Chapter 24 Sabrina
I pace into school on Monday with my head down and the bow in my hair definitely drooping more than usual. I’m wearing my favorite soft pink sweater for armor, but not even its magic can disguise the bags under my eyes and the lack of color in my cheeks.
“Sabrina!” A freshman on the Spirit Committee runs up to me as soon as I pass the front office.
The posters of the football team still line the hall, and the sight of Tyler staring at me—stoic, but with that hint of softness to his gaze, the gentleness I’ve always seen there—makes my stomach tie up in a knot.
I fled Ryan’s house when things got tense. Just like I did when Dad’s secret came out, when he and Mom shouted louder than even my noise-canceling headphones could handle. When I knew it was all my fault, and maybe if I just kept my mouth shut, everything would have been fine.
My vision had tunneled in on Ryan’s angry face, my heart pounding so loudly in my ears, I couldn’t think straight.
Just like my parents’ fight six months ago, all I’d known was I have to go.
It wasn’t until I got home, white-knuckling the steering wheel all the way, that I started to breathe normally.
That I wondered if leaving Tyler to deal with Ryan alone was the best course of action, and felt a little guilty for abandoning him.
So, I texted, sorry to split. What’s happening? Should I come back?
But my phone stayed dark and silent as I sat behind the wheel of the car where we’d spent so much time together. And the longer I went without a response, the more uncertain I felt in the relationship that has been such a safe harbor this year.
“Sabrina?” I blink back to consciousness to see the freshman frowning at me. “You okay? If this isn’t a good time, I can—”
“It’s fine.” I paste a smile on my face. The last thing I need is to let the Spirit Committee down. “What’s up?”
The freshman—Ella, I think?—bites her lip. “Are you sure? It’s not exactly good news, and you look kinda stressed…”
“Ella.” I’m nervous now. “What is it?”
“The theater,” she blurts. “They had a huge plumbing issue this weekend. Flooded everywhere, carpet soaked, they’re going to need to close it for a few weeks to replace everything.
” Her eyes are wide and terrified. “They’ll probably contact you today, but my dad works there, so I wanted to give you a heads-up.
I figured you’d want all the time for a backup plan that you could get. ”
Bile rises in my throat. There’s only a week to the homecoming dance—what are we going to do? What else is available at this point?
My brain is all static, pushed over the edge by this latest disaster.
Ella coughs politely. “There is a backup plan, right? I have the cutest dress…”
My smile strains, and the knot in my gut gets tighter. “Of course. There’s always a backup plan. Even to the backup plan.”
Which is usually true.
Ella smiles in relief before waving goodbye, thumbs already working the keyboard on her phone as she walks away. My smile falls as soon as her back is turned.
What I wouldn’t give to drop a problem in someone else’s lap and just know it’ll all be okay.
Why would this freshman know I’m currently feeling like I’m held together by a thread as fragile as the ribbons in my hair?
Usually, I’m proud to wear a brave face and keep it all together.
But today I wish I could fall apart and trust someone will be there to pick up the pieces.
Another problem I need to fix, when I just want to hide from everything.
All I wanted to do this weekend was ask my mom if she could take a day off so we could do a rom-com and ice-cream night and I could confess everything into the soft nook between her neck and shoulder.
The way I used to do when I was little, before I started keeping my problems from her.
Honestly, the person I’ve felt most comfortable unloading to this year has been… Tyler.
My eyes sting embarrassingly as I turn the corner toward my first period. And that’s exactly the problem. I texted Tyler a million more times:
you okay?
what happened with Ryan?
can we meet up Monday morning?
He didn’t answer any of them, and I can’t stop checking my phone, and I am not normally like this. Is he freaking out? Because Ryan saw us making out?
I flush. I mean, he really saw us making out. But so what! I thought Tyler was a big, bad football player! He can handle a little embarrassment, right? Can’t he have one awkward conversation with his cousin?
Never mind that I’ve been very much avoiding any of those same awkward conversations.
I frown, only vaguely recognizing that people are waving and saying good morning to me as I weave through the halls. I wave back without caring who I’m waving to, stomach churning with anxiety, lost in spiraling thoughts.
Do I need to go over to the Thompsons’ myself to make peace with both of them?
The thought makes me want to vomit, but it might be the only path left.
God, how do I have that conversation without causing even more drama?
Is Ryan feeling totally betrayed? Is Tyler?
And what the hell am I going to do about homecoming? !
Then someone snags my elbow, and I spin around, heart in my throat. I’m half expecting broad shoulders and deep chocolatey eyes and the scent of eucalyptus, but instead it’s Marissa.
In a… trench coat?
I take a deep breath, trying not to look disappointed. And then I frown in curiosity. A trench coat is not her usual aesthetic, and I gotta say, it’s not her most flattering look. Is she trying something new?
“Morning,” I say, doing my best to smile. “What’s up—”
“Not here.” Marissa cuts her eyes side to side and drags me around the corner, toward the much quieter hall leading to the library.
My breath catches. This hall reminds me of grabbing Tyler by the hand and dragging him over to the reference books, and I shake my head to dislodge the memory of his fingers in my hair and his strong arms around my waist.
We’ll talk. Soon. And everything will be okay.
I take a deep breath. “What is going on?”
I half expect her to say something like, The walls have eyes, or There are enemies everywhere, based on how shady she’s acting. But instead she says, “I’ve been trying to figure out what went on at Tyler’s old school. Like you asked me.”
“Oh.” I blink, my brain hastily rescrambling.
I’d completely forgotten I even made that request, and I’m torn between rabid curiosity and a weird feeling of disloyalty.
Do I even want to know anymore, now that Tyler and I have gotten so close?
It feels weird to be poking around behind his back. But—
Marissa’s already talking. “So, I infiltrated some of the social media circles over there—”
I frown. “Wait, what?”
“Oh yeah.” She waves a hand in the air. “There’s a server in Brownsville where everyone goes by aliases anyway, so they can spill the tea without worrying so much.
Very Gossip Girl. Most people know who most people are, since they’re not so great at hiding it.
You can really tell based on the kind of info they drop, who they defend, that kind of thing.
So, I left enough hints that I was part of the Macie-Charlie-Briar crowd—”
“The who?”
“—mostly by saying some kinda catty things about Kayla, who stole Macie’s boyfriend, and defending Charlie’s really unfortunate haircut.
So, they thought they knew who I was, but all of that is easy enough to figure out on their public IGs, because they’re trying to be Brazilian Bum Bum Cream influencers or whatever. ”
All I can do is blink at her, flabbergasted. If I’d been scared of Marissa before, I’m absolutely terrified now.
“Anyway,” she continues with a shrug. “Standard deep-cover stuff. Woodward and Bernstein would’ve done the same.”
“Sure,” I say weakly. “So…?”
“So, then I spent a few weeks waiting for them to say something interesting. They talk a lot about who their school mascot might be. There’s a whole betting pool and scheme to unmask them. Which feels unwise, doesn’t it? What if the mascot was in the server among us? What if I was the mascot?”
“Come to think of it, I don’t know who our mascot is either…” I frown, then shake my head sharply. “Whatever. So, Tyler?”
“Right.” Marissa nods. “Well, things were pretty quiet about him, and I couldn’t figure out how to ask without blowing my cover, because anyone who was there last year would probably know, right? But this weekend, the rumor mill went nuts.”
She glances around to make sure we’re still alone. The halls are so deserted a tumbleweed could roll through them. And then she leans forward again.
“So, Tyler didn’t lie to you. He wasn’t expelled. But he was suspended last spring and asked to leave the football team.”
My eyes widen. “Why? What happened?” I can’t believe hardworking, team-spirited Tyler would do anything to warrant that.
“Physical altercation with a teammate,” she says crisply. I can almost hear the quotation marks. “This other guy, John Wilson, ended up with a dislocated shoulder. Really bad, lots of physical therapy over the summer.”
Tyler did that? I reel back in horror. He is big—he’s a lineman, he’s built to do damage—but he’d never. He’s never been anything but gentle and kind. I can’t believe he hurt someone on purpose.
Marissa’s spilling the rest of the story.
The one I asked her to track down for me, though now I’m beginning to regret the whole thing.
“John was supposed to be cleared to play this year, but apparently, he just had another shoulder injury related to the initial one Tyler caused. So now he’s out for the season, and people are saying he might even pursue legal action. ”
I can’t speak. Can barely breathe. Tyler? My Tyler? Hurt someone that badly?
It takes me a minute to come back to myself. When I do, Marissa’s watching me with a wince. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not good news.”
“It’s okay.” My voice is distant even to my own ears. “I asked you to find out the truth. It’s not your fault if I don’t like it.”
“Well, every good journalist knows there are two sides to any story…” Marissa frowns.
“Journalism is a discipline of verification, after all. You should probably talk to Tyler about it. Hear what he has to say. I’m all for exposing the truth, but I’m not trying to ruin anyone’s relationships without justification.
” She winces, and I remember her start-of-year resolution to be less judgmental, to see nuance, to be the best journalist she can be. “Again.”
“Yeah.” I nod, but I’m not seeing anything in front of me.
Because if even a part of this is true… Tyler lied to me, too.
It doesn’t matter, he’d said. But how could he say that? My vision blurs, my heart racing and gut clenching. I know the shock of the moment is getting to me, but I feel just as small and betrayed as I did when I found those messages from Dad’s coworker. He’d said There’s nothing to worry about too.
Between Marissa’s news, the fight with Ryan, and the silence all weekend, I’m at a breaking point. I don’t know what end is up, can’t find my way back to that magical moment outside the diner when I’d known what I wanted and everything else had seemed so inconsequential.
I was trying to steer clear of exactly this kind of drama this year.
And because I tiptoed too close to it, I’ve left myself open to be hurt by someone else who decided what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me.
It reminds me of a night full of screaming, turning up my noise-canceling headphones as far as they would go and still being unable to drown out the knowledge that the life I knew was cracking open beneath me.
Here I am again, finding out everything I didn’t know. And I feel pretty damn hurt.