Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
For once I’m on time to Bible, and the spot next to Izzy is open.
I slide in. “Hey, girl!”
She presses her lips together. “Sorry, I was saving this seat.”
“Oh. No worries. I’ll catch you later?”
She watches the door.
I brush it off and find another seat, but that afternoon I bound up the stairs to G3. Guess I’ve been neglecting my borrowed floor.
“Chicas!” I call to a group walking down the hallway. “What are you up to?”
Jenny breaks the awkward silence. “Hey, Sophie. I have to get some homework done. I’ll see you around.”
“No worries, girlie.” I smile, but it doesn’t land right on my face. “You okay?”
She sends a little nod and continues with her group, who send knowing looks.
Izzy’s daisy-embroidered backpack is in the floor lounge, but she’s not in there. I find her in her suite.
“Izzy! Up for a hang? Sorry it’s been a minute.”
She purses her lips.
“What? Why are you being weird?”
“Name-calling isn’t nice, Sophie.”
“I’m not name-calling. You’re mad at me? Why?”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Please just tell me why everyone is acting all”—not weird—“different.”
“I mean, you made your bed. Maybe literally. You’ve kinda been a homewrecker.”
“A what?” I choke out.
“You wanna do this? Fine.” One hand on her hip, another to count with. “First it was Leo who you stole from your own poor floormate. Well, ex-floormate.”
“Leo? Who could I have stolen him from?”
“Whoa. Let’s try to be civil, yeah?”
I look around. I don’t think I’m dreaming. It looks like normal G3.
“Then it was Chase and whatever happened there. Then you stole Davis Powell from Jenny—like, she was heartbroken. I hope it was worth it—”
“Davis?” I cut her off. “I talked to him at putt-putt once.”
She ignores me. “And then Austin Scott from Lily.”
“Lily?”
“Lily. D2. Don’t play dumb. They were super tight until you sabotaged her.”
“I didn’t sabotage anything,” I insist. “Austin asked me out. I was totally shocked.”
She sneers. “Uh-huh. They might think they like someone, but … they could be wrong.”
“Mean Girls?”
“I mean, you’re trying to be the Regina George of Mayberry,” she says. “Leo, Chase, Davis, Austin. Quite the ladder climb.” She tilts her head with malice. “Who will you steal next? Levi?”
My stomach rolls. Is that why the G3-ers haven’t invited me anywhere in weeks? Why Izzy doesn’t sit by me? Why Jenny replies with one-word texts?
And whoever thinks I stole Leo from her. I guess my floor is next to hate me. Zoe’s already on her way.
“It’s not like that,” I mumble.
The words barely leave my mouth before the memory hits—last semester, when I was mocking Kit. Not impressed, Levi. Try harder. My eyes fill at that memory in a new light. It’s not like that, she whispered. I was so jealous I couldn’t see straight. So convinced she lived a charmed life.
How long have I been doing this—assuming I get people, rewriting their stories around mine?
Kit said the same thing I just did. It’s not like that. I didn’t believe her either.
“I hope you understand,” Izzy says, the picture of diplomacy. “I just can’t be around you. It’s too much drama. Boundaries, you know?” And she disappears around the corner.
At lunch the next day, I channel my own wrecking-ball energy—a benevolent version—all the way to the A2-G3 tables.
Found him. “Davis.”
He quirks a crooked smile. “Sophie Appel, as I live and breathe.”
“Mind if we talk, uh, over there?”
His table goes quiet.
“Just have a quick favor to ask!” I singsong. “Carry on!”
He follows.
I spin around at a quiet-ish area of Saga. And … what now? I have no plan. I just want to fix things. Need to fix things. “You know Jenny?” I start.
“Sure,” he says, amused.
“She’s adorable, right?”
He lifts his brows. “Is that a trick question?”
I gasp. “She is! She totally is.”
“Girls never want you to compliment someone else. Just trying to stay out of trouble over here.”
“Oh. Right. Okay. I was just thinking that you’re really great, and …”
He squints. “You still with Scott?”
“Huh?”
“Are you still with Scott?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what are ya doin’?”
“What? No. I just—”
“You’re gonna get me in trouble talking all shady like this.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“See you around?”
“Yeah.”
“’Kay.”
After classes, I search G3 for Jenny and find a brick wall.
“I had no idea you really liked Davis Powell,” I say. “And I never went out with him for real, I promise. It was just that one night we hung out with the group.”
“Okay.” She doodles in the corner of her notebook.
“I just want to make sure we’re good.”
“Yep.”
“And the party that time, it was—”
“We’re good, Sophie.” But her cold, sad gaze sends a chill into the room.
The loss sits like a well-worn ache in my chest. Not much different than what I was raised on—keep it light, keep it together, and you’ll never get trapped. But this?
Feels more like a trapdoor than anything I’ve been dodging.