Kalani still says nothing, and that’s all I need to confirm her guilt. This betrayal is even more hurtful than everything that’s going on in school. Those kids don’t know me, not really, not like my best friend does. Teenagers are going to talk and spread rumors and be mean to people because that’s just the nature of things. It sucks, and I’m feeling hurt from it, but mybest friendpushing me to date people just to make me fail stings way more.
No one says anything for a moment, and our face-off is only broken when Steven, a boy I’ve sat beside in history class and shared cringey dad jokes with in the halls, passes us with a few friends and yells, “Hey, Pukey! Stay away from my car, I just got it detailed!”
His friends laugh, Kalani says nothing, and Emi yells, “Fuck off, Steven! You ate your own boogers until you were sixteen!”
He lowers his head and scampers off to a chorus of his friends’ giggles, but it’s all I can take. Before any tears slip from my eyes, I open my car door and stuff my bag in before hopping in.
“Wait, Carina!” Emi calls, but I don’t give her the chance to finish.
“I have to get out of here,” I say and close my door. I’m out of the parking lot in five seconds flat, and it’s five seconds too long because tears slipped from my eyes the moment I started my car.
Seventeen
My parents aren’t home. I didn’t expect them to be, since they have jobs and I’m supposed to be in school, but I could use my mom to talk to. Kevin loves that I’m home, following me around and barking when I accidentally close a door before she enters the room, so at least I have someone here even if she doesn’t understand anything I’m saying.
Sitting around worrying and ignoring texts from my friends while obsessively flicking through social media to see what people are saying about me isn’t helping me feel any less shitty, so I decide to paint.
Changing a blank white canvas into something beautiful using different strokes, textures, and colors is my favorite part of painting. It’s almost awe-inspiring to know that I can make a flat surface appear to have depth, make it come to life, and make youfeelsomething while looking at it. I love to play with colors and concepts to make portraits take on a life of their own, to show someone’s whole personality through my interpretation of them on the canvas. Starting from nothing and having free rein to play isfunfor me. So the fact that I’ve been staring at this blank canvas since I got home only makes me feel shittier about everything that’s going on.
I’ve already finished Daphne’s portrait and given it to her, but now that I get to start fresh, my mind is as blank as the canvas. I can’t focus. Painting is my escape, and I can’t even do that because of everything going on.
Kalani. Arthur. Emi.Pukey McBarfface. Everything is a mess in my mind, and no matter how many deep breaths I take to clear it enough to focus on my art, more jumbled thoughts keep popping up.
After another five minutes of standing in the corner of my room holding a dry paintbrush, the doorbell rings. I ignore it. No one rings the doorbell during the day except people trying to solicit or package delivery services. I have no desire to deal with the former, and the latter will leave whatever we ordered on the porch.
The doorbell rings again, and Kevin jumps off my bed and runs down the hall, then back to me, then back down the hall, repeating the process.
“I’m not answering the door, Kevin,” I tell her, still staring at the canvas.
She either doesn’t understand or doesn’t care, because she redoubles her efforts when the doorbell ringsagain.
Wow, that is averypersistent window cleaning service solicitor.
“They’ll just leave a pamphlet on the doorknob and be on their way now, Kevin,” I tell my dog, who doesn’t believe me and runs back down the hall with a bark.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it from my pocket to see Emmett’s name pop up on my screen. Emmett’s here? I’m not in the mood to deal with anyone right now, never mind Emmett, but I can’t exactly leave him waiting outside, especially when he knows I’m home and clearly won’t leave until I answer the door.
Kevin barks again, and I shove my phone into my pocket without reading the text.
“Fine, Kevin. You win,” I mumble, reluctantly dropping my brush and accompanying her down the stairs.
When I reach the door, I smooth out my hair and take a breath for patience, then open it and freeze.
It’s not Emmett. It’s Jay.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He’s one of the last people I expected to see here. The last time we talked was over text on Friday, while I was out with Wyatt. How did he know I was home?
“I’ve seen the video,” he says, and my heart sinks. If our past has taught me anything, it’s that he’s probably dying to make fun of me. I just can’t believe he came to do it in person and was so persistent about it too. But even if it is Jay and I’ve come to really enjoy our banter, I’m not in the mood right now.
“Great. And you’re here to laugh at me too? I’ve had enough of that this morning, thanks.”
I start to close the door, but he throws a hand out to stop me. “Wait, really? Is that what you think of me? Still?”
I stare at him, mentally hardening myself so I don’t cry. I can’t cry. I’ve cried all morning, and I don’t want to start again in front of Jay. “On top of the Pukey McBarfface stuff, people are saying my friends have been paying my dates, and the only person Kalani offered something for dating me was you. Where would people be getting that idea if not from you?” My lip wobbles. I’ve been trying not to think about Jay because this betrayal hurts more than I can even admit.Don’t cry.“Why would you tell people about that? Were you pissed you didn’t get the concert tickets? I’m the school joke, Jay. How could you do that to me?”
Jay steps back like I slapped him, even though there are a few feet between us. “Really, Carina? After everything, you still think I’d do that to you? I guess it doesn’t matter what actually happened, you’ve clearly made up your mind about me. I know where I stand. You’ll always think I’m not good enough for you, Princess.”