Chapter Three (Ellie)

Chapter Three (Ellie)

After school, I went to Brooke to hand over the class president's work.

She was sitting at her desk touching up her lip gloss in a compact mirror. She didn't even look at me.

"There's really nothing to hand over. Carter says I'll be totally fine." She gave a little laugh. "If even you could do it, how hard can it be?"

I picked up my binder and walked out.

"Ellie!"

Carter came after me and caught up with me by the wall of the parking lot. The setting sun stretched his shadow long across the pavement.

"About earlier," he said, then paused, as if explaining himself to me were something hard to say. "I didn't vote against you on purpose. Brooke's never been on student council, and we're about to graduate. I just wanted to let her try it. So she wouldn't have any regrets."

"Don't read too much into it."

He reached out to take my arm. I stepped aside.

My eyes caught on his wrist. He was wearing a rubber bracelet, its edges worn white.

I recognized it. Brooke had bought it last year for his birthday, for two dollars at a gas station, and put it on his wrist herself.

And the signed sneakers I'd saved three years of birthday money to buy him? He had never worn them once.

That two-dollar loop of plastic was wrapped tight around his wrist.

As if it were laughing at everything I'd ever felt for him. Telling me it was worth nothing.

I didn't say a word. I turned and ran all the way home.

After that, Carter seemed to sense something.

When a guy pointed at my hair and laughed, Carter actually frowned and snapped, "What's so funny? If you're that bored, go do some practice problems."

When I couldn't find my review packet, he passed me his from the row behind.

After school, he lingered instead of leaving, as if he were waiting for me.

But rain falling on ground that's already cracked and dry can't soften anything.

It was only noise to me.

The last spring showcase before graduation came around, and every class had to put on an act.

Brooke suggested our class do a short skit. She wrote the script herself.

When the script was going around the classroom, I was working on practice problems. Bursts of laughter kept breaking out, and I had a vague sense of what was happening.

When the script finally reached me, I understood what they were laughing at.

The main character was a fat, stupid high school girl who clung to the male lead all day. She hid his sneakers, fell down on purpose whenever he walked by, and tried to dress like the female lead but only made a fool of herself.

Every line was ridiculous and disgusting.

My whole body was shaking.

After class, the guys didn't hold back anymore.

"Art imitates life!"

"Brooke really pays attention!"

For the male lead, everyone picked Carter.

When he got his copy of the script, his brows drew together tightly, and he glanced my way.

I went to my homeroom teacher's office with red eyes. She sighed and said the act had already been submitted. It couldn't be changed.

That night, I stayed up until two in the morning writing Carter a long letter.

I used every humble, pleading word I knew to beg him not to do it.

To beg him to leave us one last shred of dignity.

At rehearsal the next day, I saw him arguing with Brooke around a corner in the hallway. He was frowning. Brooke was tugging at his arm, her eyes a little red, whispering something.

A tiny light flickered in my heart again.

Maybe it wasn't too late.

On the day of the showcase, the auditorium was packed.

I sat in the most out-of-the-way corner of the very last row, so nervous I felt sick.

The lights went down.

The clown based on me walked onstage. She wore a messy wig and had a pillow stuffed under her clothes, her face painted with exaggerated makeup. She minced her way to center stage.

"Babe, don't hang around those bad girls! My poor little heart can't take it!"

The audience went wild with laughter.

People kept turning around to look at me, making faces and pointing me out to the people beside them.

"Look, that's her."

At the very worst moment, Brooke and Carter walked onstage together.

The perfect couple. The screams from the crowd rose higher and higher.

"Kiss her!"

"Get together!"

Under the spotlight, Carter stood beside Brooke wearing the basketball jacket I knew better than anything.

He did it anyway.

I stood up and, through the roar of laughter, walked out the side door.

The sunlight outside was blinding.

I took out my phone and turned it off.

After that day, no one at Westbrook High ever saw Ellie Grant again.