There’s some code. You have to knock a few times. But I’ve never even tried to get in. I know this sounds implausible—hello, this is a school—but we have a big school. Three wings! Three floors in each wing. Two bathrooms on each floor. Three different vice principals even. No one gets busted for smoking up in C-wing. Teachers aren’t interested in going up there, to the third floor, all the way down the hall. Practically nowhere. They’ve gotten away with it for years. And I’ve learned to just fear it. To stay away.
BLYTHE
Even though no one has caught us smoking in the C-wing bathroom, we’re all still a little on edge about someone busting in. You just need to say, “It’s cool,” or rap on the wall a few times before you walk in, but I never see anyone new here. People are scared. It’s fine with me. The fewer people who come, the less attention it gets. It should be exclusive. It should be hard to find.
I turn to Ali outside the bathroom door and place my index finger on my lips. I whisper: “Don’t say a word.”
I kick open the bathroom door, and Suki, Cate, and Donnie all gasp. Suki chokes, coughing on her inhale. They shove their cigarettes behind their backs, as if that would help their asses if they had gotten caught.
ALI
It’s the Core Four. Suki Fields. Cate Sandoval. Donnie Alperstein. Blythe Jensen, their fourth.
I take a quick look around. Cate has these big gold hoop earrings with her name spelled through the middle: CATE.
Suki is wearing a floral skirt down to her calves. A tiny T-shirt that says SO TIRED.
Donnie Alperstein in denim shorts. Button-up shirt to the collar. Black Converse high-tops. She has smoky blue tips in her curly hair, and I flash back to seeing her at Sophie Miller’s party, laughing in a crowd of people.
The party. That night.
Sean Nessel on top of me.
Shake it off. Close your eyes and make it go away. Breathe, Ali. Breathe.
The girls collectively hold their breaths and hide their smokes behind their backs. When they see it’s just Blythe, they exhale, and a massive cloud of smoke hits my face. Don’t cough, I tell myself. Just breathe.
BLYTHE
“What’s up, bitches?” I have a big smile on my face.
“What the fuck, B?” Suki says.
“Thanks for giving me a heart attack at seventeen, Jensen,” Donnie says.
I introduce the girls to Ali; though I might as well say, I’ve got the girl who fucked Sean Nessel.
Does Ali know that’s her story? That she’s the girl who fucked Sean Nessel this weekend?
I pass Ali a cigarette and let the girls give it to her a little. Suki eyes Ali, then turns away, uninterested.
“So. Why did you bring her here?” Suki says. “Is she going to do a tell-all with us?”
“Yeah, Blythe is, like, going to interview her about Sean,” Donnie says, laughing.
“Give us the lowdown,” Cate says, laughing. “’Cause I bet she got real low.”
“Ever heard of don’t kiss and tell, you sluts?” I say. “She’s not going to tell you shit about her relationship with Nessel. And he wouldn’t expect her to.”
I frame it like that. Relationship. Ali doesn’t even know what I’m doing, what I’m giving to her by framing it like that. She doesn’t know what these girls could do to her. What I could do to her. I’m donating status to this girl Ali Greenleaf—she better take it.
ALI
Donnie hikes herself up on the bathroom sink. Swinging her legs and blowing smoke rings. She calls Blythe by her last name, Jensen—almost like she’s taunting her. “New pair of boots, you shoe-whore, Jensen.” Or “Oh, Jensen, you’re so cute when you’re being head slut-shamer in charge.” But Blythe smiles with every one of Donnie’s digs. She seems to like it.
I stare at Donnie because she’s so pretty—I’ve never been this close to her. I always thought Blythe was in charge of this group, but now I wonder if it’s different. There seems to be a divide. Blythe and Donnie, top tier. Suki and Cate, underlings.
“Like something you see, Greenleaf?” Donnie says, taking me by surprise and flicking her ashes at me.
I just kind of blink.
Cate starts at writing on the bathroom wall. THE CORE FOUR. “The asshole janitor scrubbed my last design.”
“That asshole janitor is my father,” I say.
I don’t know what makes me say it. It just flies out of my mouth, and I automatically want to apologize for it, say something like, “I’m just kidding,” but instead I smile and say nothing.
Then all of them, the Core Four, start laughing, even Cate. And then it’s a whirlwind of laughter. They think I’m funny.
I finally breathe.
BLYTHE
“So,” I say, turning my body to Ali. My knee touches her knee. She doesn’t pull it away, and I whisper, “My boyfriend, Devon, and Sean are best friends.” I click my mouth, making smoke rings. “Do you know Devon Strong?”
“I know who he is.”
“Anyway, Sean really, really respects you. He’s waiting to hear back about early acceptance from Duke and then there’s the State Champs and then he’s going to build huts for needy Costa Ricans over Presidents’ Day weekend, which means he needs to be in great shape, because ten huts in three days, he’s kind of inhuman, right?”
Except we both know he is human. And humans cry. And humans make mistakes. Especially male humans.
“He doesn’t usually drink that much, Ali. That’s not his style.”
I don’t even know why I’m saying this. I know it’s not true. Everyone knows it’s not true.
But Ali glares at me. Her eyes don’t exactly tear up, but they get squinty. As if she’s insanely angry. Because I’ve said something so awful. I’ve insulted her. She gasps. She tosses her cigarette toward the toilet, and it flies by Suki like a rocket.
“Nothing happened,” Ali says.
Except something did happen. And we both know it. And Sean knows it. And Dev knows it. And too many people know it to pretend like it didn’t happen. My fear is that a month from now, when she’s ready to talk, there’ll be accusations. Crying fits. Post-traumatic stress, or whatever. Anyway, I promised Sean.
I can’t stop thinking about him crying at my car. And I know I should think of the way Ali looked traumatized as she ran out of Sophie Miller’s house the other night. Find empathy in my heart. But my loyalty is with Sean. It just is.