How It Ends (17 page)

Can I trust her?

She'll find out about Scott and about all the stupid stuff my friends and I post. She'll see pictures from parties and read all my status updates.

But then . . . I'll be able to see all that stuff on her profile too.

“Are you working over there?” my dad asks sharply. I click Accept and then minimize the window so my English paper appears onscreen.

“Yes, Father. I'm hard at work,” I say, earning a snort from Sophie. My dad raises an eyebrow and Madge looks up from her book. God, I wish I could retreat to the privacy of my room and not have to endure Dad's version of “family time,” where we all sit in the same room doing our own thing.

The computer pings as a chat message comes in. Sophie.

Wasn't sure you were going to accept there for a sec.

I smile at the screen.
This is a big step in our relationship.

I figured we were ready to take it to the next level. :)

I sneak a peek at her and see that her eyes are crinkled up with a smile. It suddenly strikes me as hilarious that we're having a conversation right under our parents' noses. For all they know, we hate each other.

Warning,
she writes,
I'm about to go through all your pictures.

I've already started looking at yours!

Sophie laughs out loud.

“Homework funny?” Madge asks pointedly.

“Hilarious.”

I find an album called
Troy
and open it. Holy shit.

Is Troy your boyfriend?

It takes her a moment to respond. I look over and see her chewing on her bottom lip.

We can trust each other, right?
she types.
What happens on Facebook stays on Facebook?

Absolutely! I could get into way more trouble than you for the things you'll find.

She raises her eyebrows at me from across the room, and I nod solemnly.

All right then, nosy. Yes, he's my boyfriend. What do you think?

What do I think? My God, he's the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen in my life. I mean, Scott is hot, but Troy is
hawt
.

Ummm . . . Wow!

I know, right? He's so amazing.

He does NOT go to our school.

Obvs. He's studying fine arts at university.

Whoa.

Yep. Remember—what happens on Facebook stays on Facebook.

Promise.

I click through the album, stunned at Sophie's rebellion. Here I was thinking she was Little Miss Perfect, and she has herself a secret older boyfriend. A secret older boyfriend who's also a sexy, tattooed artist.

I find another album with pictures of her with friends from school. Like me, Sophie never brings anyone home, and I realize as I browse through her pictures that I've never really thought about that side of her—the fun, relaxed side. There's this one picture in particular that gets to me. It's Sophie linking arms with a couple of friends. Her blond hair is glowing in the sunshine and her face is radiant. She's so
happy
that it makes me feel weirdly sad.

So . . . Scott Hutchins, right?

Oh boy.
Yep.

He's the guy from the night I picked you up at that party. Is he your boyfriend?

Yes. That's the night we got together.

Cute! Lucky guy.

I blush.
Thx.

I scroll through Sophie's wall posts, getting little clues about who she is as a person. It's crazy that you can live in the same house with someone and not know them at all. I've always thought of Sophie as stuck-up and spoiled, but from what I can see, she's friends with all kinds of people, and nice to all of them. There are no catty posts or snide comments on her wall.

You know, if you ever need to talk about anything, you can talk to me,
she types.

I almost cry.

I gotta look out for my little sister, you know?

I blink back tears and then look up and give her a wobbly smile. Sophie winks at me and goes back to her computer.

She logs out of Facebook a few minutes later, but I keep the chat window open for the rest of the night.

Little sister.

I was just about to log off Facebook and get back to my homework when Courtney posted a new status update:
Some people just don't know when they're not welcome.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
I knew it.

Ever since we got back from Christmas break, Courtney's been tormenting me in a million different ways that are apparently invisible to everyone but me.

It started with little snubs. Like the day I sat down across from her at the lunch table and she immediately got up and moved away, claiming that the sun was in her eyes. Or the time she went on a McDonald's run and remembered everyone's order but mine. Then came the “accidental” insults, like her rant about how ankle boots were
so last year
on the day I wore my new ones to school, and the time she insisted that my sweater looked exactly like one she'd donated to Goodwill two years ago.

Annie, of course, has been completely blind to all this. When I tried to explain what was happening, she told me I was being paranoid. “Don't be so sensitive, Jess. Court's treating you the same way she treats everyone else. She says the same stuff to me and Liss.”

She doesn't, though. It's not the same.

So when I saw Courtney's Facebook status, I texted Annie straightaway. She couldn't ignore this, I figured. It was right there in writing.

Check Facebook,
I texted.

I'm on . . . what's wrong?

Courtney's status.

??

My fingers shook as I dialed her number. I needed to know that she was on my side. That we'd still be friends even if Courtney kicked me out of the group. “It's about me, Annie!” My voice quavered and tears welled in my eyes.

“What are you talking about? It's probably about her family or something.”

“No! She hates me!” I wailed. “This is totally about me.”

I could hear Annie's sigh through the phone. “Jess, I love you, but you're being paranoid. Court's dealing with a ton of shit right now. Trust me when I tell you that she's not even
thinking
about you tonight.”

I took deep breaths and tried to calm myself down. Maybe she was right. Why would Courtney be posting about
me
at 9:45 on a Monday night? I decided that I was overestimating my own importance.

I held on to that reassuring thought all night and into this morning. But by lunchtime there was no overlooking the fact that Courtney sighed audibly every time I spoke and rolled her eyes at everything from the lunch selections on my tray to the outfit I was wearing. I felt queasy, and inched my chair closer to Annie's.
You're not here for Courtney,
I reminded myself.
You don't care what she thinks.

When Annie pushed her tray away and pulled out her science textbook, inspiration struck. I leaned in close, hoping no one would overhear. “Want to go study in the library with me?”

Annie looked up at me right as Courtney barked a cough that sounded suspiciously like
Lez
into her hand. The whole table erupted in laughter.

I watched as Annie shot an exasperated look at Courtney.

“What?” Courtney laughed. “I just have a tickle in my throat.”

I gave Annie an
I told you so
look and waited for her to defend me. I was expecting her to be the girl I remembered from the locker room on the first day of school. Instead, she just shook her head at Courtney and went back to her homework.

What the . . . 

“Oh, don't look so upset, Jessie,” Courtney snapped. “I was just
kidding.
”

I shrugged my shoulders, struggling to keep my face blank. “I'm not upset,” I lied, packing up my tray and getting up to leave.

“Jess . . .” Annie said. “Don't go! Courtney was just joking around.”

“I know,” I said, like it was no big deal. “I'm going to the library to study. Want to come?” My heart hammered in my chest.

Annie looked at Courtney and then back at me. “Just study here with us. We can quiz each other.”

“No, thanks,” I said, grabbing my tray and walking away.

I could hear Courtney laughing at me as I left, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as Annie's indifference. She
saw,
and she didn't even care.

Outside the cafeteria, I took a deep breath and blinked back tears before heading toward the library. I kept expecting Annie to fall into step beside me, but it didn't happen. Annie had made a choice, and she didn't choose me.

I sleepwalked through the rest of the day, feeling as if I'd taken a huge step backwards. I was alone again, but it hurt so much more than it ever did last year. All I could think about was where I'd sit at lunch tomorrow. I didn't want to go back to Courtney's table, but I wasn't sure where to go instead.

I could sit at the table Annie and I shared before Courtney came along, but that seemed far too pathetic. It would look like I was waiting for Annie to come back to me, and I could just imagine Courtney's comments. There was always the old table from last year, too. I could try to slip back into my old group and pray they'd take me back. Kevin would make a scene, but back in October, Charlie had practically begged me to join them. I thought about the day he'd found me in the library, right before my study session with Scott. He gave me that comic he drew and told me I should come meet the new girl at their table.

As soon as I got home from school, I turned my room upside down, hunting for Charlie's comic. I finally found it under a stack of textbooks and flopped onto my bed to read it. I figured I'd return it tomorrow at lunch as an excuse to join them.

He's talented,
I thought as I took a good look at the cover. He'd drawn the outside of our school, with a crowd of students in front. I recognized Charlie and Kevin with the new girl, and I found Annie and me, our heads bent together as if we were sharing a secret. I felt a throb of sadness at the sight of us looking so happy together, and I fought the urge to text her a picture of the drawing. I knew she'd go wild for his artwork.

I held the book closer to my face and found Courtney and Larissa in the center of the crowd, surrounded by a group of goggle-eyed boys.
Typical.
Except . . . I squinted at the page. Courtney and Larissa were wearing superhero costumes. Ridiculously over-the-top superhero costumes, replete with sequins, capes, and boob-enhancing tops. Then I noticed the name on the side of the school: Sir John A. Macdonald School for Superheroes in Training.

The story started with Charlie and Kevin sitting in the cafeteria. Charlie had the power to turn invisible, and he was using it to check out his classmates without their noticing. Everywhere he looked, he saw people with incredible powers, like super speed, flying, and telekinesis. He slumped in his chair and moaned to Kevin about how lame his own superpower was in comparison. When he caught sight of me, though, his mood changed. My ability was empathy.

Hardly able to believe his eyes, Charlie found himself drawn to me. “You can see me,” he marveled as he sat down at my table. “You're the only person who's ever been able to do that.”

I didn't share his enthusiasm. “I don't belong here,” I told him. “This is all a huge mistake.”

As far as I was concerned, empathy was a useless superpower. If anything, it made me miserable. All around me, I could feel the suffering and insecurity and worries of others.

But, it turned out, empathy was something sorely lacking at Sir John A. Macdonald High School. Everyone was so competitive that they'd lost connection with one another. They'd all been so focused on being
the
hero that they'd lost sight of the fact that they were far more powerful as a team than they ever could be on their own.

I came to the end of the comic and felt surprisingly sad that it was over. I flipped the last page, hungry for more, and found a note Charlie had penned on the back cover:

Jess,

Admit it . . . I was right: one good comic can change your mind.

I see the superhero in you, and I'd love to be your sidekick.

Charlie

He'd written his number under his name, and I ran my fingers over the digits, amazed at how badly I suddenly wanted to call him. My brain was buzzing, and I had so many
questions.
I wanted to ask him how he did it. How he drew me in and made me
believe.
And with a comic book, no less. Not to mention the ending. How did he figure out such a perfect ending?

But . . .
I'd love to be your sidekick.

I flashed back to the day in the hallway when Charlie interrupted my conversation with Annie to ask if I'd read this comic. What did I say? I remember lying and saying I'd read it. I think I called it
interesting.
And then I never talked to him again.

Oh God.

He thought I'd read it and dismissed it. He thought I wasn't interested.

My stomach churned. I couldn't call him now. He gave me this comic book in
October.
That was almost three months ago. What would I say to him?

Besides,
I thought miserably,
he's with that new girl now.
I pictured them sitting in the cafeteria together and felt a wave of jealousy wash over me. How could I have missed this? He's a storyteller, like me. Or, at least, like I want to be.

I hugged the comic to my chest and wished I could go back and do everything differently. I wasted so much time trying to impress people who hated me that I never gave a second glance to someone who actually
liked
me.