The Unconditional Pledge

5 Ava

By the time I get home, I feel like I've just run a marathon. I sit on my front steps, cradling my face in my hands, trying not to think about last night. And then, after what feels like hours, I reach into my bra and pull out a small scrap of notebook paper. In small, girly handwriting, it reads,

Time for a personality change. Try to replace Paige Atkinson as the Fall Ball queen.

Try is underlined three times. Whoever wrote this is clearly a sadist. Once upon a time, I might've been satisfied, happy even, at this pledge because of how easy it was. It wasn't hard for me to look and act the part of someone who could win the crown at our school's annual dance. Now I hate what Fieldbrook students represent — teenagers with no particular goal but a perfect reputation and appearance. I want to be the opposite of that. But after last night, I found out I have to become one of them. Again.

"Ava? Is that you?"

I stand up so quickly my head spins. "Hey, dad."

He looks at me wearily from the front door and smiles as I straighten my wrinkled dress and move past him, praying he doesn't smell the alcohol or weed. "So how was the get-together? What'd you guys do?"

Our house still smells faintly of almond hand lotion, what my mom would use everyday. After her death, my dad pretty much gave up on keeping our house clean, so we live in a house that's both smaller and messier than most Fieldbrook houses. But then again, our family is different from most Fieldbrook families. Widowed, single father with an only child, with a job that's not in the law, political or business field. Not that I care enough to lie about it, like most people here would.

"Talked," I say vaguely, aware of how much of an understatement that is. I turn over the piece of paper in my hands, thinking of the words written on them, and consider confessing to him.

"Sounds like you had a good time." He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. "I'm glad. Your mother would've been, too."

"Yeah," I say quietly. After a pause, I say, "I gotta go finish my Latin project, dad."

"Go ahead, kiddo."

As soon as I'm inside my room, I strip off my tattered dress, tug on my old pajamas and plop down on my bed, sinking into the soft linen. I take out my phone and stare at it for a moment. Finally, I punch in a familiar number.

"Hello?"

"Hey." I roll over on my back, staring at the ceiling. I've got to be pretty desperate to have to do this. "I need your help."

An hour later, I'm sitting on my bed with my legs crossed and makeup products splayed around me. An old Lady Gaga song blares on the speakers as Courtney sings along and flips through my closet. She takes out an old pair of faded black jeans I'd kept since ninth grade. "Is everything you own black?"

"Pretty much."

Coming from another typical Fieldbrook family, Courtney wouldn't be someone I'd inform about my troubles — especially family-wise. She doesn't get it, what it's like to have a mom who's killed herself and a dad who's working himself to death, or even the vaguest idea of what depression is like. But if there's anything she does know, it's how to get me out of my current state and back into my old one.

"This is kind of cute," she says, taking out a white top from Pacsun I'd bought before mom's death, and then sighs defeatedly. "Ava, this is terrible. You've got, like, exactly three cute outfits in your closet. And they're all a size too small now. I think we need to go shopping."

"I'd rather not."

She eyes me suspiciously. "You still haven't told me the reason behind all of this. Does it have to do with your pledge?"

I clear my throat and touch the hem of my shirt. "Maybe."

She squeals. "Show me! Oh my god, Ava! Look at you! Taking the pledge all seriously."

"I don't really have a choice," I say, digging out the paper from my pocket.

"True, but whatever." She hesitates. "I know it's against the rules to tell someone else but ..." she bites her lip, looking conflicted. "You're not technically telling me, right? And it's not like we're going to tell Jay or Nick about this, right?"

Before I can answer, she rips the paper from my hands and reads it. "Wow. Paige sure is creative."

"Paige?" I ask. "Paige wrote my pledge? But it's about her."

Courtney shrugs. "Yeah. I don't get why you're so surprised, though."

She has a point. Everyone knows Paige resents me for ditching her and her friends after my mom's death. She must find the pledge funny, to watch me attempt to unseat her spot on the throne. "She's so evil," I mutter.

"Tell me about it," Courtney says exasperatedly. "Cheerleaders can be so bitchy. But the king of the games wrote mine."

"What is it?"

"Nuh-uh," she says quickly, sitting up and shaking her finger. "A girl doesn't kiss and tell."

"I literally just told you my pledge."

"Your choice," she says and turns, grabbing her keys. "Come on. Get dressed. We've got to go shopping."

"You girls look like you would enjoy a good pair of J. Crew skinny jeans," a perky saleswoman in a black suit says to us as we pass a J. Crew store.

"Those are cute," Courtney muses, looking over at the pile of blue jeans on the display table.

Fieldbrook Plaza smells like it always does — of pressed denim, the new Giorgio Armani cologne selection, and rich coffee brew. I watch Courtney wander into another store, barely even shaking in her two-inch heels. I can barely even stand wearing thick soled Vans.

"I don't even want to do this anymore," I say, "and we've barely even started."

Courtney spins around. "Ava, no. If you become the newest pledge loser, Hannah and I are going to have to ditch you."

"How will I even survive?"

"Look, Ava, I know it's not going to be easy," she says, "But you can do this. Just summon your inner bitch." She rolls her eyes at me. "Lord knows you've got one."

Courtney turns to ask the saleswoman something just as I hear someone call my name from behind me. Turning, I watch a familiar figure enter the store, a maroon Prada scarf wrapped around her neck. "Oh. Hi Paige," I say carefully.

She looks me up and down, from my tangled hair to my scuffed shoes. I shift my weight to my other foot, uncomfortable. "I didn't know you shopped here," she says brightly.

"I'm with Courtney." I point in her general direction.

"Cool," she says, and moves her steaming Starbucks cup to her other hand. She adds, "I'm just here to meet up with Juliby."

"Cool," I repeat back to her, feeling a little lame. For once, I'm glad I'm not wearing baggy clothes. Courtney managed to scavenge a tank top and a cardigan out of my closet with an extremely frayed pair of shorts and slapped them on me for the mall. I feel vulnerable as Paige looks at me, as though I'm prey being scoped out.

"I guess you found out who wrote your pledge," she says with thinly-veiled smugness. "I'm sorry, Ava. I didn't know you'd take it so seriously. Don't take it personally, though. It's all just part of the game."

Her simpering voice makes me want to punch her in the face. I realize what she's implying, though, and smile back too, although I'm sure it looks more like a grimace. "Don't worry. I'm having fun with it," I finally reply, trying not to grit my teeth.

After a few moments, she responds coldly, "Good."

"Good," I say.

I walk back to Courtney, who's been watching from a rack of baby tees at Ralph Lauren. She looks at me and raises an eyebrow at Paige's retreating figure. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing." I take a deep breath and pick up a pair of jeans. "Come on. I need a new closet."