I Swear (15 page)

“Yes,” she said. “That’s everything.”

Maybe it was her tears. Or maybe a part of me really wanted my sister back. Maybe I’m just a moron.

Whatever the reason, I swear I believed her.

21. JILLIAN

By seven thirty a.m. we were all in our places behind the TeenReach volunteer table. Beth sat down between me and Katherine. No one spoke; we just sat behind our clipboards, waiting. Macie buzzed about in a short silver suit with a spangled top and her signature Jimmy Choo heels. She looked like she was ready to go live from the scene of the crime as soon as the cameras showed up. She had just finished hanging the banner on the wall behind us when Krista rounded the corner. Her glasses were missing, and she had a cardboard travel tray of coffee.

“Morning!” she said brightly, passing out Starbucks for everyone. “I got you tea, Beth,” she said softly. “You like chamomile, right?”

Beth looked up and took the cup from her. I watched her nostrils flare, and something passed between them besides the Venti paper cup.

Slowly, over the next twenty minutes, the hallway filled up. The early swim practice was first to hit the stairs, most of them racing by us to ditch their gear in their lockers and head across the street to McDonald’s to scarf down as many calories as they could before the first bell rang.

“Skinny bitches,” muttered Beth.

When I smiled, Beth caught my eye and smiled back. “I remember carbs,” I said.

“Oh, please, Jillian, you’re five eleven. You can eat nothing but lard and hamburger buns and never worry. I’ve got to spray-glue my leotard to my ass as it is.”

“Better than your tits in your gown.” Katherine laughed.

“Oh, that’s right!” said Macie. “When is Miss Washington Teen?”

“I don’t expect any of y’all to be there.” Katherine looked down at the empty clipboard in front of her. We’d been sitting here for thirty minutes and no one had stopped yet.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Missing you winning the regional was bad enough.” Beth rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m coming. You in, Jillian?”

“It’s Saturday night,” Katherine said.

“Awesome,” said Macie. “These depositions will be almost over by then. Who knows? Maybe they’ll even withdraw the suit by then and this thing will be put to rest. Either way, let’s all go and celebrate.”

“What we celebrating, ladies?” It was Josh. He was carrying
a McDonald’s bag and holding a Sausage McMuffin.

“Wow,” I said. “How many of those do you eat after practice?”

“Usually only two, but I didn’t have time for the full pancake breakfast this morning, so I’m having three.”

“Bastard,” Beth yelled with a smile, and threw a pen at his head.

“Have to keep my girlish figure.” He winked. “Wow, you guys have quite the operation going here,” he said. “Nice banner.”

“Yeah, turned out pretty well,” Macie said. “The TeenReach people were really jazzed about combining their logo with Westport’s. Let’s take a picture, everybody!”

Macie reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, then handed it to Josh. “You mind doing the honors?”

“Not at all,” he said.

Josh stepped across the hall and we all leaned together. “Oh, c’mon, ladies. This looks like a funeral. Smile a little, would ya?”

He snapped a couple of pictures, then grabbed his own phone. “One more!” he said.

As he handed Macie’s phone back to her and resumed stuffing McMuffin in his face, he looked at the sign-up lists.

“Not a lot of volunteer action, huh?”

“Nope,” said Beth.

“Interesting,” said Josh.

I saw Macie’s eyes narrow. She’s like a robot when it comes to reading people. “What’s interesting about that, Josh?” Suddenly her voice had the timbre of a glacier.

Josh’s eyes met Macie’s as he took a bite of his McMuffin. He chewed slowly, holding her gaze. “Just sayin’.”

“Ready for your deposition today?” she asked.

It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge.

Josh chewed slowly, considering her. Finally he swallowed and chased the bite with a swig from a plastic bottle of OJ hidden in the bag.

“I don’t think that’s the question you should be asking,” Josh said with a smile sweeter than Splenda. “Are
you
ready for my deposition, Macie?”

He said it like he was joking, but it was sly, and Macie caught it. She blinked at him, and I saw color rise in her cheeks.

“You know the reason nobody is signing up, right?” he asked her, nodding at the banner. She was quiet. “It’s because they want to see how this all turns out. Hanging out with Macie Merrick isn’t enough to fill a clipboard with volunteers the way it used to be.” He smirked, then slowly, without moving his eyes away from Macie, he crumpled up a McMuffin wrapper and held it in a clenched fist.

“Careful, Josh.” Macie smiled with everything but her eyes. “Wouldn’t want to air your dirty laundry in public, would we?”

Josh tossed his head back and laughed. His dark-brown
hair was still wet from the pool, and you could see his abs through his polo. Three years of swimming had been good to him. “That’s my girl,” he said to Macie. Then in a mock “Eureka!” moment, he slapped his hand to his forehead, his eyes wide. “Oh. Em. Gee! You should totally meet my girlfriend sometime. You two have a lot in common.”

Macie didn’t take the bait, but Beth did. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!” She giggled. “What’s her name?”

“Elaine Braddock.” Josh smiled at her. “She’s a freshman at Stanford, pre-law. She’s flying up for my meet next weekend. You should come.”

“Wait, Braddock—like, District Attorney Graham Braddock?” I asked.

“That’s her dad,” Josh exclaimed more cheerfully than required. “The DA invited me over for dinner tonight. He and his wife want me to help plan a surprise party for Elaine next weekend. They want to help me prep for my deposition tomorrow, too.”

He turned and smiled at Macie. “You should all totally come to the party! I’ll send you the Facebook invite. Just remember, Macie, it’s a secret.”

He leaned in to Macie and held a finger to his lips. “Ssssshhhhh . . .” He tossed his McDonald’s sack into the trash can next to the table and winked at her. “Good luck with the sign-ups.” Then he held up two fingers to the rest of us as he headed down the hall. “Peace, ladies.”

I looked back at Macie. She was gripping the back of an empty folding chair so hard that her knuckles were turning white. In something between a twitch and a spasm, she pushed it violently into the table, making everybody jump.

“Sorry,” she said, taking out her phone and dialing a number. “I’ll be right back.”

Macie grabbed her bag and in long, angry strides, walked to the bathrooms across the hall and pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. Krista started to stand up, but I beat her around the end of the table.

“Give us a minute,” I said. Krista frowned as she slumped back down in her chair.

When I pushed into the bathroom, Macie was wrapping up her call.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Just giving my dad’s press secretary the heads-up about Josh. She’s making a couple of calls.”

Slowly, Macie grasped both sides of a sink and let her head hang loose, her eyes closed. I stood and watched her, not sure what to say. Finally she turned her head toward me. Her eyes were glassy. She was looking at me, but she wasn’t seeing me.

“When my dad was running for senate and Marty went through all that shit, I swore to God that I would never be the reason my dad lost anything,” she said softly.

I walked over to her and gently put my hand next to hers on the sink so that our pinkies touched.

“I know,” I said. “I was there. Remember?”

Macie’s eyes focused on me then, and she saw me. Really saw me. And this is that thing that I couldn’t explain to Jake last night in the bathroom: what it feels like when Macie Merrick sees you, really sees you. There is this thing that she has—her dad has it too. It spills out of her eyes and floods you with this feeling that you’re the only one who matters, that what happens next is of no consequence, because right now, you’ve captured her attention and this is the only moment that matters.

The simple truth was that I felt better when I was in Macie Merrick’s gaze. In the moment that her eyes locked with mine, the knowledge that I was a prettier, smarter, funnier person was never up for debate. If I could see that Macie believed I was good enough, then I swore it must’ve been true.

Somehow knowing that Macie didn’t doubt me made me not doubt myself. She gave me permission to actually believe the things I’d like to think about myself. And if I believed those things about myself—even for a moment—then who was to say they weren’t true?

Macie smiled at me and locked my pinkie with hers, our hands still on the sink. “Thanks, Jills.”

I watched in the mirror as she went into a stall, then I splashed some water on my face. As I was blotting dry with a paper towel, I saw the door swing open and Kelly, the redhead from the volleyball team, came in and fished in her purse for a
lipstick. She saw me standing at the sink and looked away without smiling. As she touched the lipstick to her mouth, Macie came out of the stall and walked to the sink next to Kelly’s to wash her hands.

Kelly froze for a moment and stared at Macie for just a second too long.

“I think the Gay-Straight Alliance meetings are in the bathrooms upstairs,” Macie said coldly. “Maybe you could quit staring and get the hell out of here?”

I have witnessed Macie Merrick clear entire classrooms with a comment like this. As warm as her charm can be, there is a ruthless streak inside her that could laser through reinforced concrete. I tossed my paper towel into the trash can and waited for Kelly to turn and flee.

But something else happened instead.

Kelly kept staring directly into Macie’s eyes in the mirror and slowly finished applying her lipstick. Then she smacked her lips once and smiled at Macie.

“Seem a little stressed out, Macie. Things not going so well with the Gatlin case?”

Macie’s eyes narrowed. “What would you know about that?”

Kelly dropped her lipstick into her purse and grabbed a paper towel to blot. When she’d finished, she turned to Macie.

“You pretend that you don’t remember me in the hallways, but I know you do. I was the girl sitting next to Krista on the
first day of freshman year when you started that rumor about Leslie and the plastic surgeon. I was so afraid of you that day that I stopped talking to Leslie. In fact, I was one of the people who should have been her friend, but I was a coward. I knew you were lying, but I didn’t want you to start a lie about me—”

“Sorry,” Macie interrupted her. “I’m bored now. Jillian? Shall we?”

As Macie walked toward the door, Kelly shook her head and laughed. “You know why no one is signing up at your little table out there, right?”

Macie turned on her heel and marched right back to Kelly, dropping her bag off her shoulder and onto the floor. Kelly flinched and stepped backward.

“Please,” said Macie coolly. “Enlighten us.”

Two freshmen girls walked into the bathroom. Macie fixed them with her camera-ready high-beam smile. “Girls, so glad you could join us for a new first-period drama class here in the first-floor women’s restroom. A former friend of the late Leslie Gatlin’s was just about to share with us why no one is signing up to volunteer at the TeenReach Hotline.”

She turned back to Kelly. “You were saying?”

The freshmen stood frozen and wide-eyed, stuck somewhere between fight and flight. Kelly dropped all pretense. She stared at Macie solemnly and shook her head.

“I pity you, Macie. The only thing more tragic than watching you rise to power has been watching it unravel.”

“Ha! Oh my God.” Macie tossed her head back in a staccato laugh. “You? Pity me? That’s rich,” she said bitterly.

“You’ll get away with this,” Kelly continued. “You’ll beat the civil suit, and your dad will keep everything hush-hush, and you’ll probably still get into Harvard or Yale, or Brown, or wherever, and you’ll move on to a new group of minions who have no idea that you’re this vicious, brutal person who always comes out on top by crushing the people in your way.”

The air was so still I realized I was holding my breath.

“That’s not who I am.” Macie spoke slowly, barely containing her rage.

“Keep believing that, Macie,” Kelly said. “Just know that there are people in this school who finally get it now. There are a few of us who see exactly who you are and exactly what you do.” Kelly shifted her bag to her right shoulder and walked past Macie toward the door. She turned and stopped as she reached for the handle.

“I don’t care what your lawyers or your parents or the press or the principal say, Macie. You might as well have blown a hole in Leslie Gatlin with a gun. Sure, she took her own life, and that’s on her. I abandoned her back in ninth grade, and that’s on me. But most of it? It’s on you, Macie.”

The freshman girls wisely followed Kelly out of the bathroom without making a sound.

Macie dropped her bag onto the counter at the sink and dug out some mascara. She pulled out the brush and held it
to her left upper lid. I watched as it shook for a moment in front of the mirror. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. She brought the brush up once more and, with a steady hand, applied a fresh layer.

As we turned to leave, I heard her phone ding, and Macie paused to pull it out of her purse. She read the message and smiled, then dropped her phone back into her bag.

“What was that?” I asked.

“The end of Josh Phillips,” she said.

She threw back her shoulders and held the bathroom door open for me with a big smile.” Shall we?”

Macie wove her arm through mine, and together we walked out of the bathroom and through the path that cleared for us in the hallway.

•  •  •

Later that day, on my way to fourth period, I got a text from Brad.

Lunch? Bleachers?

I typed back
yep
and smiled to myself. I could tell he’d been tense about the pictures, but it made me nervous when he didn’t call or text.