Chapter 7
HENLEY HOUSE
Inside, the house is dark and silent, except for a thin strip of light emanating from under Noelle’s door. I creep up the stairs to my room and snap on a lamp. The puddle of light it creates is shockingly bright after the darkness, and I blink hard and fast to adjust.
My reflection stares back at me from the full-length mirror on my closet door, dead-eyed and smeary.
The dress I changed into after the game is soaked through with sweat, and the knot of my hair is tilting off to the side.
Mascara is smeared across my face, and my eyes look startled and wide inside that raccoon mask.
I pick up my charger and plug it into the phone.
Even as I do it I think, This is a mistake, go to bed, don’t look, you can’t do anything, don’t even bother, but the idea of not having a phone is scarier than the idea of knowing every cruel joke.
It takes it a moment to cycle on. I know I need to go into the bathroom that connects my bedroom to Noelle’s, I need to clean myself up and take off all the makeup.
If I don’t, they’ll be talking about my gross pimply skin in addition to my murderous rage.
But I sit there, cradling the phone in my hand, waiting for it to boot up.
When it does, the first thing I see is a text from Jonah.
My fingers tense compulsively around the edges of my phone. What if he’s heard? What if he’s seen the rumors? What if he believes them?
But that’s not possible. For one thing, he lives in Houston. He doesn’t keep in touch with anyone else in town—at least, not that I know of. And for another, Jonah’s not the kind of person that would buy into some wild unfounded story.
At least I’m pretty sure he’s not.
There’s only one real way to find out, though. So I do it. I open the message.
He’s “hearted” the selfie I took.
That’s all.
I press the phone against my heart for a second. It seems suddenly absurd that I would’ve thought otherwise. The post, and all the comments, has me acting paranoid.
You still up? I type.
There’s no response for a moment. I get up and go to the bathroom to wash my face and comb my hair and change into my pajamas. It feels good. I’m still achy and exhausted but at least I’m not an actual mess anymore.
Though obviously some people would disagree.
When I get back to my bed, he’s replied.
Hey! How was everything tonight?
I sit down on the coverlet, chewing my lip. What can I even say to that?
For just a moment I consider the truth. If I’m the one who tells it, if I can make it obvious how ridiculous it is, he’ll have to believe me. He’ll be on my side. He’ll sympathize.
We met at summer sports camp. I was there for cheer, and he was there for tennis—so we spent most of our days practicing in triple-digit heat on the field or strength training in the weight room.
But I can picture him across the breakfast table with his easy grin.
I can picture him in the social room of the dorm, animated while he describes some movie I’ve never even heard of.
I can picture him at the camp dance, holding his hand toward me and waiting.
He’s not like anyone I know in Varda. Maybe it’s just that he’s not someone I’ve known my whole life.
Maybe it’s that he’s not someone who’s known me my whole life.
Finally, I reply.
Typical Varda party. Meaning we’ve got gossip to last us into the next few weeks.
Well, that’s true enough, anyway.
Another few minutes pass and a new set of images swirl through my mind: Sophie tonight, pulling me into her arms after seeing the Sekrit post, her sharp little body softening to hold me. Hayden shouting at a group of freshmen to take a fucking picture, it’d last longer.
Lynette. Always Lynette, never far from my mind. Her already blond hair bleached to the color of steam. It hangs around her shoulders like she’s in the process of evaporating. Like she’s boiling away to nothing.
My phone vibrates.
Gossip you say? Do tell. Anyone I know involved?
Below that, a gif of a man eating popcorn, eager to be entertained.
Jonah’s never been to Varda, but he knows Hayden and a few of the other girls from camp.
And he’s heard stories, of course. He knows about Sophie’s battles with her little brother and her obsession with her shih tzus and that she makes beautifully sculpted and decorated cakes for other people but that she never eats them herself.
He knows that Hayden’s personality is big and brash and warm and that she is afraid of snakes and that we all hate her boyfriend.
No, nothing really juicy, I finally say. Just people getting fucked up and saying stuff they’ll regret. What’d you do tonight?
There’s a short pause. Then the little dot-dot-dot of him typing.
I don’t know if you’re ready to hear about the wild nights of southwest Houston.
More little dot-dot-dots. Then a picture. Jonah sitting on a saggy plaid sofa with a chocolate Lab curled up next to him.
The photo makes my mind go drifty for a moment, all the tension I came in with suddenly swooning.
In the pic he’s wearing a plain gray hoodie and jeans.
I try to imagine the smell of that hoodie—warm and clean, with maybe a little bit of campfire to it.
No girl has ever wanted to claim a boy’s hoodie as much as I do in that moment.
Who’s your friend? I ask.
Heidi, he says. One brain cell rattling around in there, but a lot of heart.
Lucky Heidi. Cute, too dumb to be on social media, and cuddled up with a sweet boy. I must be exhausted, because the thought makes tears sting my eyes, and I cannot handle the idea of being jealous of a dog.
Brain cells are overrated, I type. I’m pretty sure I killed a bunch of mine tonight. I’m sure I won’t regret that tomorrow.
Make sure to drink some water before you go to sleep. Wish I could bring you some.
That sends a little shiver through me. I pull the covers up to my chin and rest my eyes, imagining that I’m there too, next to him on the couch.
Watching a movie while Heidi softly snores.
Nestling up to Jonah’s side. Far away from staring people and all their devices, from the streams of jokes and rumors and secrets and lies they send flying at each other every second of every day.
I drift off before I have a chance to reply to him, but as I do, I think how glad I am I didn’t tell him what really happened tonight. How glad I am that he is far away from all of this.
It’s better to keep it simple.
It’s better to keep a few secrets.