Blake grabs my arm to keep me steady. I stare at Libby, listening to her recite the speech I'd spent the last three years planning. She sounds sweet and eloquent, spinning each word as if it were her own and not stolen from me.
"The future is promising," she says. "It's bright, and it's ours."
Even though several minutes have passed, my brain can't compute this. It's one thing to run against me out of spite, but to steal my old campaign? To use my hard work and pass it off as her own? There's low, and then there's this.
"Are you alright?" Blake asks.
I can only shake my head as Libby wraps up her speech. My speech. Maybe I'm being a little dramatic, but it feels like I'm about to be sick.
When I can't stomach the round of applause, I slip away from Blake and back into the empty hallway. I need air. I need – I don't know what I need, but I need to get away.
Right now, even though he's the brains behind this betrayal, it's not Chase I'm mad at; it's Libby. Knowing what I know about Chase, I'd expect this from him, but Libby? Even if she's perfectly content with being Chase's puppet, this is a step too far.
That's what hurts the most. Some part of me has clung to the idea that one day, we could put this behind us and be friends again. Maybe I'd somehow prove to her that I didn't cheat on Chase, and we could forget this thing ever happened. But there is no forgetting after watching her pass my old campaign off as hers.
This means war.
The door to the auditorium swings open as Blake makes a beeline for me. I ignore him and pace back and forth down the hall, sickened to think that Libby and Chase could do such a thing to someone they once claimed to care for. "She stole my idea," I say, turning to Blake. He's leaning against the lockers opposite, arms folded as he watches me spiral. "Every word of my speech. She's running on my campaign."
"Your old campaign," Blake reminds me.
"It doesn't matter."
His eyebrow furrows. "Your speech is over. You kicked ass. That's all that matters."
I step closer. I'm so angry that I want to do something stupid like kick the locker or scream at the top of my lungs, but as usual, I fight to rein it in. "If you give me another speech about giving them power," I say calmly, "I will kill you."
He grins – he's the kind of masochist who would probably enjoy that – and just like that, I realize he doesn't get it. To him, this is just some stupid campaign, but to me, it means everything. And right now, he's the one person – the only person – I can talk to about this.
"That was my campaign," I say because I need him to understand. If he doesn't, then what are we doing? "I spent years on that planning. I skipped football games and parties to ensure it was perfect, and I don't care that I didn't end up using it – that's not the point. The point is that they knew all that. They saw how hard I worked and how important it was to me, and they still stole it." I shake my head, my chest hot and tight as I clench my hands. "There is nothing I can do about it, either. They know I won't go to the principal. It's not like there's a way I can prove it was my speech first, even if I show Principal Mackley my campaign book. It would only bring more negative attention to me, which is exactly what Chase wants. He's winning, Blake."
I want to look at him, but the idea of meeting his gaze when I feel this vulnerable is terrifying. Instead, I turn to the auditorium as the first few students start to trickle out of the doors, and freeze. Libby's blonde head appears in the crowd, her smile bright with promise. Just like that, I see red.
"I'm going to kill her," I say.
Blake holds me back like he thinks I might do it. "Easy, tiger," he says. "I don't think getting suspended will help your chances of winning."
He's right, but I don't care. I'm so mad I want to go over there and rip out that stupid blonde hair. "Just let me get one good hit." But Blake doesn't let go of my waist. I turn around, expecting him to look at me like maybe I'm insane, but he doesn't. If I didn't know better, I'd think he approves.
"Care," I say as students pass us. "Just a little bit. I'm paying you to."
"Look, I care," he says, somewhat reluctant, "I just don't get it. Libby did all this just to be president? Do people take it this seriously?"
He doesn't know the truth, I realize. He's got no idea why Libby is campaigning or that Chase put her up to this. He doesn't know this is all about revenge. And right now, I don't have the energy to tell him; I just want to be alone.
"Forget it," I say as Chase walks past. He looks at me, at Blake, then smirks and carries on walking. Never in all my time on this earth have I wanted to burst into tears and rip someone's throat out simultaneously. "I need some air."
Before Blake can stop me, I push through the crowd and hurry around the corner. With nowhere to go, I end up at the bikesheds again, which is less than ideal. It's not like I'll be alone for long – it's the first place Blake will think to come and find me – but for now, it's a moment of respite. I kick at the gravel and try to look for a positive in all this. The rain from this morning hasn't eased up, so at least if I cry, I can pretend it's just rain. That's something, right?
It doesn't take long for Blake to show up. He appears around the corner, hair wet and sticking to his forehead. After wiping his face with the end of his t-shirt, he leans against the wall beside me, pulling out his vape. "I've never seen you this worked up," he says, turning the vape in his hand. It's been a while since he's actually smoked it. "What happened with you and Ridgerton?"
"What," I say, looking over, "you didn't see the video?" My voice comes out harder than intended, but if he cares, he doesn't show it.
"I saw," he says. "I'm asking for context."
It dawns on me this is the first time someone hasn't assumed the worst in me. I let a few seconds pass as I pick at an imaginary piece of fluff on my jeans. "It's not true," I say finally. "The poster you saw on my locker this morning, I mean. I didn't cheat, and I didn't kiss Adam – he kissed me." I force myself to look at him, noting the way his eyebrows furrow slightly in the middle. "The night of that party, Chase and I argued. He called me boring in front of his friends –" I wish I didn't add that part, but I quickly move past it, "–so I went into the woods to be alone, but his friend Adam came along. I thought he was just trying to make me feel better, but he kissed me." I move on from the imaginary lint to playing with my bracelet. "I should have pushed him off right away, but I froze. That's when Chase saw us." My eyes burn when I remember how quick Chase was to brand me a cheater. A liar. "If I'd just been quicker, Chase would have believed I wasn't cheating, but I wasn't. I didn't react."
For the first time since I've known him, Blake looks pissed. "You did react," he says. "You froze. Last time I checked, that's a fear response, Rose."
I frown because it's the first time I've thought about it like this. This entire time, I've been asking myself why I didn't push Adam off me the moment he got closer, but now some of that guilt disperses. Not just disperses but shifts into anger. If Blake can accept why I didn't react, why couldn't Chase?
Chest tight, I turn to Blake properly. "That's the reason Libby is campaigning. Chase forced her to run as a way to get back at me. He knows how long I've wanted this, and he's taking it away to punish me." Saying it out loud like this forces the tears to the surface. I bite my lip and fight them back.
"Hey," Blake says, his voice low, "don't cry, Rose. It'll be all right."
"I'm not crying." But I am, and I can't help it.
He hesitates, like a crying girl makes him uncomfortable. I can see his mind turning, and I'd give anything to know what he's thinking right now because I've never seen him look so conflicted. But whatever holds him back, he pushes it aside to hug me.
I'm so surprised that I don't move right away. His arms hold me tighter, strong and secure as they pull me to his chest, and I find myself hugging him back. My fingers brush the arches of his shoulders. Eyes closed, I breathe him in, inhaling fresh cotton. If a hug feels this good, I can only imagine what else does.
The bell rings, which means school is officially over. We stay like this for another few seconds before students' voices break us apart. While this space is usually vacant in the morning, the end of the day is busy with kids collecting their bikes. I step back further, needing to put more space between us. The last thing I need is someone to see us and start yet another rumor.
"I should get going," I say, turning away. "I'll see you later."
Before he can argue, I brave the rain and run into my car before reversing out of the parking lot. Rain batters the windows as I turn onto the main road. Today should have been a happy day: I got through my speech, and for the first time in a long time, things felt right. Now I not only have to worry about my mother finding out I lied, but I have to accept I'm no longer up against Libby in this race; I'm up against me.
As soon as I get home, Dad quizzes me about the speech. Mom's still at work, so it's a one-person interrogation until she gets home, when I'll have to go through today's events all over again. "It was great," I say brightly. "I think they loved it."
Dad looks proud as he pats my shoulder. "That's wonderful, Rose. I can't wait to tell your mom when she's back."
My smile starts to twitch. "I'm going to finish some homework," I say, and I head upstairs and fall on my bed before opening my campaign book.
My old campaign stares back at me. The notes I'd made, my speech, it's all here documented for the taking, and somebody did. I toss the book aside and fall back onto the covers, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. It hadn't occurred to me before – I'd been too upset – but how did Libby even get my campaign? Chase hasn't had access to this book in forever and he wouldn't have made copies. He'd have no reason to – it's not like he'd have known he'd catch his best friend kissing me – and Libby didn't, either, which means there's only one other person with access to this book.
Blake.
A/N
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