Chapter 20 #2
“I mean… he’s cute. Obviously,” Lola continues. “He’s got that whole scruffy, brooding, stares-at-the-wall-too-long vibe. I’ve wondered about it, sure.”
“So if he ever made a move?” Aubrey taps her fingers against the arm of the chair.
Lola raises her eyebrows. “You mean, if he ever actually tried something?”
Aubrey nods.
Liz leans in.
“I’d shut it down,” Lola snorts.
“Why?” Liz asks. “You clearly like him.”
Lola turns her head toward Liz. “Because it’s Jace. He’s hot, yeah. And he lets me get away with shit no one else does. But he’s a fuckboy. The kind who chews girls up, spits them out and doesn’t even look back to see if they’re still standing.”
Her words hit harder than I expected. And suddenly I start thinking about Reece—about how he’s the same. The same swagger, reckless charm, and trail of broken hearts behind him.
“I don’t want to be that girl,” Lola adds. “One of many. No thanks.”
“You’re not the kind of girl anyone forgets,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. But she hears me.
Her mouth quirks. “Damn right I’m not. But still, it is better to wonder than to regret.”
Something about the way she says it hits too close, that sharp edge of honesty that sinks below my ribs.
Her words “Better to wonder than to regret,” loop endlessly in my mind as Lola kicks her socked feet up and yawns. Liz shoves popcorn into her mouth.
I lean forward, pick up my drink from the edge of the coffee table, and take a sip.
“So… apparently someone fucked in the library today,” Lola says casually, like she didn’t just light a fuse.
I choke. Full-body cough. Sounding like a dying cat with a nicotine habit. “What?”
“Dead serious.” Lola grins, absolutely thrilled.
Liz perks up, wide-eyed and eager for drama. “Oh, my god. Who?”
“That’s the thing,” Lola says, voice dropping low, eyes gleaming as if she’s about to leak state secrets.
“Shayleen told me someone got really loud in the library bathroom. You know, the ones no one uses behind the archive shelves. Apparently, it got loud. Like, full-on moaning and everything. But–”
She drags the word out, milking it for effect.
“She hasn’t a clue who it is. Yet.”
My stomach hits the floor. “Yet?”
“Yeah, apparently someone saw.” Lola leans in, eyes gleaming. “Shayleen said a girl walked right past as someone was leaving. She saw who it was. But she won’t say. Yet.”
The word hits me hard. My grip tightens on the silly flamingo straw until it bends slightly. I loosen it before anyone notices.
Liz lets out a gleeful cackle. “Oh my God, I hope it was that sleazy student who keeps snapping girls’ bras in the hallway. That boy deserves a public scandal.”
“Anyway,” Lola continues, “Shayleen’s on it. The girl’s got better instincts than a drug dog. She’d track your orgasm calendar if it meant breaking a story.”
I force a laugh, brittle and too quick. My heart’s still trying to climb out of my throat, and all I can think is: fuck.
Lola grabs a handful of popcorn and throws a few kernels at Liz. “I swear, though, if it turns out to be someone boring, I’m gonna be so pissed. This kind of gossip deserves a proper scandal. Give me a cheerleader and teacher. Or rivals from debate club hate-fucking between rounds.”
Liz cackles again. “Honestly, I’d believe it. That debate captain has big “let me dominate you in the archives” energy.”
They keep going, tossing theories and laughing like it’s nothing more than juicy entertainment.
But my pulse keeps racing, and the back of my neck prickles every time I picture Shayleen cornering the girl who saw.
“Did Shayleen say who the mystery witness is?” I ask.
“No. But she said the girl who saw it talks to her when her brother plays soccer. She has to come to games to cheer him on or whatever. Shayleen’s gonna corner her next match and drag it out of her.”
My heart stutters.
I know exactly who that is.
Tara Evans.
Always there on the bleachers with a coffee and a bad attitude, pretending to care about her little brother’s midfield skills.
She’s quiet. Observant. The kind of girl who notices everything and says nothing.
The girl who makes eye contact and holds it too long, as if she’s seeing all your dirty thoughts on a projector screen.
Fuck.
I glance at Aubrey. She’s gone still, eyes narrowed, like she is thinking.
“Tara,” she says quietly, confirming it.
Lola swings her head toward her. “You know her?”
“She’s in my art elective,” Aubrey says. “Barely talks. She sketches weird shit and watches people. She creeps me out a little, honestly.”
Liz perks up. “Maybe she’s the villain in this whole thing. You know, keeping her info close, waiting to make some power move.”
“Or maybe she’s just not a gossip,” Aubrey mutters.
“God, I hate waiting,” Lola says, throwing her hands up. “I need answers now. I need the scandal. And I definitely need to know who was getting their brains fucked out with Mrs. Clarke nearby.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat; no one notices. If Shayleen corners Tara and gets her to talk—
“Whoever it is,” Liz says, oblivious to my meltdown, “I hope they’re smart enough to deny everything. Honestly. Take it to the grave.”
“I don’t think Tara’s the type to gossip,” says Aubrey.
“She’s not,” Lola shrugs. “But Shayleen’s relentless. You all know how she gets when she smells a story. Tara won’t stand a chance if she puts pressure on her.”
“She might hold,” I say, but it’s half hope, half prayer.
“Yeah, well, I hope it wasn’t you in there, Aubrey, with Noah,” Lola teases, nudging her with her foot. “Or Shayleen’s gonna have your sex life printed in the school newsletter before Monday morning.”
They all laugh. I don’t; I simply smile.
The edges of my vision blur a little.
“God, but imagine if it was someone we know,” Liz says, eyes wide, practically glowing. “I’d die. Like, can you imagine if it was someone totally unexpected?”
Lola smirks. “Oh, you mean like you?”
Liz throws popcorn at her. “Shut up.”
Lola yawns and stretches. “Whoever it was, I hope they had fun. Bathrooms are gross. But like, we should all be living more. If it is someone we know, I want full details. You can’t just fuck in the library and not tell your girls.”
Liz lifts her glass. “To whoever the mystery bathroom slut is. May her grades stay high and her legs spread higher.”
They clink glasses.
I pretend to sip mine, pulse thudding hard behind my ribs.
Aubrey’s the first to pass out, her mouth slightly open, one leg kicked free of the blanket, toes twitching now and then like she’s fighting demons in her sleep or reliving blindfolded karaoke. It’s hard to say.
Liz goes next. She’s curled up in a nest of throw pillows, phone resting on her chest, still wearing that ridiculous rhinestone lip gloss.
Lola falls next. She knocks out quickly but dramatically, sprawling on her back with one arm over her face, hair everywhere, breathing deep and steady as if the chaos switch finally flipped to off.
And me?
I’m still wide awake.
I stare at the ceiling, eyes following the slow flicker of the string lights. They cast strange shadows on the walls—shapes that stretch, crawl, and whisper the same thing over and over: “You fucked up.”
Every time I close my eyes, my thoughts spiral. Not soft or gentle. Full tilt.
I roll onto my side, then my back, then my stomach. I feel too hot, too wired, too full of every unspoken thought. My body is exhausted, but my mind keeps pounding away.
Because what do I even say?
Hey, Lola, guess what? That mystery girl who got railed in the library today?
Yeah. That was me. Reece Wilson dropped to his knees and made me forget my name.
Also, he called me baby. Also, my pussy is still sore from where he fucked me the day before, and my head is completely fucked because I think I liked it way more than I should.
Nope. Absolutely not.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart still racing hours later. The room is quiet except for soft breathing and the hum of the lights, but inside my head, it’s loud. Messy. Dangerous.
I don’t move again. I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to save me but it never comes.