Epic Fail (8 page)

Chapter Eight

W
ebster was already sitting in astronomy class when I got there on Monday. I nabbed the desk right next to him and said, “Give me your phone number, like, right now so I have it.” Before he could even respond, I said, “I didn’t blow you off on Saturday night—you know that, right?”

His blue eyes scanned my face uncertainly. “Really? I was told that you had made other plans for getting home.”

“He said that? What a jerk.”

“And, right on cue, he appears.”

Derek Edwards had just entered the room and was being enthusiastically hailed by the usual sycophants. He glanced around and our eyes met. I instantly turned my shoulder to him and shifted closer to Webster. “I came out to find you, and you were already gone.”

“What a mess.” He shook his head. “I honestly thought you were going home with your sister. You must have been so pissed off at me.”

“Not even for a second. Derek told me he sent you away. I would have called you but—”

“Here.” He ripped a corner off a piece of notebook paper and scribbled his number down. I did the same for him.

“I’m not allowed to use my cell in my house, though,” I said, folding and pocketing the paper. “You can call the landline but be warned: my parents are pains in the butt if they answer.”

“Isn’t that why texting was invented?”

I shook my head. “Not allowed to do that at home either. Sometimes we cheat when they’re not looking—but if they caught us, we’d lose our phones altogether.”

“Wow,” he said. “They’re strict.”

I sighed. “More weird than strict.”

“Which makes them normal for parents.” Then he said, a little sheepishly, “Elise, I thought you had ditched me. I mean, there aren’t a lot of girls who wouldn’t choose to go home with Derek Edwards over me.”

“I wanted to go with you.”

“I’m glad.” He looked at me then—
really
looked at me. “You’re different,” he said softly.

I was pleased he could see that about me: that I didn’t fall for status and fame like everyone else at that school.

He went on. “Anyway, the truth is, I was stupid to go to that party in the first place. I knew better. It’s just . . .” He hesitated, and right then Mr. Cantori looked up from whatever he was doing at his desk and said, “Why didn’t someone tell me how late it was? Let’s go over the homework. Elizabeth, read the first question.”

Amid all the rustling of pages and Elizabeth’s soft voice starting to read, Webster leaned over and whispered quickly, “I went to the party because I was hoping to see you there. And it was worth whatever happened because I did.” Then he ducked down to get his book out of his backpack.

I just sat there, staring at the teacher without seeing him, feeling a smile play on my lips.

Juliana had to meet with her college counselor during lunch that day, so when I walked into the courtyard with my tray, I scanned the tables for someone else to sit with. I spotted Gifford but she was sitting with Chelsea, which amused me. Those girls defined the word
frenemies
: all Gifford ever wanted to do when we sat together in French and English (which we almost always did now) was complain about Chelsea, whose main appeal seemed to be the access she provided to handsome senior boys—and whose main drawback was that she didn’t want to share said access with the devoted friend who couldn’t stand her.

I looked around for another possibility, thinking maybe I’d just take my sandwich to a tree somewhere and read a book while I ate, when I heard someone calling my name. I turned and spotted Layla waving to me from the end of a nearby table. Another girl her age sat across from her.

“Hey,” I said, coming over. “Aren’t freshmen supposed to eat on the patio?”

Layla shrugged. “We felt like sneaking in here today. No one really cares.”

“It’s not that much fun, though,” her friend said with a yawn. “It’s kind of boring actually.” She was a moonfaced girl with small blue eyes and expensively highlighted thick blond hair. She was a solid chunk from her broad shoulders to her square hips. Not fat. Just solid.

“You can sit with us if you want, Elise,” Layla said, “but only if you promise to introduce us to some hot upperclassmen. That’s why we’re here. To meet guys.”

“Ninth-grade boys are so lame,” her friend said.

“The only difference between them and the seniors is a few years,” I said. “And they’ll outgrow that. What’s your name?” I sat down next to her and across from Layla.

“Oh, that’s Campbell,” Layla said. “Campbell McGill.” She caught my eye meaningfully, and I realized this was the girl whose father was on TV.

I sighed and wondered who the hell
didn’t
have a famous parent at Coral Tree? Other than us.

Five minutes later, I was wistfully recalling my reading-under-a-tree plan and wishing I’d had the good sense to act on it.

Not that the conversation at our table wasn’t riveting: Campbell complained that her sandwich had mustard instead of mayonnaise until Layla pointed out that it, in fact, had both. Layla spotted a cute guy and asked me if I knew him and I said I didn’t and she called me a loser. Campbell cursed because she had managed to get mustard on the wrist of her Juicy Couture hoodie, and Layla wiped at it with a napkin. Layla pointed at another cute guy and asked me if I knew
him
and once again was disgusted that I didn’t. Campbell asked Layla if she was going to eat all her chips, and Layla said she hadn’t decided yet. Then she noticed another cute guy who she was sure I had to know because it wasn’t possible for anyone to be so socially clueless . . . but it was possible and I didn’t.

See what I mean? Riveting.

“This is useless,” Layla said irritably. “You don’t know anyone, Elise.”

I was a little freaked by the hunger in Layla’s eyes when each new guy appeared: she was so childish in so many ways, always arguing with Kaitlyn and trying to get extra dessert—no way was she mature enough to start dating. But girls her age did. I didn’t at her age and neither did Juliana. But other girls did.

Campbell narrowed her eyes. “I thought you said she was good friends with Derek Edwards.” Apparently Campbell’s own (admittedly minor) celebrity status didn’t prevent her from getting excited about other people’s.

“Really, Layla?” I glared at her. “Is that what you’re going around telling people?”

“Well, it’s true,” she said defensively. “You guys have gone to parties together and stuff.”

I was prevented from strangling my sister by the arrival of a very welcome Webster Grant at our table. “Elise! Fancy meeting you here. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world . . .”

“Huh?” said Campbell McGill.

“It’s from a movie.” Webster transferred the Sprite he was holding to his left hand and offered her his right. “Hi! I’m a friend of Elise’s.”

I introduced them and she shook his hand with an excited look at Layla who bounced up in her seat. “Hi!” she said, snatching at Webster’s hand as soon as he released Campbell’s. “I’m Elise’s sister Layla!”

“Of course you are,” he said. “Everyone I meet is Elise’s sister.” We had run into Juliana in the hallway that morning, and I’d finally had a chance to officially introduce the two of them. Webster had been funny and charming, and she had given me one of those little nods that says,
Yeah
,
I get it
. He added, “How many of you Benton girls are there, anyway?”

“Four,” I said. “But that’s just a rough guesstimate.”

“You all look alike, too. May I join you?” He swung his long, thin legs over the bench and settled in next to Layla.

“How come I’ve never seen you at lunch before?” I asked him.

“I usually skip it.” He ripped the tab off his soda. “I’d rather wait and eat something decent later. But I was grabbing a drink and saw you, so I figured I’d come say hi.” He gulped at the can, tilting his head back so you could see his Adam’s apple move up and down as he drank. Layla and Campbell watched him a little too intently.

On the plus side, the mood at the table had brightened a lot since a good-looking senior had joined us. Layla offered to go get him a brownie and he gave me a funny look but shrugged and said, “Sure,” and Layla asked Campbell for money because she was out and Campbell obligingly pulled out her wallet and then Layla asked if Campbell wouldn’t mind getting it herself so Campbell shrugged and got up and kind of slouched toward the cafeteria. I felt bad for her: so many of the girls at the school looked like they could be models and she looked . . . average. Not bad. Just average. Minus the designer clothing and expensive accessories, she’d fit in at almost any school in the country.

Just not
this
one.

“She was the girl you needed to reach on the phone this weekend, right?” I asked Layla when Campbell was out of hearing.

“Yeah,” Layla said. “This idiot guy had sent her the rudest text.” She lowered her voice. “I think Campbell thought he liked her so she was upset. But he’s a total loser.
All
the guys in our class our losers—I wouldn’t go out with any of them.”

“Be careful about insulting freshman boys,” Webster said. “I was once one myself, you know. And no girl would go out with me back then, I might add. It made for some long and painful nights.”

“You’ve recovered nicely,” I said.

“There are tears behind the painted smile, Elise.”

Layla laughed a little too loudly. “Campbell’s dad is the anchor for a TV show,” she told Webster.

“Yeah, I know. George McGill, right?” Webster winked at me. “Seems a little more approachable than some of our other celebrity brats, don’t you think?”

“It’s a low bar.” I had managed to avoid speaking to Derek since the excruciating drop-off at our house.

Campbell came trudging back toward us, her step heavy, her head low.

As she came close, Layla reached over and grabbed the brownie out of her hand. “Thanks, Campby!” Campbell sat next to me again, while Layla broke the brownie in two and gave half to Webster.

“That’s all I get?” he said, popping it in his mouth.

“If you’re good, you can have the rest.” Layla waved the brownie at him with an archness I’d never seen in her before. She set it down on the table. “So are you guys going to the semiformal? It sucks that freshmen can’t go unless they’re invited by an upperclassman.”

“It’s a good rule,” Webster said. “Keeps riffraff like you two out.”

“Hey!” Layla slapped his arm lightly. “We resent that—right, Campby?”

“Yeah,” Campbell said.

“So are you going?” Layla asked Webster.

“Don’t know,” he said. “Haven’t thought about it yet.” He snaked his hand out and snatched the remaining brownie. “I believe this is mine.”

“I didn’t say you could have it!” She made a grab for it, but he held it up in the air, on the side that was away from her, and even though she leaned over him trying to get it, she couldn’t reach it. I leaned forward and neatly plucked it out of his hand.

“Hey!” he said. “Thief!”

“Give it back, Elise!” Layla crossed her arms, clearly annoyed that I’d ended their game. “It’s his.”

“It’s mine now.” I took a big bite.

“You’re sneaky,” Webster told me with an admiring grin.

“Teach you to wave chocolate in front of me.”

Chapter Nine

J
uliana was back at lunch the next day and called me over when I came into the courtyard. Of course she was with Chase, and of course Derek joined us soon after.

Well, he joined the two of them, anyway—he and I barely acknowledged each other beyond a polite initial nod.

There was so much awkwardness between us now, after the party, and not just because of the Webster thing—I had promised Jules to try to reserve judgment about that, anyway.

The bigger problem was that Derek confused me. I mean, if I could have just stuck him in some “jerk friend of Juliana’s boyfriend” category, I would have never given him another thought. But I was thrown by the brief glimpses of the charming Derek I’d seen while we were playing Ping-Pong together.

I honestly didn’t know what to think about him, so it was easier just to avoid any direct interaction. Juliana and Chase were chatting away enough for all four of us, anyway.

It was funny how similar those two were. Like the way Chase laughed generously whenever anyone else made a joke, even a feeble one—that was exactly like Jules. He was basically the male version of her.

Which made me wonder: would I want the male version of myself?

Nah, I decided—too boring. Let Chase and Jules share the same interests and eat the same foods and be lovable in the same ways and all that—I wanted someone who kept me on my toes, who made me question all my assumptions.

But he also had to be a good guy. That was nonnegotiable.

It was a beautiful day, and after we’d eaten, Jules said she didn’t feel like going back inside yet, so Chase led us around the building to a secluded little side yard I’d never seen before. We sat down under a tree and Juliana slipped off the sandals she was wearing and burrowed her bare toes into the grass with a noise of satisfaction. She had worn a summer dress that day—it was warm enough. Back in Massachusetts, we could only wear our summer dresses for maybe two months. But here they seemed to be good year-round.

“Hold on,” Chase said suddenly. “I hear something.” Then he jumped to his feet, grabbed Juliana’s hand, and pulled her up. “Run!” he shouted. Derek and I scrambled after them as the sprinklers spurted and came to life.

We all made it off the grass just in time.

“Why would they go on now?” Juliana asked, as we watched the sprinkler heads whip around, sending powerful gusts of water high into the air. “Shouldn’t they set them for later, when the students are gone?”

“I think they do it on purpose, to discourage us from sitting on the grass and ruining it,” Chase said. “They only care about how it looks.”

“Oh, no!” Juliana said with sudden realization. “My shoes!” She pointed back at the tree where the tops of her sandals peeked out above the grass.

“The sprinklers should go off again in a few minutes,” Chase said.

“It’s almost time for class.” Juliana glanced down at her dress and sighed. “I’ll just have to get wet.”

“No, don’t—I’ll grab them,” I said before Chase could. I knew he was about to offer, but I also knew that the leather shoes he was wearing were probably worth about ten times more than every item of clothing I had on put together, and I honestly didn’t mind getting wet. “I’m wearing old jeans, anyway.” I dashed across the lawn before either of them could argue.

Those were some mighty sprinklers they had at Coral Tree—top of the line, like everything else there. They shot the water so far and so high that I was drenched before I even got halfway to the tree.

I grabbed the sandals and ran back across. I handed Juliana her shoes. “They’re soaked,” I said.

“So are you,” she pointed out.

“I know!” I said happily. I had forgotten how much fun it was to run through a sprinkler on a hot day. People walking by were staring at me, and I grinned back at them. “It’s okay—I’ll dry faster than your shoes will.”

She slipped on the sandals. “Thanks, Lee-Lee. You’re a good sister.”

“I think I deserve a hug, don’t you?” I advanced on her with my arms outstretched.

She screamed and shrank back. “Don’t touch me!”

“You’re hurting my feelings,” I said. “And after all I’ve done for you.” I turned to Chase. “Chase! How about you? Little love?” I went to embrace him and he backed off, laughing and saying, “No closer! No closer,
Lee-Lee
!”

“Oh, great, now you know my nickname,” I said with a mock scowl. “And you rejected my hug. You really think it’s so great to be dry? It takes talent to get wet on a sunny day, you know. I’m a maverick. I stand alone, wet and brave! You guys are just sheep.”

“Exactly,” Jules said, still cowering. “And wool should only be dry-cleaned. So stay away.”

“
Baa,
” Chase agreed.

“How about you?” I asked, wheeling suddenly on Derek, who was standing nearby, watching us with that faint smile on his face. “Time to choose—are you a sheep or a maverick?”

“I’m going for innocent bystander,” he said.

I shook my head. “Who among us is truly innocent?”

“How about a dry maverick then?”

“Not an option—but I think I could arrange a wet sheep type of deal for you.” I let loose with a mad scientist laugh as I advanced on him.

He held his ground. “Do your worst, wet girl. I’m not afraid of a little water.”

I stopped—I wasn’t about to hug the guy for real—and threw up my arms in mock despair. “Well, then you don’t make a very good sheep, do you?”

“Hold on,” he said and leaned forward. He flicked at something on my cheek, his eyes briefly meeting mine as he did it. “Blade of grass,” he said, shifting back. “Got it.”

“How’d it get all the way up there?” I asked lightly, brushing at the spot with the back of my hand even though he’d said he got it.

“Some mysteries aren’t meant to be solved.”

I found myself grinning at him and then remembered that I didn’t trust him.

Man, I hated not being able to figure someone out.

And from the slightly uncertain last look he gave me as we all parted to go to class, I suspected he felt the same way.

The next day, things got clearer for both of us.

I had gone to the library to do some homework during lunch and was heading back up the stairs that led toward my next class when I ran into Chase and Derek on their way down. Together, as usual.

Chase greeted me, saying they’d just dropped Juliana off at her locker. She’d had a test that morning, which she was worried she’d tanked. “So I gave her some chocolate and that seemed to calm her down,” he said with a smile.

“M&M’S make the best pills,” I agreed.

Awkward pause.

Then Chase kind of nudged Derek, who said abruptly, “Got a second, Elise?”

Chase immediately said, “Later!” and galloped down the rest of the stairs.

“Where are you headed?” Derek asked me. “I’ll walk you to your next class.”

“Won’t that make you late for yours?”

“I have a free period.” He turned and we moved up the stairs together, side by side.

I waited for him to say something else, but he was silent. I was curious about what he wanted from me—but was also determined not to help him out by speaking first.

A group of girls in volleyball uniforms passed us. “Hey, Derek!” one of them called out. He jerked his chin toward them in brief, uninterested acknowledgment.

We reached the top of the stairs and continued down the corridor in silence. We were getting close to my classroom. I said, “Well, this has been fun. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Sorry. Hold on.” He steered us over to the side of the corridor. “I was just getting up the courage.”

“The courage?” I repeated. “To do what?”

Dark eyes flickered up to my face and then away again. “To ask you to go with me to the semiformal.”

“Excuse me?” I had heard, actually, but the words didn’t compute.

He cleared his throat and spoke a little more loudly. “I thought maybe you’d like to come with me to the semiformal.”

“Me? Go with you?”

“Yeah.” He looked at his hands. “Chase and Juliana thought it would be fun for us all to go together.”

I was stunned. Part of me was like,
Holy shit, Derek Edwards just asked me to go to the semiformal with him!
But then I remembered I wasn’t the kind of girl who cared about that.

On the other hand, I did like hanging out with him—or at least I did when he wasn’t actively saying or doing something that made me despise him. Going with him might give me a chance to find out whether Derek was a good guy who sometimes acted like a jerk or a jerk who sometimes masqueraded as a good guy—something I was increasingly desperate to figure out. But if he
was
a jerk, did I really want to sentence myself to an entire evening with him?

He was going on. “If it’s okay, maybe you and Juliana could meet us at Chase’s house.” He was assuming I’d say yes, which bugged me. “I think it would be easier if we didn’t come pick you up this time, since your family can be a little—” He stopped and shrugged. “Well, you know. Better than I do, probably.”

“A little what?” I asked warily.

“You know,” he said again. “They make things difficult.”

I backed into an Elise-sized opening between where the row of lockers ended and the stairway began. “I don’t think so,” I said.

He looked confused. “You don’t think you know?”

“I don’t think I want to go to the semiformal with you.”

He took a step back. “Oh,” he said. There was an uncomfortable pause. I noticed a piece of yellow fluff on the floor and wondered what it was from. Someone’s sweater, maybe? It was a very bright yellow. You’d notice a sweater in that color.

Come to think of it, my mother had a sweater in that color.

Derek said, “You’re not even going to give me an excuse? Like you need to wash your hair or something?” His lips curled like he was trying to smile, but it came off kind of weird and ugly, more like a grimace.

“Does it matter?”

“It’s usually the polite thing to do.”

“It’s also usually polite not to say unpleasant things about people’s families when you’re asking them out.”

“I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair. A piece was left standing up awkwardly. “I figured you’d know what I meant. You seemed totally embarrassed by them the other night. So did Juliana.” He was right: I had been and so had Jules. But they were still my family. “Forget I said that. I can pick you up at home if that’s the problem.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “After what happened with Webster, I would have said no anyway.”

His eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “You picked sides on that one pretty quickly, didn’t you?”

“Are you kidding? You threw him out of the party and then lied to him about me. It wasn’t exactly a tough call.”

“We had fun playing Ping-Pong. At least I thought we did. If other things hadn’t—” He stopped. Then he said, “We get along when that guy isn’t around. I thought if we went to the dance together, we could kind of start over again. Your sister thought so, too. She thought you’d want to go.”

“Well, she was wrong.” And it made me furious that Jules would speak for me.

He swung his head from side to side, eyes darting around like he was looking for the nearest exit. “This was a mistake.”

“No argument here.”

He recoiled. “I guess we’re done, then.”

“Right. Okay. Bye.” I slipped out of my little hidey-hole and started to walk away.

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” he said from behind me, his voice strangely subdued. “I meant well.”

I looked over my shoulder at him. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But given the way you talked about my family and how you treated Webster the other night, I figured if I was rude, I was just speaking your language.”

“You’re quick to defend that guy,” he said. “And to burn a lot of bridges while you’re at it. You better make sure he deserves it.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Worry about you?” He raised his chin. “I’m done even thinking about you.” He turned and walked away.

“See you in astronomy,” I said, in some feeble attempt to bring things back to a normal place. But he was already halfway down the stairs.

I avoided making eye contact with Derek later that day when I walked into class, and I wondered how long things would be this awkward between us. It wouldn’t have mattered except for the whole Juliana and Chase thing—as long as they were a couple, we would have to at least be civil, but I wasn’t sure either of us was capable of even that right then.

I felt miserable about how the conversation had gone: I hadn’t intended for things to get so ugly, but he had totally insulted my mother and sister. They weren’t
that
bad.

Well, maybe they were. But that didn’t give him the right to say so.

Webster came a little late to class, and then we had to settle down for a pop quiz that was challenging only because Cantori had neglected to introduce most of the key concepts in it beforehand.

Webster and I gathered up our books at the end of class and walked out into the hallway. “So . . . I’ve been thinking, Cuz,” he said. “Well, it’s more of a question than a thought.”

“What is it?”

“Would you go with me to the semiformal?”

“Oh, wow,” I said. Then again: “Wow.” I tried to think quickly. It would be fun to go with him—we’d laugh all night long—but it might make things weird with Juliana and Chase.

And was Derek going to ask someone else, and would they all go together with her then? Who would he ask? Chelsea? No danger of rejection with her.

“Elise?” Webster’s light blue eyes were scanning my face uncertainly. “So what do you say? We could go to the dance then check out the after-party—”

I shook my head. “My mom’s opposed to after-parties. We’re not allowed to go to them.”

“Even better,” he said. “We can do something by ourselves. Unless you’re going to break my heart and tell me you’ve already promised to go with someone else? Don’t tell me that, Elise. Don’t.” I tried to respond, but he cut me off again before I could speak. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

“I—”

“Don’t!”

“But—”

“Don’t, I beg you, don’t.”