if on cue, Alfie clutched his stomach. “NO!” I said, louder than I’d intended. Many people in the crowd—including Bryony, Bruce, and the Emmas—turned to stare at me.
“You okay?” Bryony asked.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s—” But before I could continue, Alfie tried to run backstage.
Like before, though, he didn’t make it, throwing up onstage yet again.
The crowd around me reacted with horror, but I looked away from Alfie, my eyes focused on Freddie’s face.
I wanted to be wrong about the theory that had started percolating in my head, I wanted him to be fine… .
“Uh, sorry,” Niall said from the stage, his expression appalled. “We’re just having a little—Freddie?”
I realized I wasn’t even surprised as I saw the red rash creeping up Freddie’s neck, the way his eyes were getting puffy.
“Is this part of the show?” Emma R. asked, frowning. “Like performance art? I don’t think I like it.”
Freddie ran off the stage, and I turned around, knowing what I was going to see—the music manager leaving.
“Sorry about all this,” Niall said smoothly, with a wink to the crowd. “Maybe something a capella from me as my mates get themselves sorted?”
“What was all that?” Bryony asked, sounding horrified.
“It was betrayal,” I said, my heart heavy. Bryony, Bruce, and Emma R. just stared at me, baffled, and I started to back away, heading for the exit. “If you’ll excuse me…”