Identity Crisis (16 page)

I shrug, thinking I have the exact reverse problem.

“Maybe it's a lost cause. She turned down my offer to study. Said she was meeting that other guy at the mall.”

Without thinking, I inform him that the guy never came.

“What?” He looks startled, happy, like a death-row prisoner who has been granted a last-minute reprieve. “Really? The dude never showed?”

“Nope,” I say, regretting I have opened my mouth. “She was pretty bummed. And then Eva won those tickets she wanted.”

He nods. “I heard about that.” Not surprising. You'd have to be under a rock; Tori had been blasting the news out incessantly over her feed to the entire population of Dansville High.

“Yeah. She was devastated. She practically begged Eva to take her, like Eva would ever—”

Cooper's face gets a visible tic, like something in his brain has clicked into place.

He pushes himself off the wall, little white crumbs flying off his pants and onto the grass below. “No, you're a genius! That's it.”

“Cooper!” His dad materializes at the doorway to the courtyard, gesturing to him that it's time to go. “Coming,” he says, patting me on one arm, like I am a favored pet. “Later!” Then he dashes back inside before I can figure out exactly what fresh damage I have done.

All weekend, “DecOlan” has been desperately trying to reach me, and by Sunday night, I am finally ready to respond. I let him find me online, live tweeting the Teen Pick Music Awards with all the other Knucklies, waiting for Brass Knuckles to take home the best new rock band award.

DecOlan
: where have u been?

KnuckLise99
: sorry. tied up w/family.

KnuckLise99
: <> u won't believe this.

DecOlan
: what?

KnuckLise99
: remember that creep i told u about?

DecOlan
: y. why?

KnuckLise99
: he hit on me at Tedeschi's yesterday.

KnuckLise99
: <> asked if I wanted to hook up sometime!!

DecOlan
: he did not!?

KnuckLise99
: yeah! i was all like, don't you have a girlfriend? and he was like, she doesn't have to know . . . gross!

It's all a lie, of course. It's part of the plan Maeve and I have dubbed Operation Payback, to get back at Eva over her little catfishing scheme. After brainstorming tons of ideas, we decided to hit Eva where it would hurt her the most: her heart.

That is, if she even has one.

DecOlan
: what did you say?

KnuckLise99
: bug off. obviously. what a loser.

KnuckLise99
: I hear I'm not the only one he's tried . . . even hooked up with her airhead best friend. his gf has no idea. Sad.

It was Maeve's insistence that we find a way to involve Tori, as well. On the train ride home from Worcester, Maeve had texted Tori, asking her to take the mean posts about Samantha down, but Tori'd replied that she can't “be responsible” for the comments section. That she doesn't “condone censorship” of her audience and supports the “First Amendment.” “Like she'd even know what the Constitution was if it bit her in the ass! Maeve had ranted. “She probably thinks it's the freakin' boat in the Navy Yard.” The best part of our plan was, if it worked, it would turn Eva and Tori against each other, ripping up their evil coven for good.

It's obvious, from the way that “DecOlan” (a.k.a. Eva) makes some bogus excuse and logs off lightning fast, that our story has hit home. By tomorrow morning at school, I'm hoping to see a full-blown nuclear meltdown go off before first bell, but I'll settle for a long, drawn-out whisper campaign as well. Of course, Amos and Tori will deny it, but there's no way Eva will forgive an indiscretion, not a second time, not with a close friend. I do feel a little bad that the poor guy has no idea what is in store for him, but I force any trace of sympathy from my brain. He's just as guilty as she is for what happened, right? He played me, then let everyone believe all those stories, without speaking up to say they weren't true.

HOW EVA REACTS:

Scenario A: Eva goes off on Amos in the cafeteria in front of everyone, dumping a tray of chicken noodle soup over his head before she proceeds to dump his sorry ass.

Scenario B: Eva and Tori get in a nasty catfight before they are broken up by Mr. Vange, the security guard.

Scenario C: I find Amos curled up in the fetal position, alone and crying, in a stairwell. But this time, instead of stopping to ask if he's okay, I stomp right on his toes, ruining his varsity soccer career just like he stomped all over my reputation.

Scenario D: Ideally, all of the above.

Monday morning, I scan the benches where their clique usually sits before school. I see a few of their crew: Tess McDonohue, Amanda Gerard. But no Eva. No Tori. No Amos. Is this a sign that it's already starting? Maybe all three are having it out somewhere in private. But where?

My stomach spasms into overdrive as I spot Amos, ambling across the quad with a group of friends. But no, it's not him, just his freshman doppelganger.

I exhale as Maeve shows up, a mad gleam in her eye. “Anything yet?”

“Nothing.”

“Chill out. They'll show.”

I nod.

“So . . .” Maeve says a little too casually. “You'll never guess who called me last night.”

“Who?” I am still distracted, peering around the courtyard for Eva, Amos, and Tori.

“Dec. The real one.”

“Oh?” I wait for her point. “What did he want?”

“To discuss our plan to kidnap the Kardashian kid. What do you think? Catch up on more camp gossip, I guess.”

“Huh.”

“Actually, he mentioned maybe us getting together sometime,” she says, deliberately looking down at her ginormous feet. “If that's okay with you.”

I think back on the boy in the flesh, the stiff, condescending boy whose onscreen face I had gazed at romantically so many nights. Face-to-face, I had to admit there was no chemistry. Zip. Nada. Still, I feel a twinge of betrayal that I try to rise above. “Look, you don't have ask my permission. Go out with him if you want.”

“Oh please,” she says, and in the way she flushes when she says it, I can tell she doesn't mean it at all. “I wouldn't. He's kind of a dork, you know? Not really my type.”

“Okay, then.”

She pauses for a beat. “Unless you
really
don't care either way.”

“I don't.” Why shouldn't Maeve have Declan, even if technically he was mine, sort of?

“I mean, it might be fun for old time's sake.”

I try to nod agreeably, but the more she tries to convince me, the more ticked off I become. “Anyway, I've known him way longer than you.” Like that gives her some claim on him?

Finally, I explode.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She holds up her hands innocently. “Nothing. It's just that you never were really talking to him, you know? It's just a bizarre coincidence that I bumped into him that way. It's too bad, if you'd shown me his picture or told me his last name, we would have figured it out. Avoided all this grief.”

Here it was, finally. I knew she'd never let me get away without the obligatory I-told-you-so. The I-knew-it-all-along. “What are you saying? That this is my fault?”

“Well, I knew something seemed fishy. All those stories. Being grounded. No phone to text. Bailing at the mall. New to social media. It didn't add up.”

“Nice to blame the victim,” I say in a huff. “Like maybe your sister wouldn't have gotten her feelings hurt if she hadn't put herself up for display on a stupid online beauty pageant.”

“That's different,” she shoots back angrily. “But if you really want to go there, none of this would have happened if you hadn't pissed Eva off by going off into the stairwell with her stupid boyfriend in the first place.”

She blinks, like she knows she has gone too far, while I wince, stung by her words. I can't believe she would say that, when she of all people knows the whole story.

“Do what you want with Declan,” I snap, rising to my feet. “Maybe you'd rather hang with him tomorrow night than go to the concert with me.”

“Annalise,” she pleads from behind me. “Wait. That's not what I meant. Don't be like that.”

But I am already gone.

Annalise's story floored me. Could it be true? Had Amos really hit on her this weekend? And other girls? Her airhead friend? Tori? And Eva had no idea? But why would Annalise say so otherwise? She has no reason to lie to Declan, who presumably doesn't know any of these people.

My head's been throbbing ever since I read those words, and now I'm here in math and I'm still not sure what to do. Tell Eva? Eva is still one of my best friends. Annalise is . . . I don't know what. I don't even know if I should be taking her word for it. What if Annalise had gotten it wrong? Misinterpreted the whole thing? Maybe she'd flirted with Amos again and he'd responded. Or maybe he was just playing her? Or maybe she was trying to get Declan jealous, testing his interest after he failed to show that day.

There's no way I can confide in Tori again if it's true. No, there's only one thing to do before I go and spill everything to Eva and risk her killing the messenger. One person to approach, although I can't imagine how.

I have to talk to Amos. Alone.

“Noelle!” Ms. Pinella breaks into my thoughts. She is standing right in front of me, holding out my math test from Friday.

“Sorry?”

“I said,” she repeats, although not irritably for some reason, “that out of the entire class, only one of you got my bonus question right. You, Noelle.”

Me? I'm not sure how I pulled that one off without studying. I silently thank my dad for blessing me with his genius math genes.

Then she lobs a grenade straight into my lap. “Would you please come up to the board and show the class how you calculated the correct answer?” She says it like it is a casual request. Like you'd ask someone to remove her hat or take a seat.

Every head swivels my way expectantly, or at least, it feels that way. I look at her, hoping she'll read the dread on my face, but she is nodding encouragingly and gesturing for me to go up to the board. There is no getting out of this. I slowly drag myself out of my chair, trying to not feel my ears burning. My breath has become shallow and my heart rate has accelerated, as if I'm about to go cliff diving in Acapulco, instead of walking ten steps to the front of the room.

I get to the white board and grab the Sharpie tightly. It's a rappel line, the only thing standing between me and a 10,000-foot plunge into a ravine.

I want to stay this way forever, facing the board, but one more second and everyone will start to murmur. So I slowly swivel and brave my classmates. They are looking, for the most part, completely uninterested in how I solved the problem. Except, maybe, for valedictorian-bound Min Lee, my sole mathlete competition, who looks annoyed that she has been upstaged. Eva is studiously doodling in her notebook, avoiding eye contact, like my dorkitude reflects badly on her. I don't dare look directly in Cooper's direction, but I can tell from the corner of my eye he is gazing at me encouragingly, waiting to hear me speak.

Imagine your audience naked, those Toastmasters gurus always say—but how can I, when it feels like I'm the one stripped bare? My body feels totally exposed, every imperfection on display, from a scuff on my shoe to a flyaway hair. My voice, my posture, my articulation, all up for judgment. The whole room seems to be waiting for me to blow it, to stutter or freeze or say too many ums. Or worse, commit some social faux pas that will ricochet around the school and stick—like Tammy Henderson's unexpected period in white pants, which people will probably still be bringing up at our ten-year reunion.

“Go ahead.” Ms. Pinella nods, no help at all, no acknowledgment that she has just ruined my day, my week, possibly my life. I feel pools of sweat beading on my forehead and inside my shirt. A familiar tune seizes my brain.
Fiiiiive gol-den rings
.

“Well, I took the probability . . .” I whisper, my throat clenching up. What if I have a seizure? A panic attack? An allergic reaction? If I faint dead away, can I get out of this?

“Lou-der,” Tyler Walters calls, just to be an ass. A few kids titter.

I hate this. I
hate
this.

I start again, a decibel louder this time, trying to remind myself that really, no one in the class cares what I say—unless I say something moronic. Better to just get it over with. “I took the probability . . .” As quickly as possible, I walk the class through my thinking and how I'd arrived at the correct answer.

I look over and see Cooper murmuring something into Annalise's ear. She nods. Ugh. I totally lose my train of thought. Where was I?

Fiiiiive gol-den rings
.

I stammer and Tyler and a few of the guys in the back snicker again. I can feel my ears turn flamingo pink. Instead of shooting him a dirty look, like she always does, Eva is just sitting there, her face a blank slate. Like she doesn't even know me. This time, for the first time, protection is not coming. My white knight has left the building.

So here's what it would be like, I realize. Standing on my own two feet. Completely exposed. Life in a post-Eva universe. I am like a deer separated from her herd on the savannah, the predators circling, smelling the whiff of fear.

Noelling. Noey. The nobody.

“And the odds ratio?” Ms. Pinella prompts me as I falter.

“Um, right.” I plow through the last part of the problem, talking as fast as I can and probably not illuminating anything for anyone. But eventually I am finished and can slink back to my seat.