Chapter 3

Gwen

After school, I went to drop off the student council binders with Sloane.

She was at her desk, reapplying lip gloss in her compact. She didn't even try to hide her smirk.

"There's really nothing to hand over," she said, not even bothering to look up. "Chase told me I'd be a natural. He said to just go for it."

She popped her lips. "I mean, if you could do it, it must be completely idiot-proof."

I grabbed my backpack and walked out.

"Gwen, wait!"

Chase caught up with me by the brick wall near the parking lot.

"About earlier," he started, looking uncomfortable. "I didn't vote against you on purpose. It's just... Sloane's never done student council. We're graduating soon. She just wanted the full high school experience. No regrets."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Don't make it a thing, okay?"

I didn't answer him. He reached for my arm, but I stepped back, dodging his hand.

My eyes dropped to his wrist. He was wearing that cheap, frayed friendship bracelet Sloane bought him at a gas station last year for three bucks. She'd tied it on him herself.

Meanwhile, he had never once worn the limited-edition Jordans I spent two years of allowance on for his sweet sixteen.

But that three-dollar piece of string? That never left his wrist. It was a giant, neon sign pointing out exactly how little I meant to him.

I didn't say a word. I turned my back on him and walked away.

After that, Chase obviously noticed I was pulling away. He started acting different.

When a guy in AP Calc pointed at my cropped hair and laughed, Chase actually snapped at him. "Shut up, man. Just focus on your worksheet."

When I couldn't find my syllabus, he slid his over to my desk.

He'd even linger by his locker after the final bell, pretending to pack his bag, like he was waiting for me to walk out with him.

A week ago, I would have killed for this version of Chase.

Now? It was like putting a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. Too little, too damn late. Honestly, it was just exhausting.

The final event before graduation was the Senior Talent Show. Every homeroom was putting together a comedy skit.

Naturally, Sloane wrote ours.

People were passing the script around during study hall. Every time a new person read it, they'd crack up.

When it finally landed on my desk, I realized why.

The skit was about a fat, desperate stalker obsessed with a jock. The character hid his lacrosse gear, deliberately tripped whenever he walked by, and totally humiliated herself trying to dress like the hot cheerleader.

It wasn't even subtle. Every single line was a direct hit at me.

My hands started shaking. When the bell rang, the guys didn't even bother to whisper.

"Sloane is a comedic genius."

"Spot on, honestly."

Chase was cast as the lead guy. When he read the script, he frowned and shot an uneasy look at my desk.

But he didn't say a word to stop it.

I went straight to our advisor's office, barely holding back tears. But the teacher just sighed. "The script is already approved by the administration, Gwen. Don't take it so personally. It's just satire."

I sat at my desk, shivering from the cold, letting the tears fall.

That night, I hit rock bottom. I typed out a massive paragraph to Chase at 2 A.M. I practically begged him to drop out of the skit. I begged him to leave me just one tiny shred of dignity after ten years of friendship.

The next day during rehearsal, I caught them arguing in the hallway.

Chase looked frustrated, but Sloane was grabbing his arm, tearing up and pouting.

A pathetic part of me thought, Maybe he'll actually back out. Maybe there's a line he won't cross.

The day of the Talent Show, I sat in the darkest, furthest row of the auditorium. I felt like I was going to throw up.

Then our class went up.

The girl playing the stalker dragged herself onstage in a frizzy wig and hideous makeup.

"Babe, don't look at those skinny girls, my heart can't take it!" she shrieked, dramatically tripping over her own feet.

The auditorium exploded. People were howling.

Kids in the rows ahead of me actually turned around in their seats. They nudged their friends and pointed right at me in the dark.

"Look," someone stage-whispered over the laughter. "There's our heavyweight stalker."

Right at the peak of my humiliation, Chase and Sloane walked out on stage.

The golden boy and the gorgeous queen bee. The crowd went absolutely wild.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" someone yelled from the bleachers.

Chase laughed. He grabbed Sloane by the waist, pulled her in, and kissed her right under the stage lights.