The Revenge Playbook (15 page)

“Um, thanks?” I say, but what I'm really thinking is: you sure do sound like that guy from
Deliverance
.

“Hey. Church Girl.” He taps me again.

I turn around. “It's Peyton.”

“Peyton.” He thinks it over for a minute. “I like it.”

Before he can say anything else, Coach Mayes starts going over the homework from last night. I face the board, never happier to learn about the wonders of geometry. My relief is short lived. A few problems in, I feel another tap.

“Hey, Peyton,” Casey whispers.

I don't respond.

He leans over his desk so his mouth is right next to my ear. “Hey, Peyton,” he whispers again. “You wanna come out with me tonight after the game?”

Again, he doesn't seem deterred by my lack of response.

“We could drive around in my truck, and you could show me what else you're hidin' under that uniform.”

He traces a finger down my neck, and this time he does get a response. I jerk away and twist around in my seat so I can glare daggers at him. “No. I don't want to,” I hiss.

He grins. “What? You think Jesus would mind?”

“No, but I—”

“Miss Reed?”

I turn to face Coach Mayes, my cheeks burning. “Yes?”

“The answer to question number seven,” he says. “It's your turn. Please pay attention.”

“Sorry. Casey was distracting me,” I mumble.

Casey snorts. “Are you kidding? She's the one bein' distracting. Look at what she's wearing.”

Coach frowns. “Miss Reed, why don't you move to another seat so you can concentrate. There's an open one over there.”

He gets that flicker in his eyes again, and I'm more sure than ever that it has to do with what I told Dr. Barnes. I don't bother arguing with him about why
I'm
the one that has to move. I just want the humiliation to end, so I grab my stuff and take it to the empty desk, which, of course, happens to be right beside the two girls who ignored me at dance team tryouts. I sit down with a tense smile that says,
Don't worry, I'm not going to try to talk to you again
.

“Hey, Peyton,” says the girl directly beside me.

“Hey,” echoes her friend.

I'm shocked they're speaking to me—extra shocked they know my name. I forget to say anything back, I'm so flustered between that and what just happened with Casey. I try to stay focused for the rest of class, but let's be honest, that's difficult for me on a good day, and today, well, today is not shaping up to be so great. It only gets worse at the end of class when Coach Mayes gives back our quizzes. At the top of mine, circled in red pen, is a giant D+. The bell rings, and I hurry out to the hallway before Casey can think of any other clever remarks. I lean against the wall with my quiz and try not to cry. I'm so confused, I can't even figure out why most of my wrong answers are wrong.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I look up to see Rey standing beside me. It makes me a little nervous, being around someone who could snap me like a twig, but I know he's not like Big Tom. He has sweet eyes and a voice like caramel.

“I'm fine,” I say. “I'm just having a rough day. And I suck at geometry.”

I flash my quiz so he can see the grade even though I'm usually really embarrassed about stuff like that.

His eyes light up. “I can help you with that. I'm pretty good at math. Here.” He writes his phone number next to the D+. “If you ever want to get together and study, just let me know.”

“Cool.” He starts to leave but I say, “Rey?”

He pauses at the door to the classroom. “Yeah?”

“I really liked your idea today. At FMF?”

He grins. “Thanks.”

As I stuff my quiz into my book bag, I realize Karl is watching from across the hallway, but before he can come over, Liv bounces up to me. I say a silent prayer of thanks.

“Hey! How's it going? You look hot!”

“Thanks,” I say, but it's hard to feel enthusiastic after the morning I've had.

“What's wrong?”

“It's just— I guess I feel kind of uncomfortable.” I tug at the bottom of my jacket. “People have been staring at me all morning, and I know the girls at FMF were talking about me.”

She puts her arm around me, and we walk to my next class. “Ignore them. They're just jealous. If you see people staring, it's because you look amazing. And hot. Have I told you how hot you look, yet?”

I giggle. “You might have mentioned that.”

People stare at the pair of us in our twin uniforms that are almost identical in their scandalousness. (Mine is tighter across the boobs; hers is tighter across the butt.) When people stare at Liv, I don't assume it's because they think she's skanky or half naked. It's because she looks amazing. It occurs to me that maybe, just maybe, people are staring at me for the same reason. I've been hiding up until now. But I stop. Because for the first time today, I feel good about what I'm wearing. And I realize, as I weave through the crowd with a slightly straighter spine, that it has nothing to do with what the other people in the hallway are thinking.

Everything is electric. The music. The stadium lights. The screaming fans. When I ran onto the field for the halftime show, I felt dozens of butterflies—the tiny lavender ones that come out in early spring. But now, with the bass pumping through me, and the night air warm against my skin, I feel powerful. I kick and shimmy and leap and pirouette. I shake my nonexistent butt. I don't think about my uniform. Or about what people are saying. I live this moment just for me.

And when it's over, when the music dims and I'm left panting in my final pose, I know that I was phenomenal. That not dancing like this meant keeping the best part of myself hidden. And that coming back to dance was the best decision I ever made.

I search for my parents again as we jog back to the sidelines amidst cheering and wolf whistles. I know neither of them is here, but I can't help but look anyway. I'm filled with this fragile hope that I'll see their faces in the crowd and they'll have flowers and be like, “Surprise! How could you ever think I'd miss your first halftime show?” It's the only thing missing to keep tonight from being perfect.

I made plans to have Liv's mom drop me off at my house, so I find them as soon as the game is over. While her mom chauffeurs us around, we chatter and giggle and go over and over the awesomeness that was tonight's performance. When we get to my house, though, we fall silent. It's dark except for one sad porch light.

Mrs. Lambros gives me the concerned-mom frown. “Is anybody home?”

I shake my head. “My mom's at a concert in Nashville. A girl's night. They've had the tickets for a really long time, though,” I rush to say. “And my dad, well, he couldn't make it either.” I stare at the floorboard. “They said they'd catch the next one.”

I focus on counting the Cheerios scattered around my feet because the urge to cry has hit me so hard and so suddenly, and I won't do that in front of Liv. I won't.

“Nope,” says Liv, an authoritative answer to a question nobody asked. “Nope, we're definitely not dropping you off. You're coming home with me, and we're having a sleepover.”

“You don't have to.”

“Are you kidding? I'm embarrassed I didn't think of it earlier. Sleepovers are my favorite.”

I can't remember the last time I had a sleepover. Actually, I can. It was the night before Candace moved away, and we stayed up all night eating cupcake batter and ugly-crying. It's not that I didn't want to make new friends, but I can only talk to people after a prolonged process of getting past the initial awkward barrier. Luckily, Liv doesn't seem to have an awkward barrier.

Half an hour later, we're wearing our pj's and those weird toe-divider thingies, sprawled on the
carpet with our backs against Liv's bed. She paints her toes the brightest shade of pink I've ever seen. I choose lavender.

“My dad wasn't at the game either. He only came to one of them last year,” she says, her usual exuberance gone. “How long have your parents been divorced?”

I almost botch the polish on my pinky toe. “I didn't think I told you.”

“You didn't. But I have divorce-dar.”

“Oh. Well, they just got divorced last year.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. I guess it's better than the fighting. I don't know. I had kind of gotten used to falling asleep to it.” I shut my mouth fast. I almost never talk about my family stuff. Maybe the nail polish fumes are burning away my inhibitions.

Liv nods like someone who has been through it already. It's a gesture that could feel dismissive coming from the wrong person. From her, it feels like comfort. “The first year is pretty bad. And when one of them meets somebody else. That's bad too. You lose them a little.” She breathes a slow breath out through her lips like she's doing yoga. Or trying to forget.

“I feel like I've already lost mine.”

Having that kind of gaping loss is dangerous. It turns you desperate. There were times when Karl felt like the only bright point in my life. Him and the promise of college. I always envied caterpillars. So many times before I met him, I wished I could crawl into a cocoon and come out when high school was over. Sometimes I still wish it.

I realize Liv is watching me with sad eyes, and I have the sudden feeling of exposing too much.

“I'm sorry if I made you sad,” she says. “I don't have anyone to talk to about this stuff.”

“You don't?” She's always surrounded by people.

“Nah. Marley's amazing, but her parents are still hopelessly in love, so she doesn't get it. Sometimes I used to talk about it with Trevor. But not anymore.”

I nod. “I used to talk to my friend Candace about stuff like that, but she lives in Vermont now. And I can't really talk to Karl anymore either. Um, my ex-boyfriend.”

“Why'd you guys break up?”

“Because he's an asshole.” And then I clap my hand over my mouth because I can't believe I just said that.

Liv snickers. I try to keep calm, but it's contagious. And then I'm giggling through my fingers, and she's laughing, and we're both rolling around on the floor.

“Say it again. You have to say it again.” There are tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I can't.” I can't even get words out right now.

“Pleeease.”

“Okay, okay. Okay.” I try to stop laughing, but I can't. We are the kind of delirious that can only be achieved by staying up late and ingesting large quantities of high fructose corn syrup.

Liv pushes herself up on her elbows, determined not to miss it. I take a deep breath and steady
myself by grabbing the nightstand. My lips twitch.

“Asshole.”

“AHHHHH! You said it. You said it. Ohmygosh, it burns.” Liv clutches her side and doubles over, her cheeks turning red.

I tilt my head to the ceiling, my arms wide open. “My ex-boyfriend is an asshole!” I was doing it just to be silly, but the sense of triumph flowing through me is undeniable. “Oh, wow, you have got to try that.”

She tilts her face up to match mine. “MY EX-BOYFRIEND IS AN ASSHOLE!”

“Girls!” Mrs. Lambros raps on the door, and we freeze. Did I really just do that? Did I really just swear loud enough to wake my friend's mother? “Go to sleep,” she says.

Her footsteps move back to her bedroom. We are properly shamed into silence. Until our eyes meet. Then we collapse into giggles all over again, our hands pressed against our faces to muffle the sound.

“My ex-boyfriend. Is an asshole,” whispers Liv in between staccato laughter.

I'm wheezing like I've got the black lung, but when I turn her words over in my mind, I stop. “Do you think he is, really?”

Now she stops laughing too. “Of course he is. You know what he did to me.”

“I know, but, well, I've dated a bad guy. A really bad guy. And Trevor seems more like a good guy who made a mistake.”

My whole body feels tight with waiting for her to respond. I didn't mean to push, but she's my friend. And I want to be a good friend.

“Maybe he isn't,” she finally says. And then a few seconds later, “Hey, if your ex-boyfriend is such a jerk, why do I always see you talking to him in the hallway?”

I feel myself flush because that is a very good question and sometimes I forget I have a choice. “Maybe I shouldn't.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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1.
  
   
Fill a condom up with water. Draw a face on it. Put it on Principal Corso's doormat, and ding-dong ditch. (One person
)

2.
  
   
The egg-on-a-string trick. Hang an egg from a power line by a string and watch a car run into it. (Everyone)

3.
  
   
Paint the David Bowie statue at Old Lady Howard's corn maze. (Everyone)

4.
  
   
Chair race through Walmart. (Everyone)

5.
  
   
Get a picture of the team with the Ranburne Panther. (Everyone)

6.
  
   
Go to the Dawsonville football field. Find that stupid rock they touch before their games. Pee on it. (Everyone)

1.
  
   
Visit the illustrious Delta Tau Beta fraternity at Vanderbilt. Have a beer with Panther alum TJ McNeil and take a picture of the legendary scar he got during a game-winning play against Dawsonville. (One person)

2.
  
   Go to LP Field and reenact the “Music City Miracle.” (Everyone)