21. My Tears Ricochet
MY TEARS RICOCHET
I don’t know what I was expecting. For the rest of the summer, I hid inside my house with the shades pulled over my windows, blocking out the world.
I couldn’t even stomach being in my room.
Everything reminded me of Jase, so much so that I was actually relieved when the A/C stopped working in my room, forcing me to relocate to the guest bedroom on the other side of the house.
Still, some stupid, na?ve part of me assumed Jase would text at some point over the next month and a half, but it’s been radio silence on his end, and I won’t dare reach out to him, even if it’s only to blast him with a chain of expletives.
He deserves it, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing I care enough to be mad.
We hung out together for a month and kissed a couple of times. That was all. No big deal. Who would be clingy and neurotic enough to get all twisted up over something so simple?
Not this girl.
Nope.
He embarrassed and ghosted me. So what? As far as I’m concerned, Jase Rivers doesn’t exist.
And if I keep telling myself that, maybe I’ll eventually believe it.
Walking into school on our first day of sophomore year, I find my plans and composure blowing up like Mentos in a liter of coke. I’m not even through the front doors when someone lets out a wolf whistle. I look over my shoulder to see it came from Patrick, but thank God he’s not looking at me.
Nope, all eyes are on Jase as he pulls into the parking lot.
His birthday was just a couple of days ago, and it appears his parents changed their minds about a certain sweet sixteen present because he’s driving a car that sure as hell isn’t the hand-me-down BMW.
I don’t know much about classic muscle cars, but from what Jase told me, I can assume it’s a 1970s Chevelle since it’s identical to the model that Tom Cruise drove in Jack Reacher , save for the fact that it’s black instead of red.
It’s beautiful, and, of course, he looks perfectly at home behind the wheel.
He may be the embodiment of Tom, but right about now, I’m feeling a little more on the Carrie Underwood side because the urge to take a Louisville slugger to his headlights grows after having to watch Sienna climb out of the passenger seat.
I turn and head inside the building before Jase ever has the chance to see me amid the crowd of students, and I’m all too happy to discover that I don’t share First Period with any of the Untouchables.
I don’t really know anyone that well from the class, so I sit quietly in the corner, either jotting in my notebook or drawing little pictures in the margins at the top of the page.
Even though I may not be gossiping with the other girls, I’m still privy to the conversations around me…
And something’s going on.
Everyone’s phones continue going off throughout the hour, and two girls practically burst into tears before racing out of the room.
I chalk it up to your usual high school relationship drama until the bell rings.
Exiting the classroom, I honestly have to wonder if someone died.
More and more girls are crying, and they’re not your run-of-the-mill drama queens.
Mia from the debate team, Sophie from the neuroscience club, Prue from creative writing; they’re your average bookish sophomores, always really sweet, and all currently sobbing.
A field of red flags goes up in my mind as I also notice all of the popular girls congregating around Sienna’s locker, every last one snickering at the scene playing out in the hallway.
When a guy from the football team comes around the corner, one of the girls who ran out of class bursts into tears again and takes off down the hall away from him. The same word keeps circulating amongst the conversations, not making any sense given the context.
“Well, there she is.” Sienna’s sugary-sweet voice rakes over my skin like an ice pick, and I wish I had one so I could jam it in my ears just to escape the sound.
She begins to slow-clap, bringing the entire hallway to a standstill.
I keep my locker door open, using it as a shield to block her from view.
That doesn’t deter her, because I’m elbowed in the bicep hard enough to knock me off balance as Sienna uses her other arm to shut the locker in my face.
Still, she’s smiling at me as sweetly as a girl scout.
“I just wanted to say no hard feelings.”
Huh?
“We talked it over and figured a ‘finder’s fee’ seemed fair for the dogfight.” Sienna reaches into her purse and pulls out a wad of hundred dollar bills. “For your troubles.”
A chorus of laughter from the girls mixes with the groans from the guys as Sienna holds out the money to me. There has to be three thousand dollars in her hand, minimum.
I just stare at the stack like it’s a venomous snake, not moving. When she sees I’m not going to take it, she grabs the front of my shirt and shoves the roll of money down my collar.
“Maybe now you’ll have something to fill out that bra,” she snickers, flouncing past me.
I have no idea what’s happening, but every last eye in the hallway is on me, the expressions ranging from amusement to annoyance to pity.
One of the jocks begins imitating a dog, and within seconds, mock barking fills the corridor.
I struggle to shove my way through the crowd but eventually escape it as I take refuge in the first available bathroom, ducking into a stall.
When I hear “dogfight” mentioned for the fifth time, I have to pull out my phone to see if there’s some new slang definition I’m unfamiliar with.
It’s worse.
It’s a reference to an old River Phoenix movie by the same name, otherwise known as “The Ugly Date Contest.”
I don’t even have to look up the official rules to understand it, because a mass text message containing a screenshot of this very thing was sent out sometime during class.
Just like the dozen other girls out in the hallway, my eyes fill with tears as I read about this so-called challenge:
Gentlemen of Winterborn Prep,
We cordially invite you to an exclusive dogfight.
Buy-in is $1,000. The objective: Find the ugliest girl in our class and ask her out on a date.
She cannot be aware of the contest, and you must seal the end of the date with a kiss.
Contest ends August 16 th . Whichever lucky man bags the ugliest girl this summer wins the cash prize. Happy hunting!”
“I guess the football, basketball, and lacrosse teams were all in on it,” says a girl in front of the sink to her friend. “Makes sense now why Brendan was flirting with Jocelyn all throughout the Italy trip.”
I reach into my shirt and fish out the wad of money, counting out forty-five hundred dollars.
And this was just the “finder’s fee.”
My vision starts to tunnel as all of the pieces fall into place.
I want to crumple into a heap on the floor and sob. I want my outsides to match my insides, because the remnants of me that haven’t been shredded yet wither as an invisible hand reaches into my chest and crushes what’s left of my heart.
What Jase did when I showed up on his front porch, what he did by blowing me off for the rest of the summer…
it’s nothing compared to this. I made myself believe he was just too much of a coward to openly be friends with a dork like me, which already hurt.
But the reality? Now knowing that I mourned the loss of somebody who never gave two shits about me?
Knowing I mourned the loss of somebody who saw me as nothing more than a means to a bountiful end?
‘Hurt’ doesn’t even begin to describe the sensation building inside me. The longer I hold in my sobs, the more something else rises in my throat.
Rage.
The pressure fills my lungs, and I want nothing more than to release an unending, wordless scream until my vocal cords shatter.
My legs are still weak, I’m trembling, and I have to blink away the tears in my eyes, but I don’t care. I don’t care if he sees that he hurt me.
Because I’m going to hurt him.
Snickers and whispers follow me when I emerge from the bathroom as everyone provides a wide berth, like I’m a leper and my “ugliness” may be contagious.
Good. It opens up the hallway for me, so it’s easy to spot Jase down the corresponding hallway by the gymnasium.
Unsurprisingly, he’s talking to Trent as Sienna, Patrick, and Olivia come over to join their conversation.
Half the basketball team is there too, but I couldn’t give any less of a shit.
I’m already a public spectacle. Let’s see how Jase feels about having the spotlight forced on him for a change.
His back is to me, but the other Untouchables don’t miss my five-foot-nothing frame storming towards them. Trent’s smug expression transforms into an ear-to-ear smile as he nudges Jase in the arm, nodding in my direction.
A few of the other jocks let out howls and barks before Jase even has a chance to turn around, and the sounds have his spine locking up.
He seems to move in slow motion, and that perfect tanned complexion he sported back in the parking lot is nowhere to be found. All the blood appears to drain from his face to the point that he almost looks gray. “Ali…”
The sound of my name coming from him makes me bristle, and he doesn’t miss it.
Jase never calls me that. Always Birdie or occasionally Alley Cat. But never just my name.
Good to see he’s dropped all pretenses.
Before he can say anything else, I take the stack of money in my hands and throw it at his chest hard enough that the bills explode outward like a firework, raining down all around him.
And I’m reminded of that kiss on the pier, how I thought his smile looked like he just scored a championship touchdown.
More like I’d handed him a winning lottery ticket.
Because that’s precisely what I had been.
“Keep your finder’s fee,” I growl. “Consider using it as a down payment for a conscience, since you clearly don’t have one.”