Cancelled, p.30
Cancelled, page 30
With Charlie, it’s not just flirting or banter or a harmless crush. From the very first night we hung out, he’s made me feel like I’m the most important person in the room. The one who knows my truest self. He’s stood beside me in solidarity. He never judged me when it felt like the entire school was against me. He made me laugh when it felt like my world was imploding.
I remember the way he looked at me in his bedroom after he’d turned my skin into a galaxy. It’s a feeling I’ve been repressing for months now. Something bigger.
I know with complete certainty that I’m in love with Charlie.
And it’s a realization that’s come too late.
There’s nothing stopping me from being with Charlie now, but I feel that familiar emotional armor snake around my heart. For so long, I’ve built up hope in people only to be disappointed. McTiernan, who did the bare minimum when my whole world was crumbling. My dad, who erased me from his new life. Prior flings and flirtationships that didn’t work out. Relationships, like Otto, that weren’t a good fit. Even Smith left again, and I was the one who had to find him.
I’ve been in this situation before. I was falling for Hayes before he graduated, and that heartache left emotional scars. Now Charlie and I are about to graduate. Go to different colleges. Start new lives. So why put us through the same thing?
When I think about it logically, it makes sense. But it doesn’t mean I don’t also feel a crushing weight on my heart. This is the best resolution to this problem. Nobody gets their heart broken. It stays easy. Uncomplicated.
I’ve just crawled into bed when my phone lights up. Thinking it’s Charlie, I grapple for it, my heart pulsating like it’s about to burst into a gigantic glitter bomb. When I blink down at my screen, I freeze. It’s not Charlie.
It’s Lenora.
Lenora
Hey, I’m outside your house. Can we talk?
I sit up straight. Lenora? I slide out of bed and peel back my curtains. Sure enough, Lenora’s blue Honda Fit is idling by the curb.
What is she doing here? Did she come to yell at me now that she’s had a chance to process what happened?
There’s only one way to find out.
I yank on a hoodie and slip into my flip-flops, sneaking quietly out the front door so I don’t wake my mom. I wave hesitantly as I approach the passenger’s side door, and she unlocks it so I can slip in.
Even in the dark, I can tell her eyes are swollen from crying. The skin around her nostrils is red too. I swallow, trying to think of something to say, but decide to let her speak first.
“Sorry for showing up out of the blue like this,” she finally says.
I play with a loose thread on my hoodie. “It’s okay. I’m glad you came.”
She wipes under her eyes. “I’ve been thinking a lot, I guess. About everything. I had tunnel vision. Like, I was seeing my relationship the way I wanted to see it,” she explains. “I’m not stupid. I knew there were holes in Duncan’s story the night of Halloween, but the anger I’ve carried toward you fueled me into blaming you, not him. It was misdirected. And . . . I’m sorry.”
I’m stunned by her apology. “Oh, um. Thank you.”
“It took me a while to get it, you know? Here I was perpetuating slut-shaming culture like an asshole.” Lenora gives me a weak smile. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I see it now. Everything that happened with Duncan—all the ways I put you down for your relationships and crushes. You didn’t deserve that. Not from your best friend.”
I release a deep breath. It feels good to hear her say it. “I took it too far with Craig back then, and I’m sorry. I really am.”
“I should have been honest with you about how I felt about him,” she says softly. “It was silly to destroy a friendship over a guy.”
I’m reminded of all the reasons why I love Lenora, why she was my best friend for so long. She might have a hard exterior, but deep down she cares about people. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be here.
She still cares about Duncan too. It’s why she was so hurt by all of this. She loves someone who did something shitty to her. That’s a terrible feeling.
“I miss you.” I say, my voice cutting through chirping crickets in the stillness of the night. “I miss being your friend.”
“I miss you too.” She gives me a sad smile. “Also? Fuck Duncan.”
“Fuck Duncan,” I agree.
“And John Mark,” she adds, then starts laughing so hard her shoulders shake. “I can’t believe you called him a crusty ham sandwich.”
Her laughter is contagious. “He’s more like a sweaty gym sock.”
“An infected elbow scab.”
“Ew—you win.”
We reach for each other at the same time, our arms tangling in a sincere embrace. It feels nice to have this sliver of normalcy.
When Lenora pulls away, she’s teary. “I can’t believe you broke into Duncan’s truck.”
That somehow feels like years ago. “It wasn’t me, but I also didn’t stop it. It was Cadence.” I debate telling her the next part, but decide I have nothing to lose. “She found strawberry lip gloss under the seat that night. I knew it wasn’t yours because—”
“My allergy,” Lenora finishes.
“Right,” I say sadly. “It was like, you already didn’t believe me. If I told you, I was afraid you’d think I made it up.”
“Yeah, maybe. I wasn’t in the best headspace,” she says, then adds, “Damn, I think I owe Cadence a thank-you card for what she wrote.”
I look up at her. A real smile hangs on her lips.
“I can love him and hate him at the same time,” she explains, her tone somber. “But hopefully the love part will fade fast.”
“I’m sorry he turned out to be a giant prickweasel.”
“Me too,” she agrees. “What are we going to do about Katie?”
I’ve thought about this as well. We can’t ostracize her, and we can’t let Greenlough take her down like they did me. Not after everything we’ve worked toward with the femolution. Katie was genuinely apologetic. It won’t be easy, and I don’t have to forgive everything she’s put me through, but it doesn’t mean we should cause her even more suffering.
I remember the part of Paradise Lost I’d highlighted in Mr. Manning’s class last semester. What can we suffer worse? There’s always something worse that can be done. Sometimes the hardest decision is figuring out the best way forward.
“Spring break will give us space to process—well, everything,” I say. “And then we try to leave it in the past.”
Lenora looks uncertain, but she eventually nods in agreement. “I think you’re right.”
“You know, I never thought my last year of high school would be this . . .” I search for the word.
“Hellish?” Lenora offers, and my mouth slips into an amused grin.
“Yeah, exactly.”
We catch each other’s eyes. If none of this happened, would we be sitting here together, wading our way toward forgiveness? Maybe that cliché saying is true. Everything happens for a reason. But I wish it hadn’t happened like this.
“Hey, how’s Cadence?” she asks. “I heard what happened after I left.”
For the next twenty minutes, I tell Lenora the dramatic story of Cadence’s water breaking and everything I know about her son’s birth. She’s glad to hear they’re both doing okay, and our conversation falls to lighter topics. I learn she was also accepted to the University of Santa Barbara, which reminds me—oh god. Stanford’s acceptances went out today. With such an eventful day, I completely spaced it.
“How can you not get in?” Lenora laughs when I tell her. “But go check. I need to get home anyway.”
I reach for the handle, then turn back to her. “Maybe we can hang out during spring break?”
Her eyes light up. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Once Lenora drives off, I sprint inside. My fingers are shaking as I type in my email and password to access Stanford’s portal, and I realize I’m holding my breath as I navigate to my inbox. There’s a notification that alerts me there’s been a change in the status of my application. I click on it, my heart thrumming so erratically that I feel it’s going to rocket straight out of my chest.
Then I see the two words that crush my soul.
Not admitted.
36
“Wait, it was John Mark who sent the video?”
“That’s why Duncan beat his ass!”
“Why would he DO that?”
During my entire spring break, I fall straight into a self-pitying depression. I should have been prepared for rejection. I knew Stanford’s tight acceptance rate, but I thought I worked hard enough to show them I belong. I’m not even waitlisted. If I’d only had McTiernan’s letter of recommendation—
No. I can’t think like that. I won’t pretend one person’s referral could have made a difference. I just wasn’t good enough.
That’s what hurts the worst.
Smith comes home on Saturday morning and tries to get me to play on the Xbox with him, but I don’t leave my room until dinner. I have no appetite, and I don’t have it in me to make small talk. My mom doesn’t know what to do except let me have the space I crave. So I lay in bed and ignore the incoming texts from Tahlia, Marlowe, and Charlie.
Smith knocks on my door to say goodbye the following morning. I give him a half-hearted hug and go back to bed. I can hear them talking in low voices about me in the living room. I don’t care. I feel empty. Worthless. I hate that this has made me feel like a failure.
On Tuesday, Tahlia and Marlowe come over to check on me. I’m unable to shake myself from my fog of despair, so they suggest we go see a movie to get out of the house. I don’t have the energy to get dressed or motivation to leave, which is how we end up watching an early-2000s rom-com on my laptop instead.
I hope it’ll make me feel better. It doesn’t.
Cadence finally replies to my texts, relaying that she’s at home and taking it easy. Charlie texts me too, but I can’t find it in me to reply. I know we need to talk, and that he still may ask me to prom, but is it smart to put myself through that? To allow myself to live out a fantasy that’s only going to cause heartache after we graduate?
The truth is, I’m scared. I’m already swimming in a sea of misery. Having to go through it a second time around feels like I’m putting myself through intentional heartache.
I go to therapy on Friday. Dr. Watson reminds me that I can always reapply to Stanford next year. That it doesn’t have to be the end. And even though I gain a new perspective, it doesn’t fully relieve the crushing ache of disappointment in my chest. I wish I were starting my future there now.
On Sunday, the final day of the spring break that I all but wasted, I wake up feeling 10 percent better. I shower and brush my hair. Seeing this as progress, my mom makes blueberry waffles and has them ready by the time I’m dressed. I can tell she’s trying to gauge my mood as we eat, and once I start to clear my plate, she begins the conversation I know we need to have.
“Listen, Brynn, about Stanford—”
“I’ll be ready to talk about it tonight,” I interrupt, pulling the corners of my lips into an encouraging half smile. “But I need to take care of something right now. I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?”
My mom looks like she wants to ask a dozen more questions but is at a crossroads with wanting to respect my fragile state.
“Keep your phone on you,” she says, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“I will.”
And then I head out the front door.
I know exactly where to find Faith Tobinson on a Sunday morning, which is why I’m waiting on the steps of Saint Catherine’s Church at ten-thirty. A mob of churchgoers exits through the doors. I keep my eyes out for Faith, worried I missed her in the crowd, but then I spot the cascade of her auburn hair flowing down the front of a lacey pink dress. Katie is next to her, shoulders slumped, face tired.
Faith’s eyes find mine, widening at the shock of seeing me here, but she swiftly regains her composure. Her cheery smile never falters as she says goodbye to the clergy upon exiting. As the morning crowd thins, she makes her way toward me. Alone.
“Brynn. Hi,” she says uncertainly.
“Hi,” I offer. “I was hoping we could talk.”
Faith checks the flow of people behind her. Katie doesn’t move from her spot on the stairs. “Okay. Yeah.”
I let her pull me away to a quiet area of the crammed parking lot, near a quaint garden that hosts a few poinsettia bushes. Birds twitter gleefully in the distance, and the sun begins poking its way through the marine layer.
“Katie told me everything.” Her voice pitches higher, as if to keep from crying.
Something inside me breaks for her. I know she’s been going through it too. John Mark exposed a deeply cruel side of himself.
“I don’t plan on villainizing her,” I admit. “I already know how that feels.”
“That’s . . . really big of you.”
I hold her gaze. “You sound surprised.”
“Well. To be honest? I thought you came here to yell at me.” She nervously twirls a lock of her hair. “Because, you know. John Mark.”
“I can’t be mad at you for something he did,” I say.
Now she looks uncomfortable. “But I was the one who ratted you out for drinking at the Halloween dance. I reported you. Even though others were drinking too.”
Ah, so it was Faith who snitched. I remember what Katie said. How Faith would do anything to impress John Mark. I was a conquest. A mission. She thought she was morally obligated to do the right thing.
So I say, “I should have known better. I took the risk breaking the rules.”
She fidgets with the ends of her hair. “I went to McTiernan on Friday after I found that video. I know John Mark is sorry.”
Yeah. Sorry he got caught. Sorry Duncan made a spectacle of tackling him in front of the entire senior class.
“I can’t make excuses for him,” she continues, “but I can tell you wholeheartedly that I am sorry you were his target. No one deserves that. Not even Katie.”
It’s not what I expected her to say. I thought she’d bend over backward to defend him, not apologize.
“I shouldn’t have made it seem like Abstinence Angels was stupid,” I confess. “It felt like you were leading an attack on me and my club, but abstinence is also empowering. I don’t think I told you that at your Bible study.”
“Thanks,” she replies, the word whisper quiet. “I pray for you, you know. I mean, not in a bad way. Or a shady way. I guess I just . . . I hope you find the guidance you need.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. That might be the highest compliment Faith could give me.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “I hope you find the guidance you need, too.”
Faith glances back at the church, where Katie’s waiting. “Um. Did you want to talk—?”
I make eye contact with Katie, who looks uncertain and hurt and exhausted all at once. I remember that feeling.
“Tell her the femolution still needs her. I know she’s sorry,” I say. “And you’re welcome to join too, if you want.”
From the depths of my purse, I pull out one of the red femolution buttons Katie made. Faith accepts it, running her thumb over the letters. Then she lets out a breath, like she’s relieved sabotage isn’t penciled in on my personal agenda.
“I’ll let her know,” she tells me.
With nothing left for us to say, she turns to go. She’s only taken a few steps toward the church when I say, “Faith?”
She glances back at me.
“You deserve better than John Mark.”
A pained expression falls across her features. I worry I overstepped, but it’s true. She shouldn’t bend over backward to impress a guy who treats others so horribly. And after all the hurt he caused, he definitely isn’t the one for her.
I watch her consider this as she presses her lips together, like she’s trying to keep her emotions inside. She gives the slightest nod in my direction before heading up the steps to rejoin Katie. Arm in arm, they head into the church, letting the heavy wooden doors fall gently shut behind them.
* * *
—
Since I’m passing Sticks and Scones on my walk home, I decide to go in and pick up my favorite treats to share with my mom. I’m going to require a lot of sugar when it comes to talking about my second choices for college.
Second choice. The phrase pains me.
But it’s not the end of the world. I have options.
I hope.
A blast of warm cinnamon and syrupy caramel hits my nostrils as I step inside Sticks and Scones. A short line of customers chatter over the pop punk song blaring through the speakers, and I take my place at the end of it.
What I don’t expect is to see Charlie.
But there he is, taking orders behind the register. Our eyes lock at the same time, his hazel ones reflecting more greens than browns from the sunlight pouring through the window. My heart skitters. We must be wearing matching stunned expressions. He’s supposed to be off all week. Not here, working, looking way better than he ought to be.
I can’t leave now. That would make things even more awkward. So I force myself to stand in line until it’s my turn.
He breathes my name like a gentle promise. “Brynn, hey.”
I swallow. “Hi.”
