Invisible (21 page)

But if I said any of that, he might try to add some color to my fading black eye.

“I see,” Mr. Shelder said slowly.

“No, I don't think you do. You know what I'm going to be now? A national gay
icon
. A freaking symbol! And people are going to expect me to represent the community. If word gets out that I actually
enjoy
helping Mackenzie primp for her dates, I'm going to be blasted by activists for falling into all the gay male stereotypes!” He raked his hands through his hair. “I'm going to be reduced to one freaking label: gay.
So don't you dare tell me that you see!
”

The room lapsed into a tense silence.

“Corey, I don't think this is the best environment for you right now. I already had Mrs. Morgan call your parents. I believe your dad is on his way. Would you like to sit in my office until he arrives?”

“Now you're kicking me out of school?” he demanded.

“She destroys my life, but do you send
her
home? No. Only the gay boy gets a one-way ticket to social Siberia. Well, thanks, but you can take all of your well-intentioned advice and you can shove it up your—”

“Corey!” His dad burst into the room right on cue, his face contorted in concern. “What's going on? I heard it was urgent.”

Corey went limp at the first sight of his dad. It was strange to see since Corey's always been the one to keep his composure in the face of adversity, but I guess even he could hit emotional bottom and require someone else to step in and save the day.

I'd just never witnessed it before.

“What's going on?” Corey's dad repeated as he pulled his son into a one-armed hug. “Is it that Thompson kid again? Damn it, Rob! If that monster's parents aren't going to do anything, I swear I'm pressing harassment charges.”

“No, it's . . . more complicated. I think you should take Corey home, but your son appears to be a little, er, resistant to the idea.”

He turned to Corey, concern evident in his warm brown eyes. “Up to you, sport. How do you want to play this?”

Corey could go three rounds in a ring with Alex Thompson and still claim that he was ready for more, but his dad's quiet support was his undoing. Maybe because his dad would back him up no matter what he decided. Corey shook his head, as if trying to rouse himself from a nightmare.

“Just . . . take me home.”

“Okay, then.” They were almost out the door when Corey's dad finally noticed me. His face split into a broad grin. “I should've known you'd be here, Jane. I assume Mackenzie will be dropping by soon enough. Would you like to come with us? I can call your parents and explain.”

“Dad, no. Let's go.”

Mr. O'Neal looked from me to his son in confusion, but the edge to Corey's voice prevented him from asking any questions. “Okay, sport.”

Neither of them glanced back at me once.

M
r. Shelder assumed—wrongly—that I would leave the Guidance Office.

But I refused to move until I had a little more clarity on my life. Somehow I had gone from the role of the supportive best friend to the villain in under a day. Except . . . I refused to be the only one to pay for a mistake that was only partially mine.

It was time for me to live up to my new reputation for recklessness.

“Mr. Shelder needs you to page Lisa Anne Montgomery,” I lied to his secretary without feeling even a shred of guilt.

She nodded, and I had the satisfaction of hearing,
“Lisa Anne Montgomery, please come to the Guidance Office. Lisa Anne Montgomery to the Guidance Office.”

Excellent.

I mentally began rehearsing my speech so that I'd be prepared to blast her the moment she arrived.

Lisa Anne didn't give me a chance to say any of it. She strolled into the Guidance Office wearing another one of her annoyingly perfect interview outfits, took one look at me, and rolled her eyes.

“I should've known. You're not going to start
whining,
are you, Grammar Girl? You should be thanking me for helping you.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “For
helping
me?”

“Yeah!” she said as if it were obvious. “If it weren't for me, you would still be a complete nobody, quivering in the cesspool of your own ineptitude.”

I glared at her. “That's not true.”

“Oh sure it is, Grammar Girl. I saved you from obscurity. Now maybe people will have something to remember you by when they flip through the high school yearbook. You know that inserting commas isn't a real talent, right?”

She sauntered forward with every word, and as my anger built I couldn't stop myself from shoving her backward hard enough to slam her into the wall, dislodging some pamphlets about dealing with depression. “What's your talent, Lisa Anne? Destroying lives?”

I probably should have known by the way the secretary kept clearing her throat and saying stuff like, “
Really,
girls! Inside voices!” that we were going to be busted by Mr. Shelder.

Correction: that
I
was going to be busted by Mr. Shelder.

Still, not even hearing him snap “Into my office, Jean!” could make me want to back down from this particular fight.

Not when Lisa Anne had it coming.

“He doesn't even know your name!” she crowed triumphantly, even as she darted out of range of my fists. “Don't worry, I'm sure the nice reporters at
People
magazine will cite their source correctly.”

One good blow was all I wanted. A single punch right to her snobby, stuck-up nose so that she would bleed all over her stupid, preppy argyle sweater—but Mr. Shelder dragged me into his office before I could try. Then he just sat there watching me while I struggled to get my breathing under control and my fists to unclench.

“Er, Jane, right?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything even remotely civil.

“Look, in light of recent events, I'm concerned that your fight with Alex Thompson was not an isolated incident. I'm seeing a pattern of violence. I want you to go home for a few days. Cool down a little bit. Do you want me to call your parents and have them pick you up?”

“No!” I took a deep breath. “They're at work right now and . . . I'll call someone else, okay?”

I pulled out my cell phone and began scrolling through my contacts before he even had the chance to nod in agreement. Although maybe having my parents show up would have been less painful, since I wasn't sure if any of my contacts were still speaking to me.

Corey: No.

Kenzie: Maybe.

Logan: Less likely.

Isobel?

I paused for a moment on the name, feeling guilty for nearly forgetting her. After the Alex Thompson cafeteria incident, if there was one person who should believe I only had good intentions, it was her. But Isobel couldn't drive.

There was really only one person I could call for a ride, albeit with a great deal of groveling.

“I'm working on important forms right now, so unless you are
bleeding
—”

“I need you to pick me up from school, Elle.”

Long pause.

“Are you bleeding?”

“No, but I think I've been suspended.”

I glanced at Mr. Shelder for confirmation, and he nodded. Well, that was going to look
great
on my permanent record, right next to my time in detention.

“Jane, this isn't funny. Stop wasting my time.”

“It's not a joke, Elle. Please pick me up. I'll wait outside on the steps, okay?”

“Fine. But you'll owe me, and don't think I won't collect!”

She disconnected, and I left the Guidance Office, relieved to discover that Lisa Anne hadn't stuck around. I was less excited to see Scott leaning against the lockers outside the room, almost exactly where he'd waited after my fight with Alex.

Except that time I was surrounded by my friends.

Now it was just him.

Scott scrutinized me, his eyes lingering on the blotchy evidence of tears on my face. “Jesus, Jane. You look like hell.”

I managed a feeble grin. “You mean you don't want to take a photo? That's a first.”

“I'd rather not remember you looking this way.”

“What way?”

“Like you've lost every ounce of fight in you.”

“Did I have any fight in me to begin with?” I doubted it. Sam had the courage to fight for what she believed in by taping up condoms in bathrooms, regardless of the punishments Principal Taylor devised.

I had a tendency to screw things up—not the same thing.

“Yeah, you've got fight, Jane. You just don't always know how to use it.”

“Well, I think I used the last bit of it getting myself suspended.”

His eyes darkened with concern. “What happened?”

“I confronted Lisa Anne.” I shrugged and started walking toward the parking lot. “Apparently, I'm starting to demonstrate a pattern of aggression.”

Scott grinned. “Really? I'm having a hard time picturing that. Actually, girl-on-girl fighting . . . got it. Any hair pulling?”

I laughed. “Almost. Mr. Shelder blocked me before I got the chance.”

“Oh, that's a shame.” His smirk said otherwise. “So . . . you're suspended.”

“Looks like it.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

“My sister is picking me up.” I was both surprised that he had offered and . . . not. Scott could be a really great guy—when he felt like it. He could've easily backed out of playing the role of the respectful new boyfriend for my parents, but he hadn't. Scott nearly made
me
believe there was something between us. Which there wasn't. Because he was interested in Kenzie.

I just had to keep reminding myself of that fact.

“Thanks for the offer, Scott.”

On impulse, I raised my arms so that they linked around his neck and pulled him into a quick hug. The familiar warmth radiating from his body made me feel safe while I pretended that my world hadn't just imploded and started spraying nearby planets with shrapnel.

It felt dangerously nice.

Until we were interrupted by the most intrusive people on the face of the earth: celebrity reporters. Given my interest in high school journalism, I probably should have found them fascinating. It was a great opportunity for me to tap someone on the shoulder and politely ask how they got into journalism.

Except I had seen reporters like them in action before Kenzie's fame peaked. The kind who follow teenagers home from school, snapping photos the whole way. The kind who would willingly jostle my best friend for an excuse to use
T
RIPPING
O
VER
F
AME!
T
HE
M
ACKENZIE
W
ELLESLEY
S
TORY
as their headline. After Kenzie told Ellen DeGeneres that she had no intention of pursuing a life in the spotlight, it looked like they might leave us alone.

But they were back, determined to dig up as much dirt as possible on the romance between rock sensation Timothy Goff and high school student Corey O'Neal.

I never wanted to be the target of this kind of media insanity, and I hoped that Corey and his dad were able to safely make it home before the newshounds picked up their scent.

“Do either of you know Corey O'Neal?”

“Do you think he is dating Timothy Goff?”

“What's it like having the boyfriend of a celebrity at your school?”

We weren't even their intended targets and they were already hounding us . . . probably because everyone else was in class, whereas we were ditching our responsibilities. Actually, Scott was the only one ditching. I had been suspended.

He casually slung an arm over my shoulder and repeated, “No comment” until we were in the parking lot next to his beat-up car. “Are you sure you still want to stick around here waiting for your sister?”

I almost took him up on the offer, but before I could even pull out my cell phone to let Elle know I had found an alternative method of transportation, she pulled up to the school, rolled down her window . . . and promptly began shouting at me.

“Are you
kidding me!
You think you can ditch class with your boyfriend and I'll pick you up? Well, screw that! And don't think for a second that I'll cover for you with Mom and Dad!”

Without giving me a chance to explain, she gunned out of the lot as quickly as she'd entered it. So much for sisterly support.

“Well”—Scott broke my stupefied silence—“I guess jumping to conclusions runs in the family.”

“Um, about that ride you offered . . .”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

I stared up at him in horror. “But—but you
just
said that—”

He laughed. “I'm kidding, Jane. Get in.”

He didn't have to tell me twice.

“W
here are we going?”

I've always been a backseat driver. Luckily, I have a really good sense of direction and I'm excellent with maps, so my parents usually use me as their navigation system, especially on road trips. Still, it didn't exactly take a genius to know that we were headed in the opposite direction from my house.

“I don't know.”

I stared at Scott in surprise. “You don't know? But you drove to my house last night.”

“Yeah.”

I gritted my teeth at his non-answer. “And yet you don't know where we're going?”

“That's what I said.”

“But—”

Scott shot me a piercing look. “Do you honestly want to go home right now, Jane?”

I didn't. At least not until Elle had calmed down.

“Well, no . . .”

“Then what difference does it make?”

The guy had a point. As far as I could tell, suspension came with only a few perks: I didn't have to be anywhere, see anyone, or do anything. I might as well take advantage of them before I had to explain everything to my family, a conversation that probably wasn't going to end well. So I decided not to squander a golden opportunity to relax, even if it was only temporary and included Scott.

I leaned back in my seat. “Okay. Sounds good to me.”

Scott reached out to turn on his music, then hesitated. “Promise you won't sing? I don't think I could take it.”

“I won't sing!”

“Excellent.”

I didn't break my promise, even though his mix included some of my favorite Wilco and ReadySet songs. Still, I couldn't let the subject drop.

“You know I
can
sing on occasion.”

“One of those occasions
not
being in my car.”

I rolled my eyes. “I get it. But
on occasion . . .
like the last time I was sick, I could do a
really
good version of ‘I Try' by Macy Gray.”

He didn't look impressed. “Isn't she the one who always sounds raspy?”

“Right. I nailed it.”

He grinned. “Yeah? So when else can you sing?”

“Hmm . . . well,
I
think I sound pretty good in the shower, but Elle always bangs on the door and tells me to shut up.”

“Sounds like what you need is an impartial third-party judge. I'm ready to volunteer my services.”

“That's, um . . . generous of you.”

“I aim to please.”

I laughed. “I don't think that'd go over too well with my dad. He already thinks we're planning on spending a few hours at the nearest motel.”

Scott's grin widened. “Which motel might that be? It's not too late for me to turn around.”

“Not telling.”

“And where did he get this idea?”

“Um . . . from me.”

Scott's hands seemed to tighten reflexively on the steering wheel. “Seriously? What did you tell him?”

“I may have mentioned that I had a condom and that I wasn't afraid to use it.”

I expected Scott to laugh, maybe make a snarky comment about things heating up with my Romeo, but he didn't. That's when I realized that Mr. Shelder was right to send me home. I wasn't myself, or at least not the version I've always been up until a week ago. That Jane Smith never could've casually mentioned condoms, especially while riding in a car with
Scott Fraser
.

“Well, that's . . . uh, okay.” Scott fumbled for words. “That's . . . fine.”

“Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm kidding. I mean, I did mention condoms, but it was just to make them stop treating me like a preschooler.”

Much to my relief, Scott's grin returned in full force. “Did it work?”

“Well, my mom keeps saying that her little girl is all grown up.” I shrugged. “I wonder if she'll feel that way when she hears about my suspension.”

I stared sightlessly out at the green foliage whizzing past the window.

“She'll probably find it hard to believe I've been kicked out, even temporarily.” I couldn't bring myself to look at Scott. I wasn't sure I wanted to see his reaction.

“You're not feeling guilty about it?”

I paused to consider. “Not really. I don't want to tell my parents, but no real guilt. Then again, I still can't believe Lisa Anne printed that piece, so maybe the guilt will sink in later too.”

“You didn't know?”

“Of course not! I
never
would have signed off on that story.”

Except Lisa Anne couldn't have been the only one involved, the way I had assumed. Maybe she was the primary force behind the article, but Scott's photos from the concert were featured on the front page. I tried to remember what Scott had said the night before when he'd returned my notebook:
Lisa Anne wanted me to return this to you
. At the time, I'd thought he was doing me a favor.

And all along he was playing me for the front page of
The Smithsonian.

“Pull over, Scott. Now.”

He drove onto the shoulder of the road, unclicked his seat belt, and turned to face me. “What?”

“You worked with Lisa Anne on this, didn't you?”

I saw the truth flash across his face before he even said a word.

“Yes.”

“But I—I thought we were friends!”

He didn't even have the nerve to look ashamed. “What does that have to do with the newspaper?”

“You helped Lisa Anne publicly out my best friend!”

“Actually, I submitted some photos for the paper.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “How can you be so nonchalant about this? Do you have any idea what you've done to Corey? To
me?
This is just . . .” I flapped my hands when no adjectives strong enough came to mind.

“Jane?”

“What?” I snapped. “What can you possibly say to make it better?”

That's when he leaned in and . . . kissed me.

I never saw it coming, and everything I felt—my anger, my guilt, my confusion, my sense of betrayal, and okay, even a
really
stupid jolt of physical reaction as Scott's hand tangled in my hair and his lips pressed against mine—it was more than I could handle.

“No!”

Scott instantly pulled back. “What's wrong?”

“You. Me. This. I thought . . . I don't . . . you can't do this, because it's just . . . it's all wrong!
You outed my best friend!
”

Scott looked out the windshield. “I don't get you, Jane. One moment we're getting along great and I think you're interested in me, and the next you come up with these insane accusations. So either you aren't aware of the mixed messages, in which case you're stupid, or you know exactly what you're doing, and you're a tease. Or you are straight-up crazy. Which one is it, Jane?”

“I have
not
been coming on to you!”

“Stupid. Got it.”

I ignored him. “I'm
not
stupid, and I wasn't coming on to you. I may have tried flirting, but . . . that's not the point! You thought . . . what? That you could just kiss me and make everything better?”

Scott rubbed his forehead as if our conversation was giving him a migraine. “No, I didn't.”

But I was on a roll.

“Did you think I'd be glad to find out that you helped
destroy my friend's life?
”

“This is bullshit! You want to blame everyone else? Fine. Lisa Anne ran your story, and I supplied the photos. I guess it doesn't make a difference that I wouldn't have worked on it unless I goddamn well thought you had cleared it with your friend first!” He released an exasperated breath and then continued more calmly. “I didn't mean to yell. That was . . . out of line. I thought Corey and Tim wanted the article to show how hard it was to maintain a relationship under the scrutiny of the American public. Then again, I also thought . . . doesn't matter, you're not worth it.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I asked, stung.

“It means that you're waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you off into a stunning life of mediocrity.”

“That's not tr—”

“I'm not finished. Now you have your Romeo and that's
great
. I thought when you said that the two of you weren't dating . . . doesn't matter. You seem happier playing the victim and being ignored by your own friends than you are standing up for yourself. That's why you never confronted them about the concert, right? Why you never asked to join them? It's so much easier to put on a good face in public and sulk in private. Less risk that way. But it's sad how little you're willing to settle for in your life, Jane. And if you really want people to treat you like an adult, demand it of them. Carrying around a whole box of Trojans isn't going to fix it for you.”

Each word felt like a sucker punch to the gut.

“Take me home, please. Now.”

“My pleasure.”

We didn't say another word to each other the whole ride back.