Chapter 9 #3
I recognized her immediately.
Only a few weeks prior, Molly had gone through a huge public breakup with a guy from the debate team.
It was all anyone could talk about for weeks.
Not because the students of some suburban high school truly cared about what some guy on the debate team did in his spare time; and definitely not because Molly was especially popular—far from it, actually; emo princess that she was.
Rather, the explosive argument they’d had in the main hall was so intense, such a performance, that I swear the admin staff were making bets on whether it was staged or not.
The drama teacher even offered Molly a role in the department’s upcoming production of A Streetcar Named Desire. She declined, but that’s beside the point.
The point is that Molly always knew just how to make people pay attention when she wanted them to.
It was intimidating, as a sixteen-year-old.
She was everything I was too afraid to be, and so my instinct was to just ignore her.
When the Camera Club teacher started addressing the eclectic group of students gathered in front of him at our weekly meeting, Molly made a snarky comment under her breath about him.
I thought it was rude and disrespectful, so I rolled my eyes and scoffed, angling my body away from her.
From then on, I tried to avoid her. If she made a passing comment to me, I kept my reply distant.
A few weeks later, though, she stopped me on my way out of Camera Club, pulling me into an alcove.
“What’s your problem?” she sneered, one hip jutted out, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was pink this week.
“W-what do you mean?”
“You’re such a fucking ice queen every time I even try to talk to you in there,” she snapped, a single blond brow arched higher than I thought possible. “What did I do to deserve it?”
I shrank under her glare. I mean, what was I supposed to say? That she terrified me? That I was in awe of her? That I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hate her, or be her?
“I…I don’t…know. Nothing, I guess. I…sorry,” I barely managed to mumble. She peered at me, eyes slightly narrowed, as she contemplated my weak answer.
“Well, stop it,” she said, with a shake of her head. Then she held out her hand. “I’m Molly. I want to be your friend, so stop ignoring me.”
I couldn’t help myself—I laughed. “Why?”
“Why?” Somehow, her brow arched even higher as she repeated my question, clearly confused.
“Yeah. I mean, why do you want to be my friend?”
“For the same reason your first instinct was to ask ‘why,’” she replied with a smirk, leaning in to grab my hand where it hung at my side. She shook it firmly. “Don’t question it, weirdo. Just accept it. Also, I’ve heard you blaring The Offspring when you’re on the bus. You have good taste.”
I remember feeling bright, under her gaze. Important. Seen.
And that’s how Molly forced her way into my life.
My heart clenches at the memory, and I blink a few times, refocusing my attention on the conversation in front of me.
Demi is asking Molly a series of questions about what she likes about some of the guys, and Molly is listing several contestants so Demi can bank answers, to have on hand based on what might happen throughout the day.
Most of this won’t get used in the episode, but it gives the director enough to work with when they’re piecing episodes together.
Finally, Demi gets back to asking situational questions.
“Today, we’re heading into Athens to check out the Acropolis and the Parthenon. Only half of you will be going, and the other half will be staying on the ship. If Duncan isn’t in the same group as you, who would you most like to hang out with?”
Molly takes a moment to consider her answer, chewing the inside of her cheek and then humming prettily before speaking.
I realize that she’s doing it on purpose—pausing before answering, providing facial reactions instead of jumping into her answer right away.
Either Demi’s been coaching her, or Molly’s done this before.
“I’d be pretty bummed if Duncan wasn’t in my group, if I’m being honest.”
“Why’s that?” Demi asks, contrived sincerity dripping from her tone.
“I can tell Carly is trying to get her claws in him, and I’m not the type of girl to play nice when I want something.”
I can practically feel Glen’s excitement from where he stands, his lips curling up into a devious little smile.
That line was perfect. No wonder they want to push Molly into villain territory.
I know I have real-life evidence of her being a two-faced liar, but I can’t deny that she really does play the part particularly well for the cameras.
“Say that again, but instead of saying ‘him,’ can you say his name?” Demi asks, catching Glen’s expression.
Molly repeats herself once, then clears her throat and speaks the line again, but with a different inflection.
Demi grins, then asks, “If he isn’t picked, what would you do?”
“If Duncan isn’t picked…” Molly muses, repeating Demi’s question expertly. “I guess I could talk to William a bit more? He seems like a cool guy, although I don’t usually date jocks.”
Demi nods, like she’s trying to relate. “Totally. Do you think you could find love with someone you wouldn’t usually date?”
Molly pauses for a moment to think, looking at Probably-Mark, then Sora, then finally resting her gaze on me.
“Oh, I don’t know…I think people are generally exactly who they show you they are.”
Her tone remains as smooth as honey, but there’s an edge to it, and I bristle. The line feels like it comes out of nowhere, leaving me feeling a bit taken aback.
“What do you mean?” Demi presses, her head cocked to one side.
“I learned a long time ago that even the best people can turn out to be assholes in the end,” Molly says, returning her attention to the camera. “So, why would I lower my standards, or change who I surround myself with, when I can be specific? When I can be explicit?”
Demi and Glen exchange a look, as if realizing they’ve missed something.
But I’m not confused. It feels like her message is aimed directly at me.
I already know she hasn’t moved on from what happened between us, based on her icy tone earlier and the look she gave me when we first caught sight of one another.
But her answer here reveals more of what she’s feeling. She’s angry. And I have no idea why.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I clear my throat. Heads swivel toward me, Molly’s included.
“So, what you’re saying is you’re that good at judging a person’s character without even talking to them? Just by looks alone? Isn’t that a little shallow?” I ask.
A wry smile tugs at the side of her mouth.
“I’m not shallow, I’m ruthless.”
“Ruthless, eh?” I snicker dryly. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Call me dramatic. Call me a bitch. I don’t really care what anyone thinks. I’m not going to apologize for who I am. I did, once upon a time. But never again.”
Our eyes lock, anger heating Molly’s gaze.
A moment passes.
Neither of us blink.
Finally, Demi claps her hands, breaking us out of our uneasy standoff.
“I think that’s good for now, Molly. You can go.”
Molly gives Demi a curt nod and stands to leave.
“By the way,” she says casually, addressing the room, “if Duncan is on that excursion today? Then I will be, too. I’m going to change into something more comfortable, and if there isn’t a knock on my door to escort me to the dock alongside Dunc, then I’ll spend the rest of the day in my room.”
Shoving past Sora and nearly knocking her over, Molly sweeps out of the room, the junior PA scurrying after her as the door swings shut behind them.
As I stand in stunned silence, it seems increasingly clear—lying low, with a viper like Molly on the ship, is going to be nearly impossible.