The Perfectionists (6 page)

She shook her head. The last thing she had wanted to do was think about Nolan, the movie, or what she'd done.

“How'd you do?”

She glanced up to see Alex, his arm resting on the back of his seat. His expression changed quickly when he saw that she was upset.

“Um, not so great,” she mumbled.

“It's okay. Maybe he'll let you rewrite it. We can watch the movie again together—”

“
No
,” Ava said quickly, then winced at the flash of hurt in his warm brown eyes. She just didn't want to see that movie again, no matter what. “Sorry, I just—”

“Miss Jalali, if you don't mind, we have more material to cover.” Mr. Granger was watching them both with a frown. Alex quickly turned back to face front.

Ava barely heard the rest of the lecture. She turned through the pages of her essay, staring at the red ink in the margins.
What point are you trying to make?
Mr. Granger had written next to one paragraph.
This argument doesn't hold up
was scribbled next to another. She felt crushed. It had been so,
so
long since she'd gotten a C. The grade almost made her feel dirty, and she stuffed the paper into her Hervé Chapelier tote bag, not wanting to look at it anymore.

Finally, the bell rang for lunch. “We'll be assigning new groups for this next unit,” Mr. Granger called out over the buzz of people standing up and starting to pack their bags. “Get ready for a new project next week.”

Thank god
, Ava thought, looking up to see her relief mirrored on the faces of her other
And Then There Were None
group members. Julie took a heavy breath. Mackenzie drummed her fingers against the desk. Ava looked away. She didn't have anything against any of those girls. She just wanted to put that whole project—and what it had led to—behind her. She knew it was unfair, but if it hadn't been for those girls and that one conversation, everything would be different. She wouldn't have gotten a C. She wouldn't be racked by guilt.

And Nolan, maybe, wouldn't be dead.

FRIDAY NIGHT, JULIE REDDING WALKED
up to Matthew Hill's house. Although the house was large and stately, and well stocked with beer and the typical party snacks, it didn't even begin to compare with Nolan Hotchkiss's bash last week.

Julie shivered, dark memories wafting back to her. But she forced them away just as quickly. She definitely didn't want to think about Nolan right now.

She shouldered through the gate to the back patio, feeling that same buzz in her chest she got before every party.
Will this one go okay? What if someone sees through me? What if someone guesses?
So she did what she always did, a calming trick she'd read about years ago in a book called
The Zen Master's Guide to Calm
: She counted, she breathed, she tried to quiet her mind.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Then she shook out her hands, took a deep breath, and pasted her brightest smile on her face. The party smile. The
I'm-Julie-and-everyone-loves-me
smile.

The heavy thud of a dubstep track pulsed, punctuated by laughter and squeals. The stone fountain was already full of discarded red Solo cups, along with someone's iPhone. A couple of kids sat on lawn chairs talking intensely, the smoke of their clove cigarettes coiling around them. As people saw Julie, they waved, their faces brightening.

“You look amazing!” cooed Renata Thomas, a waifish girl who captained the gymnastics team.

“Jules!” said Helene Robinson from chemistry class, giving her a huge hug. Three other girls hugged her next. She inhaled their fruity-smelling hair and accepted their loving squeezes. By the time she'd made it inside the house, it seemed like the whole party had greeted her.

Julie's pulse began to slow. Of course it was going to be fine. She didn't need to worry. No one was going to figure out all the things she was hiding. Everyone
adored
her, and it was going to stay that way.

Early on she'd learned how to make people admire her. It'd come in handy over the years—because if they were busy noticing how fun she was, how stylish she was, how sweet she was, they didn't have time to notice that there were some things about her that were a little . . . off. How she never had anyone to her house. How people didn't even
know
where she lived. But that didn't matter, because Julie was a benevolent queen bee, unlike a lot of the rich, snobby students at Beacon Heights High. She made it easy for people to like her—and so they did.

“Oh my god, Julie!” cried a voice, breaking Julie from her thoughts. “We're twinsies! How crazy is that?”

Julie stared into the eyes of Ashley Ferguson, a junior at Beacon and the one person whom she found it very,
very
hard to be nice to.

At least, Julie
thought
it was Ashley—eerily, it was kind of like she was looking in a mirror. The two girls were about the same height and weight, and Ashley had recently dyed her hair to almost the exact auburn of Julie's. She also used the same glittery nut-brown shadow on her eyelids and the same neutral gloss on her lips. And tonight—
how
, Julie wasn't sure—she was wearing the same BCBG dress Julie had on. Their shoes were different—Ashley's looked like Jimmy Choos, while Julie wore a pair of Nine West sling-backs she'd gotten on sale.

It wasn't unusual for girls to copy Julie's style. If Julie wore blue glitter nail polish on a Friday, by Monday half the school would be wearing it, too. Usually it made her feel special, powerful, but with Ashley, Julie just felt
Single-White-Female
d. The girl tried
so
hard. It was embarrassing. If she told her therapist, Elliot Fielder, about it, he'd probably say Ashley was what Julie feared she would become if her secret ever got out: mocked, lame,
desperate.

She wondered if Parker had ever looked at Julie like that. When Julie moved to Beacon Heights in sixth grade, she realized immediately that Parker—blond, clear-skinned, and fearless—was the friend she needed to have. It took a few weeks, but Julie nosed her way into Parker's posse, and pretty soon she was Parker's best friend. They were both equally beautiful and outgoing, natural partners in crime at the top of the popularity pyramid. And though they talked after school daily, and though Julie had spent many nights at Parker's house, Parker had never come to hers. Julie had said it was because her mom was super strict. Thankfully, Parker hadn't questioned it.

But then that night happened with Parker. The night when keeping her secret nearly cost Parker her life. After that, they started being honest with each other.

Ashley was still staring at Julie eagerly. “Uh, so crazy,” Julie finally said flatly, pretending to look at something on her phone. It was just about the unfriendliest she could be.

“
Red alert
,” whispered Nyssa Frankel, who grabbed her arm and yanked her to the left. “Let's get you out of here before that psycho cuts off your hair and pastes it on her head, okay?”

Julie giggled and let Nyssa pull her away. She glanced at Ashley over her shoulder; she was standing there, frowning, clearly aware she'd been dissed.

“I wish she'd find someone else to copy,” Julie murmured into Nyssa's ear as they sauntered back outside.

Nyssa lit a cigarette, and the scent of tobacco wafted through the air. “Oh, style stealing is the highest form of flattery,” she said as she exhaled, shaking out her brown curls. She offered Julie a drag, but Julie shook her head. “Anyway, everyone knows she's a loser.” Nyssa squeezed Julie's arm. “Want me to put an ugly picture of her on Instagram? Or start a rumor about her?”

“That's okay,” Julie said, but she appreciated Nyssa's standing up for her. Ever since Parker had stopped being Parker, Nyssa had become Julie's second in command.

Nyssa looked around, hands on her hips. “This place is bananas, huh?”

“Seriously,” Julie answered. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see a cluster of kids dancing wildly in the den, jumping up and down in rhythm to the music. A boy in a Seahawks jersey had another guy in a headlock, both of them laughing. A potted lily lay broken on the covered patio, and people had obviously walked through the spilled soil, tracking it into the house. James Wong, Zev Schaeffer, and Karen Little were playing quarters on a foldout table in the backyard.

“Everyone made it out tonight,” Nyssa murmured, elbowing her way through a cluster of kids.

Julie glanced around, spotting Ava, looking model-perfect, holding tight to Alex's hand. Caitlin was here, wearing a no-nonsense striped dress and her shiny black hair pulled into a ponytail, laughing with some girls on her soccer team. Even Mackenzie was here with her friend Claire and Claire's boyfriend, Blake. But not everyone was here. Nolan wasn't. And neither was Parker.

Julie hadn't actually thought Parker would come. It was awesome that she'd shown up at Nolan's bash—but then, that wasn't because she'd wanted to socialize. She felt a pang. Parker had been through so much—of course she'd changed, and of course she was having a hard time adjusting. And after the Nolan thing, Parker seemed more tormented than ever.

Jessa Cooper and Will Mika, two of the newspaper editors, stood next to Julie and Nyssa, speaking in hushed tones. “You can still find them online if you look hard enough,” Will whispered.

“So you've actually
looked
at the photos?” Jessa's eyes were wide. “Of Nolan
dead
?”

Julie's stomach swooped. She knew what photos they were talking about.

Will shrugged. “A lot of people did.”

Julie cleared her throat. “How do you know he was actually
dead
when those photos were taken?”

Both kids turned to her. Their expressions grew reverent and respectful—she was Julie Redding, after all, and they were juniors. “Uh, I guess I
don't
know for sure,” Will admitted. “But, I mean, why else would the school demand they be taken down?”

“Maybe because Nolan had mean shit written on him?” Jessa piped up. “I wonder who wrote those things on his face.”

Nyssa snorted. “My money's on Mark Brody,” she said, referring to Nolan's friend on the lacrosse team. “Don't guys always pull stupid pranks like that on each other?”

Julie's heart was thudding fast.
She
knew who had written on Nolan, and it wasn't Mark. She turned away and instantly collided into someone. Cold beer spilled down her back and onto her shoes. Julie cried out, jumping away.

Julie turned around and found herself face-to-face with Carson Wells, the new boy from Australia. He was something of a mystery to everyone at Beacon. The only verifiable fact was that he was drop-dead gorgeous, with coffee-colored skin, a close-shaved head, olive-green eyes, and a killer accent.

“I am
so
sorry,” he said.

“It's okay,” Julie breathed, and Carson scuttled for some napkins and began to blot Julie's shoes. “Oh my goodness,” Julie said, suddenly embarrassed. “Don't worry about it. You hardly got me.”

“Are you sure?” Carson stood up again. His eyes were still apologetic. “You're Julie, right?”

“That's right,” Julie said softly.

“I'm Carson,” he said. Then he looked at the now empty beer cup. “I guess I'm due for a refill, huh? Can I get you one, too?”

Julie felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I suppose it'd be the least you could do.”

They walked to the back of the keg line, which led through the living room to the bathroom. Music blared, and an enormous flat-screen TV was on but muted.

“So is this your first party in Beacon?” Julie asked.

Carson shook his head. “Actually, the one last week was. Nolan's.”

“Oh.” Julie looked down. She hadn't noticed Carson there—of course, she'd had other things on her mind. “That wasn't a great start to the year, unfortunately.”

“Seriously.” Carson shoved his hands in his pockets. “I should have stuck to my planned evening of chamomile tea and Jane Austen novels.”

“Right.” Julie laughed. “So how do you like it here so far?” She almost slapped her forehead once she'd said it.
That's a question your grandmother might ask!

“Not too bad,” Carson said. “Aside from the fact that the first question most people ask me is either what I got on my SATs, how many APs I've already taken, or, when I tell them I'm a runner, what my mile PR is.”

Julie snickered. “That's Beacon High for you.”

Carson grimaced. “And the weather's awful. I don't know how I'm going to get through six months of rain.”

“Try nine,” she said with a laugh. “Yeah, it gets to me, too. I used to live in California.”

“You lived in California?” He perked up. “Man, I'd love to live there. Dad almost took a job at USC, but UDub offered him a better deal. I was kind of bummed at first. But it's all good. If I were in California, I wouldn't be here talking to you.” He smiled. “Why'd you move?”

“Uh, family,” she said vaguely. “My mom wanted to be closer to my grandmother.” It was partially true, after all. “She passed away,” she added, in case Carson asked if they still saw each other.

“Sorry to hear about that.” Carson's voice was gentle.

Julie's throat began to feel itchy, which it always did when she lied. She wondered what he'd say if she told him the truth: that they'd
had
to move. That her dad had abandoned them years ago. That even her grandmother couldn't deal with her mother.

This was why she'd never had a boyfriend. She could get away with not telling her friend about her home life, but a boyfriend would be a different story. There would be questions she couldn't answer, the “meet the parents” her mother could never manage. Only Parker knew the truth about Julie's mom, and Julie had only told her after the accident. By then it was clear that Parker's home life was worse—and more dangerous—than Julie's. Now Parker had her own key to Julie's place, and she protected Julie's secret fiercely. “To the grave,” Parker had vowed, and Julie couldn't imagine trusting anyone else like she trusted Parker. Someday, in college maybe, when she'd gotten the hell out of here and was on her own,
then
she could consider falling in love and baring her soul. But not now. Not when she risked so much. Not when someone could see . . .
everything.