I wait at the bus stop for an entire thirty minutes before Anika appears from behind me.
When I turn around to face her, her eyes are an irritated red and her face is wet. She's been crying.
"A— Are you okay?" I ask carefully.
She sniffs, "I'm fine."
She's obviously not. The slumped set in her shoulders, puffy eyes, and messy hair can mean one of two things: she has hay fever or she was crying. Given the fact that it's three months too early for cold and flu season, I can safely say this is a classic sob fest. A side effect of heated confrontations with an ex.
I suck at handling other people's tears. Especially when it's people I care about. Do I hug her or is that too much affection too fast? I'd offer her a handkerchief but this isn't the 1800's, people don't just carry those around. I'm socially inept when it comes to this type of thing. My first thought is that I should punch her in the shoulder to give her a different kind of pain to focus on but that might be misinterpreted as passive-aggressive. Or plain old aggressive.
"Did you get it?" Anika asks. Saving me from having to do any comforting.
"Yeah," I nod showing her the flash drive.
She takes it. "Good. It was worth it then."
Her eyes settle on me, taking a long hard look. "Did you go dumpster diving while I was gone?"
"Funny," I say drily. "So what do we do now? Call Xavier? Start the counter blackmail? Take time-stamped photos to give us an alibi?"
She shakes her head. "That's too small. We need to think bigger."
"Okay."
Why do I get the feeling that I've just unleashed a teenage girl-sized Kraken on our senior class?
Maybe that's why I keep the burner phone in my pocket. She doesn't need any more ammunition.
*****
In less than ten minutes, I'll be late for school. That information however doesn't stop me from having a minor-scale panic attack as I stand wrapped in my towel in the middle of the bathroom.
Elevated heart rate? Check.
Sweaty armpits even though I've gone through half a stick of deodorant? Check.
Dilating pupils? Check and check.
WebMD said I was either having a panic attack or a stroke. I stare at my reflection and take a shuddering breath before I grab my phone and hit the call button.
"What's up?" Anika answers after the first ring.
"You're already at school?" I ask when I see what's in the background. She's in the school auditorium with a few other people.
"Yup, trying to make time for extra debate practice." She says. "Are you in a towel?"
"Yeah. Kind of." I say tugging the towel even tighter around me. "So did you decide?"
The question that's been up in the air between us all through the weekend. What was she going to do with the flash drive full of incriminating information on nearly half the basketball team? In hindsight, I shouldn't have just handed it to her. I should have thought out my next moves. But in my defense, I'd been through a lot. I'd spent a disgusting amount of time under a bed, discovered something I didn't want to know about the boys on my team, and found out my closest friend had kissed Xavier.
On the lips.
"Still thinking about it," she responds absentmindedly.
"But you've had the whole—"
"Is that Hazel," someone asks before taking the phone and switching the viewpoint.
I adjust my vision to take in Kite. Kite Forrester. So when he wasn't co-captaining the debate team and pushing low-brow recreational drugs, he was intercepting my calls with Anika. Weird.
"Are you in a towel?" He asks, squinting at me.
"No," I huff. Why is everyone hung up on that? Me in a towel is not the issue here. Although I'd do well to put on some clothes, especially considering the time crunch I'm under.
"Okay," He hums. "Anyway, I would just like to thank you in person."
"For what?"
"Your contribution of course. As junior editor of the school paper, your findings are much appreciated." He holds up a familiar, silver pen drive. Anika's pen drive. "It's going to make a great addition to our article on accountability for student-athletes."
My mouth drops before I realize the score. Anika's sold us out. And by us, I mean the entire freaking team.
"Kite, can you give Anika back the phone?"
He nods before mouthing thank you once more.
"You can't be serious," I say when the phone is in her hands.
No response.
"We're supposed to be helping out Leah. Not acting out revenge fantasies on our ex-boyfriends. And definitely not publishing stuff without discussing it first." I say.
"First of all, there was nothing to discuss. And second, this isn't some revenge fantasy. I'm not trying to hurt Josh anymore," she says shaking her head. "If I told you, you would have shut this down because you want to protect them. What was your plan? Blackmail Xavier and keep everything else buried? How does that help anybody?"
"This isn't about helping anybody. It's about helping one person. Her."
"It will. Xavier won't send the photos when we publish this. His credibility will be all but ruined. No one will believe any of his crap stories."
That, I think, is the flimsiest line of logic I've ever witnessed in play. And coming from me that's saying something.
"Yes, they will." It was him. Of course, they'd believe him. Who wouldn't believe the captain of the basketball team? "So what? You'll publish some big article about the boy's group chat?"
So much for hard-hitting journalism.
"Yes and no." She says. "It'll be an expose about student-athletes, coasting through the school system."
I close my eyes. Now I'm irrefutably having a stroke.
"Don't look at me like that. You know it's not fair. They're all athletic and popular and they're getting good grades too. How is that okay? I saw you kill yourself over the same math paper that Xavier had on his pc for weeks. This should bother you as much as it bothers me."
I know. And it did. Of course, I wanted some semblance of justice to work in my favor. But more importantly, I wanted to win the state championships. I wanted the great state of California to know the name Irvine High Panthers. I wanted my school to be known for something other than the relatively safe neighborhood surrounding it.
Did I think that Darnell, Sam, and Micah were great players? Yes. I did.
Did I think they could win a game on their own? Not a chance in hell.
Plus I was the team mascot. How could I get under the suit again knowing that I was the reason our star player was on the bench for a second time. I couldn't. I had to be their makeshift defender, even if they didn't deserve it.
"You can't just publish private information?" I say opening my eyes. "We stole it remember. We broke into his room and his laptop."
"I did no such thing." She says it so flatly that I almost believe her.
"And isn't evidence obtained illegally inadmittable?" I'm not sure the last one is even a word but I'm pretty sure she'll correct me if it wasn't.
"Inadmissible," she corrects, as I suspected. "Yeah, in a court of law, sure. But not in the crappy school newspaper."
"It's a magazine." I hear Kite call out from behind her. Good to know that he's been listening this entire time.
"Shut up, Kite." Anika snaps at the same time I mumble the words. Poor guy. He cannot catch a break.
When she turns back to me I say: "When does it come out?"
"Friday. We just need Eileen to give us the official okay. And then we're ready."
"Okay, Friday then."
"Why?" She laughs. "Are you going to try and stop us?"
Her laughter only strengthens my resolve.
"You know me," I say lightly. "Of course I am."
"Well, may the best woman win?"
"She will," I say. I would do everything in my power to keep that article from going to print. Call it censorship or self-preservation but I'd get it done. I'd promised Leah I'd help her and I would get to that too. A dangerous balancing act of things I had to do and people I was determined to protect. I glance at Xavier's Blackberry and then back at my reflection. But first... "Anyway, I called because I need your help."
"With what?"
I'm so glad our friendship has reached the point where we can have major blowouts and still segue the conversation to more friendly waters. It's nice.
"How do you put on makeup?" I say. I tap the front camera so she can see the clutter of Andrea's cosmetics in the medicine cabinet.
"Oooh, makeup. This is exciting. Is this about a certain tall, dark, and supposedly handsome basketball player?" She asks. I regret telling her about Darnell already.
"Just show me where to put the eyeliner, okay?"
My interest in makeup has always been passive. From unspoken admiration of the way, girls can beat their face in full glam and make it to homeroom on time—which on its own was a superpower— to awe whenever I watched YouTubers explain their extensive skincare routines. But I'd never tried wearing any to school. I don't think my parents would mind, I merely lack the patience and the skill. Mainly the skill.
It would take me more than twenty minutes to watch the YouTube video titled: GRWM: Effortless school glam, Watch till the end for a surprise announcement.
In less than seven minutes and under Anika's strict tutelage I apply a steady line of eyeliner, pump mascara and select a shade of lipgloss that she says and I quote would go well with my "porcelain white" skin. The fact that I live where I do and still don't tan is an endless source of amusement for her.
"I don't look that different," I say when I'm done. I only look more awake than usual, which can only be a good thing.
"You're not supposed to," She comments over the phone. "Makeup only enhances the beauty that's already there."
"Aww," I say. "Did you just call me beautiful?"
"I'm hanging up now." She says drily.
I smile when she ends the call, touching a hand to my face. Pleased.
"Hazel," I hear someone say from the kitchen, knocking me back into panic mode. "We're late."
Before I walk out the door Andrea asks if there's a reason I'm dressed so nice. I grin and say something about a report I have to give. Even though I know full well I've given many an oral report in a pair of old leggings and knock-off Adidas slides.
When I get to school everything looks prettier. It must be all the pumpkin spice floating in the air. Because it's the same campus, the same faculty, and the same students. Just different.
I asked Leah to meet me in the parking lot before homeroom and that's where I find her.
She's behind the wheel of her shiny blue Volvo, highlighting masses of text from King Lear. When she sees me she waves me around to the passenger side.
"Hi," I say opening the door and sliding into the seat.
"You look nice," she says placing her highlighter down. "I don't think I've seen you in a dress before."
"Thank you. It's laundry day." I reply. Trying very hard to be cool about her complimenting me. On the inside, I'm the exact opposite of cool.
"You should do this more often."
I nod. I open the tiniest zipper of my bag pack and pull out the phone. "So about our conversation on Friday..."
"Yup. Deadline for quitting student council is today."
"And now you won't have to." I hand her the phone. "I found this."
"A blueberry," Leah says taking the phone away gingerly.
"Blackberry. It's Xavier's."
She raises a carefully shaped eyebrow at me. I expected a little more gratitude from her. I spent my Friday afternoon clambering through a window for this moment. I wouldn't mind a thank you or her firstborn child or whatever. Then I realize she doesn't understand why it's so important. I take the phone back from her as I give it some context.
"And you're sure this phone is Xavier's?" She asks when I'm.
"Yes."
"Xavier Preston?"
There was only one Xavier enrolled at Irvine but I nodded anyway.
"And if you check the messaging app." I touch the very un-user-friendly scroll button and show her the most recent messages on it. And right below the photo of Leah is the tell-tale message.
You thought I was kidding???
When she sees that she raises both her eyebrows.
"Wow." She whispers. "How did you even get this?"
Terse, awkward silence ensues. I blink, twice.
"Okay I get it," she says. "The less people know how, the better."
"Thank you."
"How do we even know this is for real though?" She asks.
"Uhh, well you can try calling it," I say.
She nods and grabs her own phone from the console. After a few taps, she gets to the unknown number and dials. We hold our collective breath until it starts ringing. Well, not ringing, more like furiously vibrating in my hand.
I laugh and hit decline before realizing that it's not a touch phone and I have to press down on the end call button for it to work.
"See. You can do whatever you want with it. Delete the photo, throw it into the Pacific—"
In an instant, she takes it out of my hand and slams it against the dashboard.
I jerk upright in my seat at the suddenness of it.
"Sorry," she says when all the phone does is bounce back into her lap. "I really thought that would work. But it barely left a dent."
"They don't make them like they used to clearly."
Leah flips the phone over and pulls the off the back cover. Then she tries to remove the battery but with her long nails, it's pretty fruitless. I lean over and flick it out along with the prepaid sim card and the memory card.
I hadn't considered how hard it would be to destroy the phone. What happened in 2010 that made people think their cellphones needed to be immortal?
Economic recession, oil spills, and earthquakes. The literal plagues. It's no wonder this phone is Fort Knox.
"What do we do with them?" I ask pointing at the cards in my hand.
She picks up the memory card pops it into her mouth and snaps it under sharp teeth.
I do the same with the sim card, which takes more strength than she made it look. I crush the plastic into two and spit it out.
"Tastes like chicken," I say.
Leah snorts. "No. It really doesn't."
That's a huge check in my favor. It's a shame that no one is around to witness me make someone as far up the social ladder as Leah laugh.
"That's it I guess."
"Yeah. It is." She muses. "You could be a professional fixer you know. Save reputations and manage crises. Olivia Pope style."
I smile at the reference but shake my head, "This was most definitely a one-time thing."
"One more question," she says. "Did you punch Xavier? He said he broke his nose during basketball but now that I think about it..."
"Uhh," I say, cringing at the memory. Punching Xavier is not my proudest moment anymore and I'd rather not get into it again. "I'm late for class."
As I leave her car, I hear her laughing. Like she said the less people know, the better.
I dash across the parking lot just as the bell for homeroom starts ringing. I'm officially late. I file into the already thinning crowd of traffic in the hallway and head for my locker.
Then the PA system turns on.
It's Kite. He's doing the most. Publishing secrets that could ruin my team as well as keeping up with the morning announcements. A real go-getter that one.
"Deputy Principal Williams is calling a special assembly for all indoor sports teams." He drones. It sounds like he's reading off a script. "The volleyball, badminton, cheerleading, and basketball teams are all required to report to the auditorium in five minutes."
I frown. I could continue to homeroom seeing as the mascot isn't an actual member of any indoor sports teams. But technically and this is a major technicality, mascots are part of both the cheerleading and basketball teams. I owe it to Pete the Panther to show up.
Also I'm late for homeroom and I'd rather not face the wrath of my instructor today of all days.