Cancelled, p.22
Cancelled, page 22
25
“I feel bad for Brynn.”
“There’s no way it was Lenora who did it!”
“Such a scumbag move.”
When I’m home, I tell my mom everything that happened in the last forty-eight hours. In a way, it bridges the weird distance between us. She snaps into action. I hear her yelling at McTiernan from her bedroom, demanding he find and punish whoever was responsible for leaking personal property and damaging my belongings. When she reemerges, she looks as exhausted as I feel.
“He says they’re not taking this lightly,” she tells me. “And that you won’t be responsible for having to replace your things.”
I exhale the tension I’d been holding on to. “At least they had the courtesy to destroy my textbooks after exams.”
But my mom isn’t smiling. “Brynn, none of this is okay.”
“I know,” I say, wondering if this is about to turn into a lecture.
“That photo they shared—”
“I don’t want to go there, Mom.” I cross my arms. “Just ground me and get it over with.”
Sympathy washes over her features. “I’m not grounding you. Not for something you didn’t do.” She sits on the barstool beside me. “The photo they shared was invasive. It’s not okay, and it’s not fair to you.”
When she doesn’t continue, I raise my eyebrow. “But . . . ?”
“Just—think about talking to Mrs. Burchill after break, okay? This is a lot to deal with on your own.”
I prop my elbows on our kitchen island and run my hands through my hair. I’m not dealing with it on my own. I have my friends. I have the resolve to fix the messes in my life. Not just mine, but my mother’s. Smith’s. It’s what I’ve always done.
This is a setback. A detrimental one, but it doesn’t matter. I just want to forget it happened.
With as much conviction as I can manage, I say, “I’ll be fine. The break will be good for me.”
She gives my arm a squeeze, but there’s something behind her eyes that tells me she’s not convinced. “Well, I’ve got some bad news. Because when it rains, it pours.” She stands, her hands now on her hips. “The washer broke today.”
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. I knew this would happen. The money Adeline sent me won’t be enough for our handyman, let alone replacing the behemoth machine if that’s what it comes to. And it probably will. That washer was my grandfather’s, and I doubt parts are still available for such an old model.
It could be worse, I tell myself. It could always be worse, as I so clearly learned today.
“I can go to Tahlia’s or something,” I say, feeling the weight of the day return to my shoulders. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
* * *
—
For the first few days of break, I try and forget the AirDrop even happened. My mom and I distract ourselves from the crushing weight of our problems. We make candy cane bark, rewatch Elf, and volunteer at a local food drive for my community service hours.
Smith is being released from the rehab center the day before Christmas, and he’s agreed to stay with us for a month before looking for a place of his own. Laurie and Jerome offered to come to our place for Christmas dinner so we could be together as a family. I can tell my mom is looking forward to it, but I’m hesitant to show my own excitement. I don’t want Smith to fall back into old patterns and break her heart again.
An odd bright spot occurs the next day when Faith texts me to see how I’m doing. It’s unexpectedly nice. She doesn’t even say anything shamey, which I chalk up to personal growth. She does, however, want to know if I’m interested in joining Abstinence Angels since they also need more students to reach their minimum number of members, so I tell her I’ll think on it.
Two days before Christmas, I’m sitting on Cadence’s plush bedroom rug. She asked me to spend the night and since I hadn’t seen any of my friends since school let out, I decided to come over.
We’re currently preoccupied with my two unsolved mysteries: Who was with Duncan on Halloween, and who AirDropped that photo? Cadence thinks it’s the same person, but I disagree. Duncan must have AirDropped the photo to get revenge for the showcase, which means the person in costume has to be someone else.
“Why don’t you post something on Instagram?” Cadence suggests. “It’s what people want after witnessing a scandal, right? They’re waiting to see how you respond. And if you ask the right question, maybe you’ll get the right answer. Whoever was with Duncan might come clean.”
I raise my eyebrows. “After they saw what happened to me on Friday? I doubt it.”
“We could nudge them toward admitting what they did.” She sits up straight. “Do you still have that lip gloss I found in Duncan’s car?”
I nod toward my book bag, where I’d stashed it and then promptly forgot about it once we kickstarted the femolution.
Cadence digs it out and tosses it to me.
“I’m not putting this on,” I warn her.
“Ew, please don’t.” She shifts to her knees, posing me in a carefree position while making sure the lip gloss tube is visible. Then she snaps a picture with her phone. “It’s worth a try, right? Take a look at trolls.”
“Trolls?” I repeat.
Cadence wraps her tongue around a cherry Blow Pop. She’s gone through three since I’ve been here and her tongue is bright red. “Internet trolls. It’s easy for them to shit on people from behind a screen,” she explains. “So maybe it’ll be easier for this person to confess to you online. With all the work we’ve been doing, we may stand a chance.”
“And the lip gloss?” I ask.
Cadence smirks. “We’re hinting that we know more than we actually do.”
She makes a good case. The AirDrop was a rough kick to my confidence. If anything, it makes me come across as an even bigger skank, when in reality it’s not true. But that’s what Duncan wants, isn’t it? To continue to drag my reputation so that he doesn’t look bad?
Now people are waiting to see how I respond. If I post this photo, maybe someone will come forward. It’s a strategic move. Maybe they’ll think we’ve already put it together. I can finally have answers.
And then—what? If I know the truth, it won’t necessarily set me free. It won’t fix my reputation. It won’t make Lenora believe me. I can only hope that it nudges this person to do the right thing. It’s better than doing nothing. And don’t I deserve to graduate with some dignity? To leave an impression of the real me?
I hand over my phone. “Why not?”
I have nothing else to lose.
Cadence plays around with the coloring of the photo on her phone before she’s satisfied, then she sends it to me. With a shaky breath, I upload it to my account with the caption: No judgment. No lies. Come clean and let’s put it to rest.
It’s a subtle callout, but maybe it’s exactly what we need.
Cadence lies back against her pillows and puts her hand on her stomach. I watch as she idly rubs back and forth.
“Is it uncomfortable?” I ask, then grimace when I realize that might be a personal question.
Cadence doesn’t seem to mind. “Sometimes. Like, I didn’t know my skin could feel this tight or that my bladder could be squished. But there are other times where it’s . . . I don’t know.”
I wait, feeling like she wants to keep talking. So I let her find the words.
“I guess having him in there makes me feel less alone. Like I’m needed. Because I can’t be a disappointment to him right now when I’m providing this safe little cocoon. Even though it’s temporary.”
“You’re not a disappointment,” I say gently.
She wraps the Blow Pop stick and the gum in the wrapper and sets it on her bedside table. “You know, if I would have known I was pregnant earlier, I would have gone through with an abortion.”
There’s a certain hardness on her face, like she’s expecting me to judge her. I don’t. I can’t imagine how carrying a baby in high school has affected her mentally.
“You’re allowed to have wanted that,” I finally say.
Her shoulders relax. “Sometimes I think, you know, he didn’t ask to be born, right? So what if he thinks he wasn’t good enough for me? I know this is the right thing. Adoption. It’s a choice I’ve never second-guessed this entire time, but sometimes I feel guilty.”
“You have good instincts,” I say. “If this is what feels right, then it’s right.”
“Thanks.” She rubs her temples. “Sleeping with Thomas was absolutely a mistake, though. We used a condom. That’s why I didn’t think anything of it until it was too late. And can you believe he got mad at me? Like, bro. It takes both parts.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t deserve that reaction from him.”
Cadence looks lost in thought. “Yeah, I didn’t.” She lets that hang there for a moment before saying, “You know, I love having Tyla and Devin back in my life, and they’ve been really supportive and all, but if I had to go through hell with anyone this year, I’m glad it was you.”
My chest fills with a glowing warmth. Because I feel the exact same way.
“I—” I begin.
“No,” she says, stopping me. Her lips pull into a rare smile. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
I toss her another Blow Pop then watch as she turns on Bob’s Burgers. I glance at the photo I posted. It’s gathered a ton of likes so far, which means Cadence’s theory was right. People were waiting for my response. I don’t expect anyone to fess up right away, but it doesn’t stop me from refreshing my DMs.
But my refreshing comes to a halt when I receive a text from Adeline.
Adeline
think i’ll be able to get a New Year’s kiss?
I stare at her words, heart sinking. We’re both going to Grant’s New Year’s Eve party next week. I’ve noticed Charlie seems more engaged in their conversations every time she sends me a screenshot. Apparently, she’s seen him once since break began and it went well. Which is good. It means my guidance is helping her.
Another text comes through saying if I make this happen for her, she’ll pay me a hundred bucks. I can’t turn that down right now. Not when I have a load of laundry in Cadence’s washer downstairs because she was kind enough to let my mom and I use it. And after what happened on Friday, she might be the last client I’ll ever have.
I’m reconsidering if this is even a good idea when I hear a soft snore coming from the bed. Cadence has fallen asleep. I lean over to make sure she’s not choking on her fourth Blow Pop and—nope. All safe.
I find the spare comforter, blanket, and pillow she’s pulled out for me. She doesn’t wake when I make my pallet on the floor next to her bed. Then, I head into her bathroom to brush my teeth and change into my oversized tie-dyed shirt and black bike shorts.
My laundry is probably done by now. Since I’m going downstairs, I gather my laundry bag along with Cadence’s discarded Blow Pop trash in an empty McDonald’s cup, then journey to the kitchen to toss it out.
The television plays faintly from the living room. I didn’t realize anyone was awake. I have to cross through to access the laundry room and fully expect to see Cadence’s parents watching a movie, but I’m surprised when I see the back of Charlie’s head.
He turns at my approaching footsteps, and when I come around to the other side of the couch, I nearly lose my grip on the laundry bag.
Because Charlie is not wearing a shirt.
My stomach swoops like I’m experiencing a giant drop on a roller coaster, and I absolutely do not miss the subtle way his eyes run up my bare legs before he meets my eyes. A spike of dopamine rushes to my brain, filling my entire body with a flush of heat.
But—hold on. Is Charlie checking me out?
No, of course not. He likes Adeline.
Right?
I blink away the thought.
“I didn’t realize you were here,” Charlie says, then grins. “I assumed you would have announced your presence via intercom.”
“You actually missed my grand entrance. Golden chariot pulled by unicorns. Real majestic.”
“Not dragons?”
“Sadly, no. They were unavailable.”
I look right into his eyes as I say this and definitely, definitely not at his bare shoulders. He’s wearing glasses. I’ve never seen Charlie wear glasses to school, and then realize—duh—he must wear contacts. He also wears black joggers that match the color of his frames and his familiar thin gold chain around his neck.
The rhythmic thumping in my chest accelerates.
Get it together, Brynn.
“Dragons are a big fire hazard anyway,” Charlie goes on.
“Ha. Yeah.”
I resist the urge to facepalm myself. What kind of response was that? Why have I suddenly been reduced to spewing out one-syllable words?
Oh, right. It’s because I haven’t seen Charlie since Friday when my photo was AirDropped to the entire school. When I broke down in front of him in the hallway.
Heat pulses through me, warming my face in a flood of embarrassment. I never lose it like that. He’s probably only talking to me now because he feels bad for me.
But maybe not? A few days ago, he checked in to see if I was okay. When I replied that I was fine—even though it was a lie—that was the end of it. We haven’t talked since.
Now Charlie’s here, in front of me. Shirtless. Unavailable. And I’m suddenly experiencing a new level of nervous.
He looks at me curiously. “Did Cadence fall asleep?”
I nod, then verbalize a response. “Yeah. She’s out. I’m just getting my laundry.”
I don’t know if Cadence filled him in, but he doesn’t question it. He gestures to the TV with the remote in his hand. “When you’re finished, do you want to watch the rest of this movie?”
I should say no. I should lie to his face and say that I’m tired, then go lie down far away from Charlie and think about how I’m going to play matchmaker (rematchmaker?) with him and Adeline.
But I don’t. Friends are allowed to watch movies together, I remind myself. And I’m not tired yet. I know that if I go back into Cadence’s room and try to fall asleep, I’ll replay everything that happened on Friday over and over in my head. It’s happened every single night without fail.
It’s not a big deal. I am not actively flirting with Charlie because Charlie and I are friends.
So I revert back to our familiar banter. “Only if it’s Iron Man 3, my favorite Christmas cinematic experience.”
He laughs, low and genuine, and I don’t miss the way his smile reaches his eyes.
In the laundry room, I stuff my freshly dried clothes in my bag, putting off folding until later, and then rejoin Charlie.
“I’m sorry to announce that this is Midsommar,” he informs me.
I don’t know what that is, but I plop next to him on the couch anyway. He tosses me a blanket. I can feel him watching me as I throw it over my legs. I swallow. The close proximity to Charlie makes my heart race all over again.
I’m suddenly hot, a flush creeping up every inch of my skin, so I kick the blanket off. Then I realize—no. I should keep the blanket on because what if he thinks showing off my legs is flirty?
I begin to pull it back when another thought enters my brain: I should do whatever I want without worrying about sending a message! THEY’RE MY LEGS.
Why am I overthinking my legs?
I drop the blanket.
Charlie peers over at me, clearly concerned by my weird behavior. “Are you . . . okay?”
“Yup! Fine!”
“Because you seem—”
“—twitchy?”
He laughs. “Yeah. That.”
I lose my train of thought because, as someone merely observing a situation, I cannot help but note that Charlie’s arms are, like, toned. Not mega-ripped in the way twentysomething actors play teenagers on CW shows, but not scrawny either. It’s—
No. I will not finish that thought.
“I’m just, you know . . . super fine.”
We fall quiet during the last twenty minutes of the movie, and he readjusts his body during a tense scene. It’s so minuscule, but I’m aware of the tiniest movement. We’ve sunk into the couch cushions, so his slight shift means the side of his arm is now barely touching the side of mine. I can feel the warmth of his skin radiating through the sleeve of my shirt. He smells like slightly sweet sandalwood and acrylic paint. I’m so aware of him that I’m barely paying attention to the screen in front of me.
I don’t move. He doesn’t move.
The only thing moving is the zinging electricity striking lightning all over in my brain.
When it ends, he turns toward me. The pressure of contact vanishes. I yearn for its return.
“How’s your break been?”
I’m staring into his eyes. “I didn’t know you wear glasses.”
I cringe at my own words. That was not the answer to the question he asked. I need to get out of my head.
“Oh, yeah.” His hands move to the frames self-consciously. “Seeing things far away is not a strength of mine.”
“I like them.” My eyes follow his hand as he runs it through his hair. “And my break’s been fine.”
“Ah.”
“What?”
“Nothing. You just seem very insistent on being fine tonight.”
“I am. Fioyne.” I stretch the word out as a joke, gesturing to my flattering oversized tie-dyed T-shirt. “Never felt finer.”
Charlie rubs his lips together thoughtfully, like he wants to say something.
