Chapter Thirty-three
It’s a dreary December afternoon in French III. This is the only class Jenna and I have together this semester, but she hasn’t even made eye-contact with me since we came in. It’s weird, but it seems to confirm the strange vibe I’ve been getting from her all week.
It’s a small class, since most people only take two years of foreign language, and we’re spread out enough that I don’t worry that anyone will overhear our conversation, as long as I keep my voice low.
“Jenna,” I whisper, leaning across the aisle. “Is everything okay?”
She looks over for just a second before her eyes return to the top of her desk. “Sure. Why?”
“Have you been avoiding me?”
“No. I’ve just . . . I’m busy. You know.”
Jenna bites her lip. She won’t look at me.
“Jenna, did I do something? If I did, I’m sorry. Just . . . will you please tell me what I did?”
When she finally looks up, I’m shocked at the betrayal in her eyes.
“I don’t know what you did, Faith.” Her brow furrows. “But my mom does. Or she thinks she does. I don’t know.”
What? “That doesn’t make sense. What are you talking about?”
Jenna licks her lips. Her gaze meets her desktop again. “Look, my mom doesn’t want me to hang out with you, okay? Not that we hang out that much anymore, anyway.”
“But . . . why?”
“She thinks you’re a bad influence on me.”
Oh . . . oh, no.
“I let Cole come over when they weren’t home,” she whispers, leaning close so no one else will hear. “My dad came home early, and . . . bad timing, you know?”
“You mean you . . .”
She scoots her desk closer to mine. “Not . . . totally. But far enough that I didn’t exactly want my dad to walk in!”
“Oh.” Wow. “Are you okay?”
“Grounded.”
“Okay . . .” Not what I was asking, but . . .
“I guess your mom called my mom a while back. She was worried you were pregnant.”
“But you know we never did anything.”
She shrugs.
“Ever.”
“There was that condom in your bag last year.”
“That was Gretchen’s!” I hiss. Is she serious? “Come on, Jen! You know me better than that.”
“I thought I did.” Jenna’s eyes are filled with accusations. “But my mom made some good points actually, that made me wonder if maybe you didn’t tell me everything.”
I can’t believe this. I can’t . . . believe this. “Like what?”
“Like how when you were with Noah, you acted like I didn’t exist until you needed an excuse to meet up with him.”
I can’t deny it. I didn’t know I was doing it at the time, though. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, whatever. And I know what you told me about the condom, and about why your mom made you go to the women’s clinic, but .
. .” She shrugs and looks away. “I mean, how many times did you ask me to lie so you could be with him? You lied to your mom. You used me to lie to your mom. Why would it bother you to lie to me, too?”
My eyes slide shut. “Because you’ve been my best friend since elementary school.”
“Have I?” Jenna’s jaw twitches. “Because the way you were with Noah, I think maybe he took my spot.”
“Is that what this is about?” My jaw drops. “You’re jealous of Noah?”
“No, Faith. Noah is gone. This is about me not knowing if I can trust you. I don’t even know if I know you anymore. We’ve changed. We’ve grown apart. I mean, really . . . what do we have in common? Nothing.”
When she meets my eyes, her expression is one I’ve seen many times through the years, but never before has that look been directed at me. Not seriously.
“My mom made a really good point when we were talking about this last night.”
I don’t think I want to know, but I have to ask. “What’s that?”
“She said you seem awfully attached to Noah Spencer for someone who claims to have never gone past first base.”
What is she saying?
“There’s a private women’s clinic in Sommerton. Geez. I mean, your dad’s a doctor at the hospital, too. And as far as privacy goes, there’s that hypocritic oath or whatever. They have to keep things private.”
Hippocratic, she means, and it’s not really about privacy, but I don’t correct her.
“So why would you go that far unless something happened and you wanted to make it . . . you know, go away?”
I . . . I can’t . . . How could she think . . . ?
She’s supposed to be my best friend. We have history. She knows me. She knows I would never . . .
“Jen.” Cold spirals through me. “I told you everything. I wasn’t . . . I never . . .” When I inhale, everything shakes. “I’m sorry I asked you to lie for me about Noah. That was wrong.”
And I did apologize. Months ago. Before Noah ever left.
“But I never lied to you, Jenna. Noah and I never—you know. Mom made me go out of town because she didn’t want anyone to recognize me at a local clinic.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “Or maybe you’ve just convinced yourself that’s what happened. Blocked it out or something. Maybe you feel guilty, and you’re in denial.”
“You think I could just forget it if I had sex? If I got pregnant and—”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She crosses her arms and blows a puff of air up toward her bangs. “Or maybe you’re more like your sister than I thought you were.”
Jenna could have punched me in the gut and shocked me less. In the throat, and I could more easily breathe. But this?
Anger, disbelief, and betrayal dot my vision. “You know, my sister might be a lot of things, but at least she’s loyal.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk about loyalty.”
“Fine. But explain to me exactly how you getting caught with Cole became about me and Noah? How can you just sit there, acting all offended, making accusations against me, when you’re the only one of us actually doing the deed?”
“Mademoiselle Prescott. Mademoiselle Slade.”
We look to the front of the classroom.
“Do you two have something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”
“No.” Jenna’s response sounds like it’s coming through two rows of teeth.
“No, Madame Danforth,” I answer, but by the shocked, slightly predatory looks on my classmates’ faces, it seems I already have.
A cold rush of dread paints a line across my neck.
“Jenna,” I whisper later, when we’re told to partner off for dialogue. “Jenna, I’m—”
“I’m partnering with Paige. Right, Paige?”
“Uhhh . . .” Paige looks back and forth between us. “I guess?”
“Jenna, I just—”
“Don’t talk to me.”
For the rest of the class period, my eyes keep straying toward the clock.
When the buzzer rings, I try to catch Jenna so we can talk, so I can apologize, but she shoves by me and won’t let me get a word out.
After I get my phone back, she doesn’t answer my calls.
She won’t respond to my texts.
She’s blocked me on all the socials.
We’ve more than drifted apart. After what she said and what I said and how it was overheard . . . I’m not sure our friendship can be saved.
I’m not sure I want it to be.
Gossip has always moved through our school halls like wildfire.
What I said too loudly was both match and gasoline.
Still, I don’t expect the extent of the fall-out from my overheard words—which is but a spark, eclipsed by Jenna’s quite successful attempt to smokescreen my unintended announcement with lies—and carefully tainted truths—about me.
Like a virus dancing across a world without soap, the rumors involving me and a women’s clinic mutate as they spread, killing what little of my friendship with Jenna might have been salvageable, as well as my reputation as one of “the good girls” in the small town of Kanton, Iowa.
My life constricts.
And yet . . . two words flutter like whispers in my soul, sustaining me through the spring.
Hold.
On.