Senior Year #3
Oh, I'm worried, but not for the reasons she thinks.
I'm worried because of what I am confident is ninety-nine percent true, and what that means.
Going home was already going to be hard, but if what I think is true is real, going home is going to be that much more complicated.
But the stress etched across my face right now isn't for the man behind the mask.
It's for the conversation I've been saving for her.
She thinks I don't know every way she's crossed me since freshman year. Time’s up.
"Why did you throw out my ballots for president freshman year?" I ask, raising my gaze from my dress to her eyes.
Her face pales, confirming my words are true. "How long have you known?" she asks quietly.
Looking back, I should have figured it out sooner.
I had suspicions after the election. Too many people mentioned voting for me without being asked, and I even heard two students talking about how Trigger had threatened them if they didn't cast a vote for me and not him.
The problem was I couldn't put together where things had gone wrong.
It wasn't until I was on that stage with Trigger, watching his anger hit its boiling point, that I not only heard his words but believed them.
After homecoming, I stole the security camera footage from voting day.
There it was: Emma picking the lock on the ballot boxes, sorting through them, and stuffing her backpack with votes cast for me before continuing onto Headmaster Trejo's office to count the ballots.
"Since sophomore year," I say with indifference. Her betrayal means less to me than the reason why. I’ve never been able to make sense of her reasons for going behind my back.
Emma nervously runs her hands down the front of her dress. "It's not what you're thinking. I mean, I know this looks shitty, but—"
"Nothing is ever as it seems," I agree. I learned that at a very young age. "But you're wrong. It doesn't look shitty; it is shit. You completely betrayed me."
"I know," she whines. "But it's only because I was trying to get closer to you.
" I narrow my eyes, not following her train of thought.
"I was running for vice president, and when you lost, I was planning to step down and give you my seat, but Trigger ruined my plan by going to Headmaster Trejo and making a case that whoever lost their campaign for president would automatically become VP.
" She lets out a sigh of annoyance. "You realize his petition fundamentally changed how elections would be handled going forward.
He argued that candidates who demonstrate enough dedication to run for presidency should be rewarded for their commitment to the student body.
" She rolls her eyes as if the whole argument is preposterous, and a small smile tugs at my mouth.
For the first time, I see what I thought was a power play by Trigg in a different light. I think Trigger suspected foul play in the election, but he didn't have proof, which is why he presented his case to Headmaster Trejo.
"Do you really see it that way, or are you just mad your plan failed? The way I see it, his proposal doesn't leave motivated students without any role."
"I ran for VP. It should have been mine." She shakes her head, the loss clearly still leaving a sour taste in her mouth.
After the election, she didn't lose her spot on the council, but Trigger didn't assign her an officer role. Instead, he gave her a representative role as student council historian.
"That's all history now. You asked me why I did it, and that's what matters.
My intent was never malicious. I only wanted to get closer to you.
I wanted to be someone you could trust, someone you could count on.
" She shrugs. "We'd only just become friends back then.
In hindsight, it was a terrible idea and incredibly selfish. If I could take it back, I would."
While I don't agree with her methods of forming friendships, I've known her long enough to recognize when she's being sincere. Her explanation borders on psychotic, but it's her truth.
"Can you forgive me?" She perches on the corner of my bed, her silver heels dangling just above my cream carpet. She won't look at me.
"Perhaps, if it was the only time you had betrayed me, but I think we both know that was only your first." The words taste bitter on my tongue. Her eyes widen, genuinely surprised, as if she hadn't cataloged every lie herself.
"I thought since I was here, I was forgiven for helping Eldridge convince you he was your pen pal." Her voice shrinks.
I flip over my phone to check the time. Have I forgiven her?
Forgiveness is given when someone decides to let go of resentment or a desire for vengeance.
I can't say I harbored that. If anything, I was hurt.
Through all of this, I kept her close because that's what I've been raised to do.
It's smart to know your enemies. But I haven't wanted vengeance.
I just wanted answers, and she still owes me a few.
"I'm not talking about Eldridge. I'm asking about Penn Hadley." My reflection stares back at me from the mirror across the room.
She's quick to stand and give me her back. "What did he tell you?" The question comes out defensive, already armored.
That's not the reaction or the response I saw coming. Penn Hadley didn't tell me anything. I never spoke to him after I caught him kissing another girl at the polo match. There wasn't anything to say. There's no coming back from that.
"I know it was you who poured sugar in his gas tank the night he asked me to homecoming," I admit, not wanting to give her too much but starting from the beginning.
She was acting strangely that night, and after Penn's grand proposal, I chalked up her weird behavior to keeping his secret, but now I know it was more than that.
She turns around, her fingers twisted up.
"That night, when the team arrived, I went to visit Philip, and when I walked up, I heard Penn having a conversation with one of his other teammates.
He was telling him about his plan to ask you to homecoming, so I hid in the shadows with a big smile on my face, but then I heard his friend ask about another girl.
Penn's response was, ‘That's the beauty of dating girls from other schools. You don't run the risk of them finding out about the other.’” Her eyes are full of apology when she looks at me.
"I was so mad. That's why I poured the sugar in his gas tank. He lied to me too."
"Why didn't you just tell me?"
She had so many opportunities to come clean, but instead she kept quiet. The silence in my room feels suffocating, broken only by the sound of laughter outside as other girls leave for the dance with friends who haven’t lied to them.
"I thought you'd be done with him after he stood you up for homecoming. Asha Fairfield doesn't keep a guy who doesn't find a way. Hell, he could have called an Uber, but he didn't." She shrugs, casual, like my humiliation was just a minor inconvenience in her master plan.
My jaw tightens on instinct, hating how stupid he made me look. But she played a role in that by never telling me the truth.
"Okay, I understand why you did what you did that night, but what's your excuse for letting things play out for the next year?
If you were truly my friend and had my best interest at heart, why would you let me date him?
I never would have kept something like that from you.
" I'm off the bed, anger slowly bubbling.
"I wouldn't keep that kind of information from my worst enemy. "
"After you took him back and things went so well on your first date, I didn't want to ruin things.
I didn't want to be the girl who introduced you to the devil.
I was the one pushing you to him. It was my idea for the two of you to meet.
My boyfriend and your boyfriend were best friends, and we were friends.
That was always supposed to be the plan. "
"But we weren't, not really, because a friend wouldn't keep something that ugly from me."
"I know that now, but I didn't then. It's partially why I helped Eldrige.
I knew you had some kind of special connection with your pen pal.
I hoped that the connection might grow stronger than the one that existed with Penn.
I knew my brother really cared about you.
I tried to make it right. I just did it in all the wrong ways. "
"You could say that again." I exhale my annoyance as I start pacing the beside the bed, breaking in the new heels I bought for tonight.
The room feels smaller now, the walls closing in with each revelation.
I stop pacing and face her, really look at her.
The worst part isn't even the lying; it's the arrogance of it.
She genuinely believed she knew better than me what I could handle, what I deserved to know about my own life.
She played puppet master with my relationships, my trust, and my heart and convinced herself it was all about friendship.
"At the core of every lie was your unwavering desire to be my friend. Tell me something, Emma. Why do you want to be my friend?"
That's the question. That's the root of all this betrayal. Friendship, but why? What does she believe she'll gain?
Her eyes drop to my dress, the telltale sign of a lie. "I didn't know I needed a reason."
"A normal person wouldn't, but I think we both know that the lengths you went to in the pursuit of gaining my favor meant you wanted more."
"Fine. I really do want to be your friend, but I also hoped you would help me get into the class your father teaches once every two years at the University of Louisville." She forces the confession out, as if it physically pains her.
That's unexpected. My father's class? He's not even a professor. He's a guest lecturer—at best, an adjunct professor. Every two years, he teaches an advanced course in Equine Entrepreneurship.
"Why?" The question comes out flat, disbelieving.
"Everyone who takes his class has gone on to land major jobs in the equine industry. I'm talking top-five breeders in the US and France, as well as management positions at all the major US tracks,” she rushes through the explanation.
I nod, staring down at the floor as the information settles. I hadn't done that much research on my father's classes. I had no idea those stats existed, but it doesn't surprise me. My father is a smart businessman. It's the dad part that could use some work.
"I think you should go. I'd like to finish getting ready alone." My voice is ice now, controlled and distant.
"Asha—" She reaches for me, her hand trembling in the space between us.
I hold my hand up to stop her, building a wall with just a gesture. I don't have anything else I care to say. School is over, and while I may have once called her a friend, we were never really friends at all. There's no reason for me to stay in touch. I just want her to be done.
"I won't put in a good word for you. I think we both know you don't deserve it.
" I let my gaze slowly trail up her gown before finding her face.
"But I won't hinder your chances either. My father knew about our friendship. If you get into that class, it will be on your own merit, not because of any words I give him.”
She swallows hard, and I can practically see the pieces falling into place. If she'd take a second to think about it from my perspective, she'd realize I actually went easy on her. I don't need to be the one to make her pay for what she did. Karma has a way of handling that stuff on its own.
"Thank you," she whispers, the words barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
I don't respond. Instead, I turn back to my vanity, picking up my brush with deliberate precision. In the mirror's reflection, I watch her hover uncertainly in the doorway, caught between leaving and staying, between apologizing again and accepting defeat.
Finally, she moves. Her heels click against the hardwood floor until she reaches the door, opening it softly. "Asha?" her voice wavers from the threshold.
I don't turn around. "Close the door on your way out, Emma."
The latch clicks shut with a finality that echoes through my chest.
Silence rushes in to fill the space she left behind, heavy and somehow cleansing.
I reach for the silver masquerade mask laying on my vanity, running my fingers along its delicate curves and the small crystals embedded along the edges.
Tonight isn't about Emma, or Penn, or any of the lies that have been building around me like walls. Tonight is about something real.
My pen pal.
The one person who's known me without agenda, without pretense, without anything to gain except my thoughts and my words.
We've shared secrets Emma never earned, dreams Penn never cared about, and fears I've never spoken aloud to anyone else.
And tonight, at midnight, when the masks come off in the center of the ballroom under that ridiculous chandelier the prom committee spent three months installing, I'll finally know who he is.
My heart does this strange flutter-kick thing it's been doing all week whenever I think about it. We agreed, 11:30, the hallway behind the stage, no masks. No more hiding. No more carefully crafted texts or deliberately vague descriptions. Just truth.
One story may have found its close, but I can't help but feel like another one, a real one, is just starting.