I opened the folder as she walked away, a little confused about what she’d said. Inside was a paper that I instantly recognized. Hester’s Escape: An Analysis by Bianca Piper and Wesley Rush. In the top-left corner, Mrs. Perkins had scribbled our grade in bright red ink. A ninety-eight. An A.
I couldn’t help but beam at the paper. Had it really been only a month and a half since we’d written this in Wesley’s bedroom? Since the first time we’d slept together? It felt like decades had passed. Millennia even. I looked across the room at him, and my smile vanished.
He was talking to Louisa Farr. No, not just talking. Talking just involves the vibration of vocal cords, and there was way more than that going on. His hand was on her knee. Her cheeks were getting red. He was giving her his cute, cocky grin.
No! Repulsive grin. Since when did I think that display of arrogance was cute? And what was this weird twinge I felt in my stomach?
I looked away as Louisa started to play with her necklace, a definite sign of flirting.
Whore.
I shook myself, surprised and a little worried. What was wrong with me? Louisa Farr wasn’t a whore. Sure, she was a preppy cheerleader-cocaptain of the Skinny Squad-but Casey had never had bad things to say about her. The girl was just talking with a cute guy. We’d all done the same. And it wasn’t as if Wesley was taken or anything. It wasn’t like he was committed to anyone.
Like me…
Oh God! I thought, realizing what that twinge in my gut must mean. Oh God, I’m jealous. I’m seriously fucking jealous! Oh, shit!
I decided I was sick. I had a fever or PMS or something was severely impairing my mental stability, because there was no way in hell I’d be jealous that a man-whore like Wesley was hitting on someone else. I mean, that was his nature. The world might have actually stopped spinning if Wesley didn’t flirt with poor, naive girls. Why should I be jealous? That was ridiculous. So I must be sick. I had to be.
“Are you okay, Bianca?” Jessica asked. She swiveled around in her desk to look at me. “You look p.o.’ed. Are you mad or something?”
“I’m fine.” But my words came out through gritted teeth.
“Okay,” Jessica said. She was just as gullible as my mom. “Listen, Bianca, I really think you should talk to Casey. She’s kind of upset, and I think you two really need to have a heart-to-heart. Maybe today? After class?”
“Yeah… whatever.” But I wasn’t listening. I was too busy coming up with ways to mutilate Louisa’s perfect little face.
PMS. This was definitely just a bad case of PMS.
I got my ass out of that classroom the second the bell rang. My head would explode if I had to hear Louisa’s girly, oh-I’m-so-happy-you’re-flirting-with-me-Wesley giggle one more fucking time. So what if she was as thin as my pinkie and had boobs the size of basketballs! I bet she had an IQ of twenty-seven.
Stop it, I told myself. Louisa has never done anything to me. I have no right to think those things about her… even if she might be a moron.
I threw my stuff into my locker and ran toward the cafeteria, eager to escape the school building. I was so focused on not thinking about my PMS-induced jealousy that I didn’t even see Toby until I skidded to a stop about six inches from him.
“In a hurry?” he asked me.
“Sort of,” I sighed. “Sorry for almost running into you.”
“It’s not a problem.” He nervously played with his glasses. “But do you think you’d mind slowing down the pace? I’d like to talk to you.”
I wasn’t all that surprised. Toby and I had kind of gotten to be friends over the past couple weeks. We mostly talked in AP government, but you know, that was a definite improvement. Actually, I’d even become somewhat comfortable around him. While my heart still fluttered a little when he walked into the room, I no longer worried about losing my voice.
“Sure.” I said. At least it would give me something else to think about for a few minutes.
He smiled and fell into step with me. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked as we reached the cafeteria, where the student body congregated, waiting for the final bell that would dismiss them for the afternoon.
“Most of the time. Why?”
“Do you remember when I missed school a few weeks ago? The day after Valentine’s Day?”
“Uh-huh. I believe that was the worst day of Mr. Chaucer’s life,” I said. “I thought the guy was going to cry when he realized no one was there to do most of his job for him.”
Toby laughed-but only a small laugh-and said, “I was skipping school… well, for an interview.” He pulled a large envelope from the inside of his blazer and whispered, “I applied to Harvard. I just got my letter in the mail this morning.”
“Why is that a secret?”
His cheeks went pink in the cutest possible way. “I don’t want to be humiliated if I don’t get in,” he said.
“You’ll get in.”
“I don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“I wish I had as much confidence in me as you do.”
“Oh, come on, Toby,” I said seriously. “All great politicians-like senators and presidents-go to awesome colleges. You’re going to be a great politician, so they have to let you in. Besides, you’re one of the smartest kids in the senior class. You’re valedictorian, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Toby agreed, frowning at his envelope. “But… but it’s Harvard.”
“And you’re Toby.” I shrugged. “Even if you didn’t get in, there are a million other schools that would kill to have you. That doesn’t matter, though, because I know you got in. Do yourself a favor and open the letter.”
Toby stopped in the middle of the cafeteria and smiled at me. “See,” he said, “this is why I wanted you to be the one with me when I open it. I knew you’d be-”
I cut him off. “While I’m sure the next few words out of your mouth are going to be incredibly sweet, I’m one hundred percent aware that you’re stalling. Open the letter, Toby. Even a rejection is better than putting yourself through this hell. You’ll feel better if you just read it.”
“I know. I-”
“Now.”
He ripped open the envelope, and I realized just how odd this was. He was coming to me with this very personal thing. For support. For encouragement. Back in January, I never would have imagined commanding Toby Tucker to open his acceptance letter. I never would have imagined speaking to him, period.