Checkmate

16| No quitters here

I awake to dozens of tags on Instagram. Hands shaking, I click on the first notification in the list until a video of me playing beer pong pops up. I press play, my heart in my throat as I wait for something terrible to unfold. I don't remember doing anything embarrassing, but maybe I'd gotten so drunk I can't remember. Maybe this, right here, is what will take me out of the running for good. But then the video stops playing, and my shoulders heave. It lasted a minute, less than a minute, long enough to show me beating the boys and being hailed queen.

I'm about to click off it when I notice the comments – forty in total – and the panic I'd felt earlier returns with a vengeance. These comments will determine whether Blake's plan was successful or whether it helped seal my fate. I'm not sure I want to look.

Curiosity gets the better of me – either that or I'm a masochist – and I look at the comments. The first handful make my breath hitch:

Maybe she should spend less time playing beer pong and more time being faithful.

Whoever got Rose Matthews to remove the stick from her ass is a genius.

Please tell me why Rose Matthews is at BLAKE O'HARE'S PARTY.

Nausea takes over as I contemplate whether or not to read further, but then I catch the comment below it, this one more positive: SLAY. The following ones are equally as pleasant, and it's like I can breathe again. Maybe Blake's plan was successful; maybe I'm not hated.

More comments pour in during breakfast. The mean ones I'd read earlier disappear into the abyss as they're replaced with affirmation. It's not like the video is viral or anything – the only kids commenting are ones that go to Archbury – but that's all that matters. People are finally seeing something other than that kissing video. People are seeing me.

"You seem brighter today, Rose," Dad says. We're alone at the table – Mom went to the office early to look over some papers, so breakfast has been quiet. My dad is the type who speaks when there is something worth saying, and my mom is the opposite; I like to think I fall somewhere in between. "Did you manage to get your speech finished?"

I smile brightly. "Yeah, I did. In fact, I think I'm going to head to school a little earlier today to get a few things sorted." I finish what's left of my toast and grab my bag from the chair next to me. "I'll see you later."

"See you later, Rosebud."

The drive to school is excruciating. All I want is to get there and show Blake the messages, but I manage to hit every stoplight within a three-mile radius. When I finally pull up, I'm no earlier than I would have been if I'd set off at the usual time, not that it matters. Something tells me Blake might be late today anyway.

Still, I park and head to our usual spot, a skip in my step as I round the corner to the bikesheds. Blake is already standing there, leaning against the wall with his vape and looking unconcerned.

Warmth works its way into my face. Maybe it's a lingering effect of that one dirty thought, but it's hard not to notice how good he looks. Better than good. He must have gotten some sleep last night because his usual faint shadows have all but disappeared, and his eyes look that little bit brighter.

Ignoring the heat, I slip into the space beside him, pulling out my phone. "Did you see the video of me playing beer pong?"

His eyes flit over, warm and steady. "Hello to you too."

For a good three seconds, I forget what I'm saying. "Hi," I say, opening the video, "look at this." My voice is giddy – I still can't believe that a video about beer pong has made people like me. Blake puts his vape away and peers over my shoulder. "People are being nice about me." I grab his arm in my excitement, "Look at all these crown emojis. They're for me." It's impossible not to smile as his gaze meets mine, warm like honey. "Can you believe that? Your plan worked, Blake."