Sophomore Year #2
My eyes narrow as my knuckles rub against my jaw. What is she doing? Of all the words I expected to hear leaving her lips, those weren't them. Multiple hands shoot up, and I listen as the bidding quickly ticks up from interest.
"One thousand. Do I hear eleven hundred?" Her eyes scan the room, looking for more takers, until she says, "One thousand…and sold to Emma Morrison."
I cross my arms, believing I know exactly where this is going, until she announces the next item.
"Second item up for bid this evening is the chance to coordinate Legacy Trivia Night.
This isn't just some school dance; this is the fundraiser that keeps Ridgewood competitive.
Alumni fly in from across the country for this.
Win this bid, and you're planning an event that raises six figures, impressing people who actually have the power to change your future.
This would be incredible for your college application and even better for bragging rights.
Trust me, this one's worth fighting for.
Bidding starts at five hundred dollars."
My feet are moving the second the words "Legacy Trivia Night" leave her mouth.
That's all it takes to figure out what she's doing.
The winter formal alone is one thing, but now this?
One of the most time-consuming but biggest honors at Ridgewood.
She's not just auctioning off time. She's auctioning off her time. Time that would be spent with me.
I'm up the stage steps before I can think better of it, before Hollis can grab my arm, before anyone can stop me.
My hand reaches for the mic, covering the top. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Raising money," she says with a fake smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"I didn't approve this,” I say through clenched teeth.
"Maybe if you'd shown up yesterday—"
"What has gotten into you? Are you seriously that mad I asked you to help finish decorating?"
"We both know it's more than that," she says, as if her defiance should be obvious, as if I'm supposed to read her mind.
"Do we?"
Her jaw tightens. "I'm not doing this with you anymore. I should be president, not you."
The words hang between us for a moment. The crowd is starting to notice something's wrong, and whispers begin rippling through the room.
"Bidding starts at $500," she announces to the audience.
I lean into her ear. "You're right," I say.
"Excuse me?" She blinks, like I've just confessed to murder. "Twelve hundred. Do I hear thirteen?" She carries on like we aren't holding a very important conversation.
"I said you're right," I confirm it, watching her face.
She covers the mic. "So, you're admitting you cheated?" Then she removes her hand. "Do I hear fourteen hundred?"
"I didn't cheat."
"And now I'm bored. Get off the stage, Hale. We're done here."
I take the mic, ensuring I have her full attention. I cover it before saying, "You've been intent on making me the enemy since I arrived. Perhaps you should focus more on the company you keep. I'm a man of my word. If I say I didn't cheat, I didn't cheat."
Sure, I don’t hate being stuck with her, but I didn’t sabotage her.
I did the opposite. When I was campaigning on her behalf, as she requested, I stumbled upon a conversation outside the library.
Her so-called best friend and running mate was whispering with someone I couldn't see. Their voices were low, but I knew what I heard. ‘We have to make sure Asha doesn’t win this,’ followed by, ‘The plan is already in motion.’ That's part of why I went to Headmaster Trejo with a proposal to reseat the VPs running our tickets and automatically give the position to the losing candidate. I could have told her, but I knew she wouldn’t believe me, so I made my own moves and waited for her to discover what I already knew.
However, she’s been too busy painting me as the villain to see the knife aimed at her back from someone she actually trusts.
"And it wasn't you who put sugar in Penn's tank either."
The accusation hits like a slap, and my eyes widen in surprise as a glaring fact I didn't notice until just now makes itself seen.
She's here alone. That fucker went through all that trouble last night to make a scene in front of the entire school to ask her to homecoming, and now he's a no-show. Dick.
"That's what this is about? You think I fucked with your little boy toy?"
"I don't think. I know."
Her eyes hold mine, and someone in the crowd yells out, "Two thousand," reminding me we are in the middle of an auction.
"Two thousand, one hundred," I raise the bet into the mic before once again covering it to ask, "And how do you know that?"
"Someone saw you."
"Who?" My head tilts to one side, genuinely curious since I know exactly where I was last night.
I was tired and had amends to make with my feisty pen pal, so after the game, I went straight back to my room, flopped on the bed, and hit send.
Captive Audience: I'm sorry about tonight. You have no idea how much I want to be the hero in your story.
My pen pal and I talk more than our assignment requires, and I've admittedly become a fiend. This girl has me wrapped around her finger.
Academic Hostage: I'm not into heroes.
Captive Audience: Villains then?
Academic Hostage: Always the villain. What they say, they do.
Captive Audience: Is that an invitation?
Academic Hostage: I want it to be.
I pushed my head into my pillow with a groan as I bit my bottom lip hard and then poked my bare foot out from beneath the sheet, took a picture, and sent another text.
Captive Audience: Should I get dressed then?
Academic Hostage: It's only 10 pm! I thought I was the goody two-shoes in this relationship.
Academic Hostage: Will you be at the dance tomorrow?
Captive Audience: Yes.
Academic Hostage: Don't Lose Your Phone.
There was no way I was coming to this dance without it.
One, because she asked me to come, and two, because I'm ninety-five percent sure the dark, stormy eyes glaring back at me belong to my pen pal. Early on, she slipped in one of our very first text exchanges, mentioning an Indian dhol. I never said anything because I was new at school. It was possible that another student had the same ethnic background, but I did my research and read between the lines of every conversation since. It has to be her, which is another reason it’s been too damn easy to fall.
She may not want to break the rules, but I've never been a rule follower.
I'd shatter every last one to have her. Consequences be damned.
"Emma."
I let out a sharp laugh, tongue in cheek.
"Funny how the girl managing your campaign is the same eyewitness to my alleged vandalism.
Maybe you should be asking yourself why the person you trust always seems to have her hands dirty when it comes to you.
I have no motive to mess with Penn's car.
I beat him fair and square, and his girl spends her free time thinking about me. "
Her hand cracks across my face before I see it coming. The sound echoes across the now-silent dance hall.
"You're an ass," she breathes.
My cheek stings, but I don't touch it. Don't give her the satisfaction.
"Sold to Preston Hughes." I hand her back the microphone and rub the stubble lining my jaw.
"Always the villain," I quote the text I'm sure she sent to a nameless man I know she has feelings for.
Technically, I'm not breaking any rules.
I'm not giving anything away; I shouldn’t.
But if she is indeed the person I think she is, she'll hear my words for what they are.
Her glossy lips roll, a small crease forming between her brows when I lean an inch closer and add, "I'm not the one who let you wear that dress alone tonight. "
Her eyes flash with hurt, then fury, then something I can't quite read.
"For the record," I add, my voice dropping lower, "a little sugar wouldn't stop me."
She stares at me for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with barely controlled rage. As I turn to leave the stage, the entire hall is still quiet. My shoes echo against the stage floor, each step measured and controlled, even though my pulse is racing.
"Always the villain." The moment those words left my mouth, I saw it, that split second where her eyes widened, where the possibility crashed into her.
She'll spend tonight dissecting every word, every conversation, wondering if I'm him.
If the person she's been texting, the one she actually opens up to, has been standing in front of her this whole time.
I reach the stairs, my jaw still tight.
Let her wonder how I know about that text.
Let her replay this moment over and over, questioning everything.
She wore that dress for someone she thought cared enough to show up, but he didn't. And now she's realizing maybe, just maybe, the person who actually noticed, who actually said something, was the last person she expected.
She'll lie awake tonight thinking about me.
About us. About what's real and what's pretend in this war we've been waging.
We're enemies. We have to be. Because admitting anything else would change everything.
She'd have to admit she not only remembers me, but we'd have to talk about the day I'll never forget—one I'm still uncertain if she remembers or is determined to erase.
In the silence at my back, I can’t help but wonder if it’s all clicking into place. She won’t take it all back, but maybe she’ll extend an olive branch and end this nonsense auction. The girl I once knew would have.
"The last lot of time up for auction tonight is a week of private polo lessons from the star of last night's polo match, Trigger Hale. Bidding starts at five hundred dollars."
I shake my head. I should have known. Not an olive branch. No one wants my time.
Hollis is at my side before I make it to the exit. "The dance sucked anyway," he tries to make light of what just happened.
"You're not leaving with me. Stay." I hear someone actually bet on me, and I add, "Win that lot, and when you go to pay, put Asha's name on the ticket."
He runs a hand through his hair. "Trigg, she's my cousin.
I can't hurt her like that." My eyes hold his in silent challenge.
We've been close since I arrived at Ridgewood.
Out of people who truly know me, not just here but in life, he's one.
I shouldn't need to defend my character to him.
He should know without words that I wouldn't hurt someone he cares about, so I wait.
He concedes with an exasperated sigh before turning on his heel, and I exit the hall. Tonight, I gave her enough pieces to start seeing the truth. Tonight, I changed the game.