A Pretty Little Parody [PLL]

28. Sorry Not So Sorry

By midnight, everyone had either passed out on the front lawn or had gone home with someone’s parents. Alec said that he had things to take care of, Henry said he had to take a shower, Moby was incoherently half-asleep in my Jacuzzi, and Evan said he felt sick. By the next morning, everyone had cleared out, leaving me with a big mess and a killer headache to take care of.

Just kidding. That’s what the housekeeper and some Tylenol were for. After I’d popped my second pill, I went straight to bed for a quick nap. When I woke up again, the sun was almost high in the sky and there was a new text from my mysteroius texting buddy. I sat up in bed and squinted at it for a few minutes:

Wakey wakey, sleepyhead! There’s someone you need to make up with.

I flopped back and groaned loudly. She (since the anonymous caller’s voice had been a girl’s, I decided just to call it a she) better not have been talking about Evan. After I had come out of the bathroom, with Henry leaning on me burping out bubbles, he’d confronted me, eyes blazing. Finally, I could see traces of his fierce mother in him--he looked just like her when he was really, really pissed off.

I don’t feel like going into details. Basically he was really mad and still slightly hungover, so he stormed into the hallway closet and slammed its door in my face. A few hours later, he’d come out and left, saying that he felt sick. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

I’m not gonna swallow my pride with Evan, I wrote. It’s Henry’s fault for being friends with Jer’quoff in the first place.

My reply came as soon as I hit “Send”.

I don’t mean Evan, Sasha. Look out your window.

I looked to my window and saw Scott, his hair newly trimmed, pacing up and down his room, wearing his favorite purple tank top. My eyes widened. Scott--I’d forgotten all about him amidst all this other drama. Our fight had been over Ivana. How trivial it all seemed now.

But did I really want to say sorry? He’d said some nasty things to me back there. I crossed my arms over my chest. I couldn’t just go over there and put myself in the dunce corner. If he wanted an apology, he was gonna have to come to me.

Bzz. It was another text.

Hurry up, bitch! It’s not like you have a choice.

Right. I’d forgotten that I was just a pawn in this new and dangerous game that we were playing. Sighing, I slipped on a pair of ballet flats I didn’t remember owning and walked over to Scott’s.

Malaria answered the door. She was wearing a tribal-printed maxi dress that made her look like a model. She was definitely gorgeous, but her fake, preppy personality just ruined it for me. She raised a thin eyebrow when she saw that it was me at the door and not Alec or some other sympathizer.

“I thought you and Scott weren’t friends anymore,” she said stiffly. “I heard you got in a fight.”

I shuffled uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah, we did. But I’m here to apologize.”

“Yeah, right. Do you know the hell you put him through?”

I looked up at her, surprised to see that there was genuine anger in her eyes. Before, I’d always assumed that Malaria was always out to get Scott, but now I could see that she cared about him like any older sibling would. She also looked like she could easily kick my skinny little ass right then and there.

“Please?” I asked, trying to look like I was truly sorry, which I kind of was. “I feel terrible. I just want to make things right again.”

“Sasha Peterson, saying sorry?” She gave me a stony stare. “Hell’s just been frozen over by a snowball.”