Invisible (20 page)

“W
ell . . . thanks.”

I didn't know what else to say to Chelsea.

I'm completely stunned that you used your powers for good rather than evil
.
Why did you do it?

That sounded more like a backhanded insult, actually. Probably not the way I should treat somebody who had just done me a favor.

Chelsea waved it off. “It was nothing.”

“Loaning me a pencil, that's nothing. Facing down Alex Thompson for me . . . that's
huge!
”

She rolled her eyes, but a self-satisfied smile began to spread across her face. “Alex just doesn't always think with the right part of his anatomy. That's all.”

“The guy is certifiably evil.”

Chelsea pointed at my eye, which thankfully had pretty much returned to normal. “You're not exactly unbiased.”

A watery smile was the best I could manage. “Maybe. Thanks for stepping in. I didn't expect it and, uh . . . it was really nice.”

She laughed darkly. “You didn't expect it because I'm such a bitch, right?”

I didn't want to go anywhere near that question, but I knew that if I evaded it, Chelsea would think less of me.

I didn't want to disappoint the one person still speaking to me.

“Uh . . . you have your moments,” I said hesitantly. “Just like everyone—”

“I know exactly what other people think of me,” Chelsea interrupted. “I terrify them and they hate me for it. But the more they hate me, the more they want to be me. Why fold when you've got a winning hand?”

It didn't sound like a winning hand to me, but I could see the appeal of controlling the masses at Smith High School. The power, the sense of belonging—being a Notable clearly came with perks. Although, I couldn't picture ever trading in my friends for popularity-chasers who would rush to do my bidding.

Then again, I never imagined that my friends would despise me after I accidentally outed America's hottest rock star and his boyfriend to the world.

And that had happened.

My stomach twisted painfully. That stupid article would probably be quoted and plastered all over the Internet within hours. Tim's rock-star status, the gay factor, the backstage introduction by YouTube sensation Mackenzie Wellesley; the press was going to be all over it.

I had hurt my closest friend, and I doubted he would even let me try to make it better.

“Jane? Are you okay? You look like you're going to be sick.”

I looked straight into Chelsea's clear blue eyes, forcing down a sudden wave of panic. I couldn't sit at the Notable table, chatting away with the most popular girl at school,
while my life disintegrated into a million pieces.
One play audition and suddenly she was acting like our friendship spanned years.

I couldn't even begin to handle my life.

“Did you read the article?” I blurted out.

Chelsea gave me a cool, measuring look before she answered. “I saw it. So why did you shove your friend out of the closet?”

“It was an accident!”

“How do you
accidentally
out someone? Trip, hit your head, and fall on your laptop?”

I didn't appreciate her sarcasm.

“Look, I
never
meant for the story to be released. Lisa Anne must have seen it and . . .” The rest seemed pretty obvious to me.

“So you never meant for any of this to happen?”

“Of course not!”

She nodded in approval. “Good.”

Then she turned to Fake and Bake—er, Steffani and Ashley—and shot them a look that made it clear she didn't appreciate their eavesdropping. The two girls suddenly felt a pressing need to compare the rumors they'd heard about ReadySet drummer Dominic Wyatt's new girlfriend, Holly.

At least my mistake wasn't the only public relations nightmare the band had weathered recently, though I wasn't sure if that helped my case or only made it worse.

“So what are you going to do now that your loser friends want nothing to do with you?”

Okay, that was blunt . . . and harsh . . . and not entirely true. I mean,
Corey
was mad at me, but I wasn't ready to give up on him. I
couldn't
give up on him. He'd eventually accept that it was an accident—I hoped.

And none of them were losers.

“They need time,” I said hesitantly. “I'll lay low until Corey is ready to hear me out.”

“America's hottest male rock star was just shoved out of the closet, and he's taking your best friend with him. That's going to dominate newsstands for weeks. One apology isn't going to cut it.”

“So, what do you suggest?” My voice cracked in desperation. “I should hang out with you until I graduate?”

I didn't mean to say that out loud, especially since our newfound friendship was exactly that:
new
. But blunt honesty seemed like one of the few things Chelsea and I had in common.

“I'm leaving, Jane.”

I did a double take. “Wait, what?”

“My parents are getting a divorce. They don't want me to see it turn nasty.” She rolled her eyes. “
Nastier,
so I'm being shipped off on a study abroad program to Cambodia.”

“Why are you telling me all of this? Isn't it . . . personal?”

Chelsea laughed. “Jane, I'm leaving for
Cambodia
in a few weeks. No offense, but there is nothing you can do to make my life worse. Plus, it looks like we both might be desperate enough to become pen pals or something.”

If the one person at Smith High School willing to stand up for me left . . . I'd be alone.

My panic rose a notch, and I didn't even think that was possible.

“You leave in a few
weeks?
”

Chelsea shrugged. “Once my parents make a decision, they move fast. And since what
I
want isn't a factor, the process goes pretty smoothly.”

“You sound, uh, really calm about the whole thing.”

She shot me her best Notable look of derision. “What am I supposed to do? Ugly cry in front of everyone? Not likely.”

“I think I'm going to miss you.”

Shocking but true. I had never expected to bond with
Chelsea Halloway,
let alone spill my guts to her. Then again, I never thought she'd have the nerve to stare down Alex Thompson.

Nothing was working out the way I'd planned.

She grinned. “You say that now. But if you land the role of Juliet, you'll be singing—or screeching—a different tune.”

“Yeah, I'm sure they will hand over the leading role to the triple non-threat. I don't envy Ms. Helsenberg, though. You're going to be nearly impossible to replace, Chelsea.”

Her smile looked pained, probably because being forced to abdicate the throne and Juliet in the high school musical . . . it had to hurt like hell. But she regained her composure so quickly it made me wonder if I had only imagined a temporary slip.

“You're really easy to talk to, you know that?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Mainly because I tend to let other people talk, which is all they really want in the first place.

Chelsea met my gaze squarely. “I still hate your best friend.”

“Mackenzie?”

Her lip curled. “That's the one.”

“She's really nice.”

“She thinks she's smarter than everyone else.”

I considered that for a moment. “She is smarter than most of the kids here.”

“With a textbook maybe. But not socially.”

I noticed that Chelsea's eyes strayed to Logan as she said it. I had a feeling the ex-factor was the real reason Chelsea disliked her. Kenzie's a very hard person to hate.

Even when she becomes too preoccupied with her own life to notice her best friend spiraling out of control.

“You, um—” I faltered. “You don't happen to know who posted that video of her on YouTube, do you? Because we never found out and I was just wondering . . .”

“If it was me? I didn't post it, and I never asked who did.” Her smile widened Cheshire-like. “I did watch it a few . . . hundred times.”

I laughed hoarsely, and almost every head in the cafeteria swiveled to observe us.

“Hanging out with me for a few weeks at this table won't make a difference, Jane. Not in the long run. I'm leaving for Cambodia. And
you
still need a plan.”

Chelsea was absolutely right—I just didn't know what to do.

The massive knot in my stomach only tightened when Miles halfheartedly waved my way. It didn't help that all of his friends were glaring at me.

They weren't completely wrong either.

I hadn't intentionally leaked the story . . . but when I abandoned my notebook in the classroom, I left myself open for attack.

And I wasn't proud of my story.

Corey and Tim made such a great couple. They genuinely cared about each other and were doing everything possible to make the long-distance thing work. And instead of focusing on
that,
I made them sound insecure and dysfunctional.

It was painfully ironic. I'd delivered the story Lisa Anne wanted—one that might make me a journalism all-star—and immediately I wished I'd never even considered writing for
The Smithsonian
. I didn't care if I was stuck correcting grammar for the rest of high school, as long as I could call my friends at the end of the day.

But it didn't look like Corey would answer his phone if he saw my name on his caller ID.

Great.

I had absolutely no idea what to do, especially when I spotted news crews pulling up to the school. Any second the story was probably going to break on
TMZ,
and millions of people would be dogging Corey for the full story. And if they couldn't contact him, they would probably take a pass at me.

I sprinted over to the Guidance Office. Not that Mr. Shelder had been all that helpful after the whole Alex fistfight thing . . . but desperate times call for desperate measures. I could have sworn Mr. Shelder scanned my face for new bruises before he greeted me.

“Jennifer! Good to see you again. No more trouble with football players, I hope.”

So he did remember me. Sort of.

“It's Jane.”

“Ah, I see. Do you want to tell me about your conflict with her?”

“Er, no.
I'm
Jane.”

“Right. Of course. And I'm here to listen. Is there anything in particular you want to discuss?”

I glanced around the office, soaking in a few details that had escaped my attention last time, like the framed family photos and an inspirational poster of an open road. He cleared his throat, and I officially broke down.

“I did something horrible, and I don't know how to fix it.”

I told him everything. Well, I tried to anyway. Bawling my eyes out kind of made it difficult to speak. Still, it felt good to have someone listen, hand me tissues, and nod understandingly. When the bell rang I didn't so much as twitch, intentionally skipping class for the first time. Under different circumstances, Corey probably would've told me that he was proud of my miniature act of rebellion.

Only now he wouldn't care.

Still, my heart lurched when Mr. Shelder slipped out and I heard:
Corey O'Neal, please come to the Guidance Office. Corey O'Neal to the Guidance Office
over the school loudspeakers. Maybe Mr. Shelder could convince him that it was all a big misunderstanding. But when Corey showed up, his face pale and his slim body rigid and stiff . . . it was clear that wouldn't be happening any time soon.

“Uh, hey,” I said nervously, swiping at my cheeks with a crumpled Kleenex.

He ignored me entirely. “I'm not speaking to her. If that's why you paged me, you can forget about it.”

“I'm not here to force a reconciliation, Corey. Now why don't you take a seat? Jane was about to leave.”

That was news to me. I didn't think he could send me away without guiding me first. That's what he was there for, right? And what I needed were some very specific instructions. When my parents told me to get a job, I got one. When my teachers assigned homework, I turned it in on time, double-spaced, and with impeccable grammar. That's just the way I work.

But now there were no guidelines, and the one person I thought was
required
to provide them was booting me out of his office.

I remained frozen by the door.

“The reason I brought you here, Corey,” Mr. Shelder continued, “is to discuss your, er, new situation. I thought we might go over some coping strategies. Do you have any planned?”

Corey looked at Mr. Shelder as if he had lost his mind—sort of the way the secretary was looking at all three of us through the open office door.

“No, I don't have any
coping strategies planned out!
I never expected my best friend to stab me in the back right before my boyfriend dumped me via
text
.”

“Ah . . . and how are you handling this?”

Corey's eyes were glazed with a mixture of pain and fury. “How do you think I'm handling it?”

Horribly. He looked like he was going through hell . . . and I was mostly to blame.

I wanted to tell Corey not to worry; Tim had obviously panicked, but it was only a temporary relationship setback. What they had was too good to throw away.