Cherry (28 page)

“Do you know who might've had a reason to send this?” Mrs. Bowers asked as if there were going to be a simple answer to that question.

As if Alex didn't have a reputation.

As if people didn't make up stupid stories about her all the time.

The girls were thinking all of that, but they didn't say any of it.

They promised to alert the principal and Alex's parents right away if they heard anything that might be helpful.

Afterward, they huddled up in the hallway.

“It had to be Oliver, right?” Layla asked.

All the girls wanted to say yes. They wanted to be able to prove that it was definitely Oliver. And of course that made sense. And it was probably more likely than not that it really was him . . . but they couldn't prove it.

And the hard part was, as Emma articulated, “it could've been anyone.”

“At least it's not
real
,” Zoe said. “I mean not
really
real.”

She was trying to find the bright side, but it didn't seem particularly bright.

ALEX
hadn't really responded to anything or anyone all week.

She couldn't.

The Crew had unsuccessfully tried to come over after school on Friday. And then on Saturday, too. And now it was Sunday. It was a quarter to four. It was almost time for froyo.

But Alex just still couldn't get out of bed.

So the girls got the froyo for Alex instead and brought it over. They bought medium sized servings of every flavor on the flavor board at The Bigg Chill (ten flavors altogether) and brought all of them to Alex's house along with a dozen possible topping options.

“Bigg Chill Aaron says he's sorry and he hopes you feel better,” Layla said as she passed out the plastic spoons.

“Oh my God . . . ,” Alex said. “
Bigg Chill Aaron saw the picture?!”

“Well. At first I was thinking, he just thought you were sick,” Layla explained, “but then he also said to tell you to keep your head up, so I think it's probably safe to say he did.”

Yep, Alex thought. Bigg Chill Aaron had definitely seen it.

Everyone with an Internet connection had seen it.

Ugh.

It . . .

Alex still couldn't bring herself to say “me,” mostly because the picture mostly wasn't
actually
her, but also because the whole episode felt like such a mistake, such an awful, horrible joke that she still wasn't entirely sure it was real.

“At least the body is hot,” Alex said, attempting some levity.

Ugh.

The
body . . .

It's not that Alex
wanted
it to be her body, she actually very much did
not
want that, but at least if it were hers, she could claim some sort of ownership of it. She could've said,
Why yes, that is me, take it or leave it
 . . . but it wasn't. It was a sick, Photoshopped fantasy, which felt like a violation on top of a violation.

Everyone thought she
wasn't
a virgin.
She was.

Everyone thought she
was
naked.
She wasn't.

Alex's
reality was overshadowed by everyone's thoughts and feelings.

And, really, no one knew exactly where the picture came from.

“There's no proof,” the girls had all said, resigned to the uncertainty.

Alex wasn't
entirely
sure where it came from either, but she had one pretty strong guess.

ALEX
needed to get back on track—literally and figuratively.

Her parents had given her permission to stay home from school again, but there were only so many track meets on the calendar, and the record certainly wasn't going to break itself. Luckily, her body seemed to agree. She found herself awake and dressed for school and leaning against Oliver's car a whole twenty minutes early. Her shoes were already on, and the laces were tied, and all her possessions were packed inside of her backpack.

None of that had ever happened before, let alone all of that at the same time.

She stood outside in the driveway, waiting. Watching. Noticing everything. Like the thin morning breeze. And the paint scratches on Oliver's car. The way her toes felt inside of her sneakers. And then Oliver walked outside. It felt like maybe he somehow knew Alex would be early for
the first time all year. He raised his hands up as he walked toward her as if to say he came in peace, or that he wasn't guilty, or maybe a little bit of both.

“Alex,” Oliver said in a tone of voice she'd never heard before.

This wasn't Oliver the Flirt talking, or Oliver the Basketball Star, or even Oliver the Asshole. This was just Oliver, the boy next door. “I'm sorry,” he said. It wasn't like the way he apologized for kissing Caroline on the bus. This was an actual, real life “I'm sorry” for something seriously worth being sorry about.

“I didn't do it,” he added.

Alex didn't know how to respond. She just stared at him for a moment.
Through
him, really. And into his piercing blue eyes. She didn't
want
to believe him, but there was something about the way he looked, his quiet face, his strong jawline, the way he held his body as it got closer to hers . . . something about the way he said he didn't do it—his tone, his sincerity, the measured speed of his words as they slipped out of his mouth—something about it forced a big lump in Alex's throat . . .

She hadn't cried since it happened.

Not once.

She had puked more times than she could count, and she wasn't really sleeping or eating or combing her hair, but she hadn't cried . . . until now.

The lump in her throat turned into a fire in her eyes. And the tears—the hot, sticky, uncontrollable tears—came spilling out. It wasn't just
a
tear. It was
all
of the tears . . .
tears for all of the bad jokes and the rumors. For the catcalls and the cattiness. The two minutes and thirty-five seconds that Max held his breath. The months—
years
—she'd lied to her friends about that night at sleepaway camp. All the Mona Lisa smiles and the city lights near Mulholland. The star charm on her sneakers. The superstar email with all lowercase letters.

The way it never happens the way you want it to.

All of it.

Oliver respected Alex's space, staying near, but not too close, until her sobs finally reached a crescendo, and he had no choice but to step forward. He moved toward her slowly, but purposefully, until he stretched out his arms and wrapped them around Alex's back, pulling her into his chest, holding her.

Even after that Alex cried for a very long time.

Oliver held her until she didn't need to be held anymore.

They were both late to school, but they both knew it didn't matter.

EMMA
got her very first college acceptance on April Fool's Day.

Of course she did.

She'd spent the past few months, basically all of senior year, feeling like the universe was playing a giant practical joke on her, so,
of course
she'd get into college on a day where everything was supposed to be some sort of joke.

“Yeah,” Savannah said, “you should probably check your spam folder.” Emma hadn't considered that. But just before she started to panic some more, Savannah continued, “I'm kidding. Deep breaths. You're good. And I'm proud of you.”

Then she put her hand on top of Emma's and squeezed it reassuringly. She held on for a moment longer. Soon Emma could feel a layer of sweat coating her palm. She pulled her hand away as slickly as she could (which wasn't very) and wiped it on her corduroys. Savannah didn't seem
thrilled
, but
public hand-holding really wasn't her style. Emma tried to carry on the conversation, rambling about how her parents wanted to celebrate and have a whole big dinner. Her mom wanted to use the nice china plates. Her dad wanted to make a speech.

“So, dinner . . . ,” Savannah said tentatively. “Do I make the cut on that?”

Honestly, Emma hadn't even considered it.

Her parents had insisted that she invite “the girls” but that just meant Zoe and Alex and Layla of course. “Or, just, forget I asked,” Savannah said before Emma had figured out how to respond. It wasn't that Emma didn't
want
Savannah to be there, but it just felt like a lot all at once. “We wouldn't want to make any sudden movements or anything,” Savannah added rather pointedly.

“Hey,” Emma said, pushing back.

“I'm not . . . it's not about
dinner
,” Savannah replied.

Emma could hear the frustration in her voice, and she couldn't exactly fault Savannah for that. They'd been hanging out at school a lot—and things were decidedly “good” between them—but their kiss count was still stuck at one. It wasn't that Emma was
avoiding
kiss number two, but she hadn't exactly put herself in a position to let it happen either.

“It just feels like . . . what's that expression? ‘If a tree falls in the woods when no one's around, can anyone hear it?'”

“Oh, you mean:
Does it make a sound
?” Emma offered. “'Cause obviously if no one's around then no one can hear
it, but the point is about sound. Like, did it really happen at all?”

“Right.” Savannah nodded.

“Ha. Yeah,” Emma said, still trying to understand what she was getting at.

“So it's sort of like: ‘If you fall for a cute girl, but she's too embarrassed to tell anyone about it, are you really falling?'”

There it was.

That's
what Savannah was actually mad about.

“No?” Savannah asked, forcing the issue. “Does that one not work?”

Savannah got up and walked out of the classroom.

Emma followed right after her. “Hey. Stop. I'm not embarrassed.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes! Jeez. Come to dinner if it's that big a deal—”

“I already said it's not about
dinner
—”

“Then why are you making such a big deal about it?”

“You make a big deal about everything!”

“And you don't! That's why this is so weird!”

“Emma, I know you don't want me to have, like, expectations or whatever, but I don't think that's realistic anymore . . . And I know you're confused, but the thing is: I'm not. I know who I am. And I know how I feel. And I'm not trying to push you . . . but if you weren't so scared, I'd kiss you right here in the hallway.”

“I'm not scared,” Emma said as forcefully as she could, but it still came out sounding shaky.

Savannah stepped even closer to Emma.

Now their noses were practically touching.

Emma could feel Savannah's breath on her lips.

She was basically daring Emma to kiss her.

Right here.

Right now.

In public.

Emma wanted to . . .

. . . but she didn't.

And before she could do much of anything else, Savannah spun around and took off down the hallway. Emma wanted to yell out
Wait
. She wanted to stop her.

But she couldn't.

So she didn't.

And Savannah didn't come to dinner.

  *  *  *  

ALEX
felt like she was late for car pool even though it was seven thirty at night.

She'd stayed for an extra while after track practice and lost track of time, and now she was running late to dinner at Emma's house. Alex hustled toward Emma's front door.

Zoe's forest green Ford Explorer was parked right out front.

The engine was still running.

“Hi, Zoe,” Alex said as she approached the driver's side window.

“Well it
rhymes
with Zoe,” Joey corrected.

Alex's heart skipped a beat.

Actually, it felt like her heart stopped for an entire
moment as she laid her eyes on Joey Reed sitting in the front seat. “Spring break,” he explained as he fiddled with the radio.

“Nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Joey said. Something about the way he said it made Alex wonder if he'd seen the picture. Her stupid, fake, but also stupidly real picture. “I'm sorry,” he added—and she didn't have to wonder anymore.

He'd seen it.

“Yeah . . .” was all she could think to say.

“Did you hear about that time I got pantsed in the ­middle of the track?” Joey asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

No. Alex hadn't heard about that.

And so Joey launched into a whole story about his sophomore year, and how his asshole friends had pulled his pants down around his ankles. In front of
everybody
. And how he was absolutely mortified. And betrayed. And never thought he could show his face again. But he could. And he did. And somehow Joey was able to explain the whole thing in a way that explained all the feelings Alex had
felt
but simply hadn't been able to articulate.

Joey just got it.

And truth was, his story was way worse than Alex's, because everyone really saw his penis. His actual, real penis. Luckily no one took a picture of it or anything. But still . . .

Joey explained that the infamous pantsing episode was the final straw that helped him lose all the “baby fat” he'd been holding on to for so long.

“This is way more of a conversation than I was expecting to have right now. . . ,”
Joey admitted once he'd reached the end of it.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You're welcome.” He ran his fingers through his hair.