If I'm Being Honest Page 20

  The horrible realization drops onto me, and the air rushes from my lungs. He thinks I kissed him because I’m still trying to turn him popular. But it wasn’t that. Not at all. I did it because of what I feel for him. But it wasn’t real for Brendan. If he can’t even consider that it might’ve been real, I have to think he feels nothing for me. I’m not even a possibility.

  I’m just the girl trying to make up for the shitty things she did.

  “I don’t know how you predicted kissing me would reverse six years of being a nobody,” Brendan says. “It did, though. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say, my voice hollow.

  “Hey, I’ve got to go study. My dad’s walked by my room three times with increasingly pointed glares at my SAT book,” he says with a laugh, obliviously chipper. “We’re still on for Grand Central Market Friday, right?”

  The mention of our plan hits me harder than I would’ve expected. Definitely not a date, then. I don’t know how I convinced myself otherwise. I want to cancel—except I can’t without explaining why.

  “Yeah. Friday,” I repeat as if his words have echoed through me, leaving nothing behind.

  * * *

  In an hour, I’ve showered from my run after school and am working on my Shrew paper when there’s a knock on the front door. I hear my mom greet Deb, and I remember it’s Monday. I was going to run with Andrew today. I completely forgot, caught up in the drama with Elle and now the jarring conversation with Brendan.

  Guiltily, I walk into the hallway, damp hair hanging over my shoulder. Andrew catches sight of me past his mom, who’s chatting excitedly with mine.

  His eyes linger on my wet hair. “Guess we’re not running today,” he says, the dimple in his cheek dancing with amusement.

  I reach for a witty reply and find nothing. “Yeah, sorry,” I say instead. “Do you want to do homework?”

  The humor fades from his expression. “Sure.” His voice is light with what sounds like forced nonchalance.

  I return to my room, feeling frustrated and off-kilter. He follows me, and for the next half an hour, we work halfheartedly on homework. In an effort to act normal and not like a totally distracted zombie, I ask him how his first game went. When we head to the dining table for dinner, the Chinese takeout my mom picked up down the street, I try for the thousandth time not to think of Brendan. It doesn’t work, and for the entire meal he, and the kiss, and the horrible phone call we just had play on repeat in my mind. I utter only a handful of words, and in an hour, Andrew and I are back in my room.

  Picking up my copy of The Taming of the Shrew, I flip unenthusiastically to act 3. I really have to finish a draft of this essay.

  “What are you writing about?” Andrew asks, nodding at the book in my hand.

  I blink, fighting to remember exactly what I am writing about—to remember anything except Brendan’s hands on my hips, pulling me closer. “Katherine’s character arc,” I get out. “You?”

  “I don’t know,” he replies thoughtfully. “Maybe the role of wealth in romance and marriage.”

  I nod, not having anything more to say, and return to the play. Neither of us speaks for a few minutes. I will myself to focus on Kate resisting becoming Petruchio’s bride.

  “Did you have fun at Rocky?” Andrew asks out of nowhere. “Paige told me she had a great time and that you brought Elle to do everybody’s makeup.”

  It throws me that Andrew’s bothered to ask another question. I’m really not in a talkative mood, and usually Andrew isn’t either. I don’t understand what’s gotten into him, why he’s picked today to play twenty questions instead of doing our homework in peace.

  “It was fun, yeah,” I say hesitantly, hoping he’ll take the hint.

  “I think it’s really cool you went,” he says, not taking the hint. “I didn’t know you liked stuff like that. People at school pretty much refuse to try new things. I just think it’s awesome you’re different from them.”

  “Um, thanks?” I guess it’s a compliment.

  “Hey”—he closes his Calc book eagerly—“do you want to take a study break?” From the practiced way he asks, I get the feeling this has been his plan all night. “We could watch Sherlock?”

  “No,” I say quickly. I definitely cannot watch an actor who bears a significant resemblance to a certain video game programmer I’m desperate not to think about tonight. Andrew’s eyes widen, and I realize how harshly I just refused. “I just can’t take a study break right now,” I add hurriedly. “I’m really behind. Next week?”

  He nods, satisfied. I return to The Taming of the Shrew, my thoughts tilting precariously. What is wrong with me?

  Weeks ago, I would have jumped at the chance to do literally anything with Andrew. Now, I’m a confused, preoccupied mess, while he’s going out of his way to be friendly. I have him right here, and yet I’m trapped in my own head, reliving Brendan’s kiss and its consequences. He’s messed everything up.

  No, I’ve messed everything up.

  Thirty-One

  THE NEXT DAY, EVERYTHING’S DIFFERENT.

  In the halls I catch glances in my direction and hear furtive whispers. There are a couple repeated words. Brendan, robotics room. When I pass a group of girls near my locker, they erupt in hushed giggles.

  In Ethics, Morgan gives me only a timid look I don’t know how to interpret. I guess it’s better than the complete texting moratorium of yesterday. No luck with Elle, though. When I try to catch her eye in between classes in the morning, she determinedly ignores me. I have to bite my cheek to keep from saying her name out loud in the locker hall. I wonder if she’d ignore me then.

  I know I hurt her yesterday, but under the remorse, I feel a new current of resentment. Why do I have to apologize first? She hurt me, too.

  I’m outside English, following a few steps behind her, when I hear someone make an exaggerated smooching sound to my left. It’s undeniably meant for me. I’m ready to let it roll off me the way I have every other Brendan-related joke and whisper today—except this time, I catch Elle give a small smirk and chuckle derisively.

  It’s the final straw. I’m done letting her ignore me.

  “Excuse me?” I say, rushing to meet her in the doorway while everyone’s walking to their desks, unpacking their things, and talking in the pre-class minutes. “Do you have something you want to say to me?”

  She looks me over, her eyes cool, then dismisses me with a shrug. “Not at all.”

  I block her way to her desk. “You’ve never been one to hide your opinions before. Why start now?” My heart pounds painfully. I know whatever she says next won’t be pleasant, but it’ll be something. Something that proves I’m not nothing to her.

  “Okay,” she replies snidely, her voice low enough not to be overheard. “You’re right. I think what you did yesterday is disgusting. I remember the entry for BB on your list, and it repulses me that you’d use your body to accomplish a goal like that. You wouldn’t even consider dating two months ago. Look how far you’ve come.”

  Even though I know we’re in a fight, I didn’t think Elle was capable of thinking that of me. I falter in the doorway long enough for her to fire me one final glare and walk past me into English.

  I recover my composure and follow her in. There’s no way she’s getting the final word.

  But before I have the chance to reply, the bell rings. I’m caught halfway to Elle’s desk. Clenching my jaw, I retreat to my seat while Kowalski walks to the front of the class.

  “I want to turn our discussion to the ending of the play,” Kowalski says. “Namely, to Katherine’s final monologue. I imagine a number of you have strong feelings on the speech”—her eyes flit to Elle—“and in the interest of a varied discussion, I’d like you to pair up and discuss your thoughts before we reconvene.”

  My hand shoots up, and I don’t wait for Kowalski to call o
n me. “Elle and I want to be partners,” I say unhesitatingly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Elle’s eyebrows rise.

  “Okay, Cameron,” Kowalski says with a funny look. “The rest of you, feel free to choose your partners without informing the rest of the class.”

  There are a few chuckles, but I don’t bother to be embarrassed. This is perfect. Elle’s either too thrown to protest or she doesn’t care enough to explain to Kowalski.

  I gather my things and join her in the desk beside hers. She refuses to look at me, her expression tight and furious. Undeterred, I stare her straight in the face while I unpack my Taming of the Shrew.

  I’m about to speak when Elle preempts me. “Anna,” she calls out. “There’s an odd number in the class. Come work with us.” I blink, turning in my chair to find Anna Lewis alone at the front of the room while everyone else has partnered up. I can’t help noticing Paige and Andrew sitting together in one corner.

  Anna joins us, looking like she knows she’s stumbled into something unpleasant but doesn’t want to incur Elle’s wrath by refusing. “Okay, um,” she says, her voice high, evidently eager to get the discussion going. “I think Kate’s final speech is kind of messed up. She’s saying your husband is your sovereign, like your king, and you have to devote your entire life to”—she flips the pages, looking for the line—“placing your hands below your husband’s foot.”

  “Imagine,” Elle utters without a pause, her voice low, “going to humiliating lengths just to please a guy.”

  I hold my tongue. Elle has no idea what she’s talking about. What I did with Brendan—with Brendan, not for Brendan—was far from humiliating.

  I bury myself in my book. Focusing on the words is the only possible way I’ll get through the period without an outburst. Anna’s not wrong. Kate’s final monologue is horrendous. I am ashamed that women are so simple, I reread, To offer war where they should kneel for peace. I cringe.

  “Yeah,” Anna replies quickly, obviously eager to keep the conversation on Shakespeare. “I just don’t get why Katherine would completely give up on herself, though. Like, Petruchio’s not that great. He’s kind of a jerk, honestly.”

  “Because he abuses her and sleep-deprives her!” Finally Elle’s glare snaps to Anna, who visibly flinches. “He intimidates her into obeying.”

  A woman moved—“moved” meaning angry, I find in the glossary—is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty. I keep reading, feeling my pulse quicken with anger.

  And I don’t know whether it’s out of a compulsion to be combative with Elle or what, but the next moment, I hear a word escape me. “No,” I say sharply. Elle’s gaze flits to me, poisonous. I go on. “No. It’s not only because Katherine’s intimidated by Petruchio. Does this speech feel intimidated to you? It might’ve begun with physical abuse, but along the way, Petruchio no longer needed to frighten Katherine. Because he got her to do it herself. He taught her to believe there’s no alternative to helplessness and obedience.” I point to the lines I’m reading. Now I see our lances are but straws, Our strength as weak. “She’s been taught that this treatment is the way of the world and there’s nothing she can do to change that.”

  Elle’s eyes are finally on me, but impossibly, my thoughts have left our fight. They’re racing too quickly for me to concentrate when Elle turns back to Anna and continues the discussion.

  I thought I was in control when I decided to “tame” myself. But what if I wasn’t? Andrew is a good guy, a guy I care about. He’s not Petruchio, and I’m not Katherine, giving up her will for a guy she detests. I’ve never been starved or locked away. But in ways I never knew, his words crept into my head and convinced me I needed to prove myself. I believed I was improving myself in order to get what I wanted. But the hardest kind of control to break is the one you don’t know is there.

  Now I know. I’m done with my list. I’m done with “taming.”

  Kowalski’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Everybody return to your desks, and we’ll discuss as a class.”

  Anna practically falls over in her eagerness to leave. I stand up, looking down at Elle. “You know,” I say softly, “I didn’t kiss Brendan because of Andrew. I kissed Brendan because I like him.”

  Elle blinks, but she says nothing, and I return to my desk.

  * * *

  When the bell rings for lunch, I don’t bother going to our normal table. I definitely don’t want to go to the robotics room, not ready to face Brendan after yesterday. Instead, I catch Paige walking out the door. “Hey,” I say, “can I sit with you guys today?”

  “Um.” Paige eyes me quizzically. “Yeah, definitely.” We walk through the hall. If Paige notices the stares and stifled laughter my presence elicits, she doesn’t react. I guess she might be used to it. But when we’re walking into the dining hall, she asks tentatively, “Do you . . . want to talk about whatever’s going on with Elle?”

  “Not really,” I say quietly.

  Paige nods. We join the line into the kitchen, walking up behind Grant and Hannah. They’ve obviously decided to publicize their new relationship to the entire world, and they’re presently treating the food line like a parking lot past business hours. They’re unable to keep their hands off each other. Grant whispers in Hannah’s ear, and she giggles and blushes brightly. Paige gives me a dry look. I force a commiserative shrug in return.

  I want to be happy for Grant and Hannah. I am happy for them. It’s just, watching them together, I can’t help wondering if I’ll never have a relationship like that. If I’m not good enough. Early indications have not been promising.

  Paige must notice my expression, because she turns to Hannah. “Can’t you guys just go hook up in the instrument storage room like everyone else?”

  Grant looks at Hannah like he thinks that’s a wonderful idea. Hannah, however, withdraws from his arms. “We’ll keep the PDA under control. Promise,” she says, the blush not having faded from her cheeks. Grant pouts behind her.

  I give Paige a grateful glance, feeling my chest warm. I still have her, which is worth a lot.

  We find the rest of the group once we’ve gotten food. I join Abby and Charlie, while Grant sits on the opposite bench with Hannah and Paige.

  “Guess who’s not having lunch alone in the robotics room today,” Paige says, biting into her panini.

  I brighten. “Brendan’s coming?”

  “No, a couple guys from his chemistry class invited him to eat with them,” Paige answers cheerfully.

  “Oh.” I deflate. “Wow. Has he ever done that before?” I have a good guess what their topic of discussion will be.

  “Nope,” Paige says. “It’s thanks to you, of course.”

  “You’ve made him a legend,” Charlie says next to me. “Everyone’s talking about how he must have mad game if he got you to kiss him.” He’s looking at me like he wants me to confirm. And I can’t deny, Brendan does have unexpected game, but it’s not something I feel like discussing right now.

  Hannah cuts in. “Are you guys, like, together?” she asks conspiratorially. Unsurprisingly, Hannah’s been downright congenial to me since Rocky Horror.

  “Oh, no.” I iron casualness into my voice. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Well, good,” Abby says. “Because I heard three girls talking about wanting to ask him out.”

  I flinch and hope no one notices. Three feels like an awfully big number.

  “I heard he gave his number to a sophomore cheerleader,” Grant chimes in.

  And that’s all I can take. Abruptly, I get up. “I just realized,” I say hurriedly, “I have to talk to Mr. West about the Computer Science final.” I feel queasy. Without bothering to pick up my food, I leave the table.

  * * *

  I’m a complete idiot. Brendan could never want me. How could he, after everything I’ve put him through? He wants a nice girl�
��a sophomore cheerleader.

  Wandering into the sunlit courtyard, I don’t get far before I hear someone calling my name. It’s Andrew. He’s jogging to catch up with me. “Hey, Cameron,” he says, like he’s trying to be casual, but I detect a note of urgency in his voice. “Can we talk?”

  “Um, yeah,” I say distractedly and wait.

  “In private?” Andrew prompts.

  “Oh, um. Okay.” I follow him to a classroom, and he holds the door open for me.

  The door’s hardly shut when he starts speaking again. “Winter formal’s coming up,” he says, his voice jarringly loud in the empty room. I recognize nervousness on Andrew. The way he bunches his shoulders, the way he rubs his knuckles uneasily. “I was hoping you’d be my date,” he finishes.

  I feel my eyes widen. Images flit through my head. Arriving at the dance on Andrew’s arm, placing my head on his shoulder while the music plays.

  I’ve fantasized about that night. I knew how I’d style my hair swept off my shoulder, knew what a figure Andrew would cut in the navy blazer he got for his sister’s graduation. I knew it would be perfect.

  “Why now?” I ask suddenly.

  Andrew blinks, obviously not expecting the question. “What do you mean?” He fidgets with the straps of his backpack. “I’m sorry if I should have planned something more romantic—”

  I shake my head. “No. Why do you want to go with me now? What changed your mind about me?” His conversation last night, his unusual friendliness, I now realize, wasn’t friendliness at all. He was flirting, and I was too distracted to pick up on it. I study his features, trying to recall the way I obsessed about the dimple in his right cheek, the flecks of green in his eyes, the gentle arch of his brows.

  His hands relax. “I know you’ve been trying to be nice to Paige. Then you got Grant and Hannah back together, and, well, I noticed. But when I heard what you did for Brendan yesterday I saw how committed you are—how hard you’re working.”