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the golden goddess
Justine Reynolds.
I need to absorb that name at least five times in my head.
She's a senior in our very own Dalton High, placing herself right at the top of the social ladder. She has the looks — delicate face, golden hair, proportional body — and the personality, too, apparently. You'd think girls like her would be mean and cruel, but she's actually pretty decent. Most of the time. Some of the time. When she's not intimidating.
Okay, so she's kind of like those mean girls.
That's not what people talk about, though. No, the thing about her that gets people talking is her taste in guys. Or lack thereof.
No, she's not a lesbian. She likes dicks. But which type of dick is the better question.
Out of all her dating records, she's never dated anyone younger than her. Including guys her age, even if they have an eleven-month head start from her. So for Trey, who's a junior like me, it's nearly impossible. I don't know if it's her specific preference, if she thinks younger guys are immature, or if it's just a random coincidence. I don't know anything.
But I know someone who does.
***
TJ might be a douchebag, but he's a handy douchebag.
Why? Because he's deeply invested in school affairs. And when I say affairs I mean all affairs — academic and non-academic matters alike.
I wait impatiently outside his classroom. I'm aware that I look like one of his little cronies trying to win his approval, but I don't have any other choice. I need to catch him first before he decides to ignore me.
Finally, he shows up among the string of students pouring out of class. When he spots me, he instantly grins. Clearly he thinks I'm here for his amusement. He gestures me with two fingers to follow him, and turns around without checking. I silently fume.
Douchebag.
We reach to a secluded corner and he faces me with the same glint in his eyes. I cross my arms.
Why did I agree to do this again?
"Now this is a surprise," he smirks. "The infamous Addie Hale, waiting outside my class to get my attention? Oh, this is priceless."
I go straight to the point. "I need your help."
"My help?" He laughs out loud. "What makes you think I want to help you?"
Weird. That's exactly what I said to Trey a few days ago.
It's funny how the world can turn into a place where you can't expect someone to help you for the sheer fact of just helping another human being.
That's mankind in a nutshell.
"I don't, really," I say honestly. "But I thought I might try anyway."
He peers at me with squinted eyes. He's trying to hide it, but I know he's curious that I'm not fighting him. "Continue."
"What do you know about Justine Reynolds?"
TJ stares at me like I've grown wings and a horn. And then he bursts out laughing.
I give him an unamused stare as he clutches his stomach, his cackles echoing through the walls like he's a tortured hyena. This goes on for a full minute before he straightens up, grinning like I'm a five-year-old. "You have got to be kidding me."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
He shakes his head. "Dear, sweet Adelaide. You know you're not the first person to ask me that, right?" Then he smirks. "Well, you're certainly the first girl. Which says a lot about you, my friend."
I roll my eyes. "My sexual orientation is the least of my worries, especially your opinion about it. Are you going to help me or not?"
"Only 'cause I'm interested." His eyes gleam. "Very, very interested."
Deep down I know the real reason why he's helping me is because he has something in mind. Maybe he wants to see what I do with the information. Or whether I fail at my goal or not. Which makes me want to succeed even more.
I mentally tell myself to keep an eye on him.
TJ can do some real damage if he wanted to.
***
"Spill."
Liv knows from my expression alone that I'm hiding something.
"I'm helping Trey get together with Justine Reynolds," I say like it's part of my daily routine. Like nerd-slash-players ask me for advice all the time. "I talked to TJ earlier to see what he knows about her."
Here are the list of things I gathered about the great Justine Reynolds:
It's not much, but it's something I can start with.
"Huh," Liv observes the note. "Theatre and badminton. Interesting."
"Two things you'd never associate with her."
She folds it back to me. "Why are you helping Trey, anyway?" She peers at me, squinting. "It sounds like a really cliche teen movie."
"Because it sounds like a cliche teen movie." We both laugh. "Just because, you know? I mean, why not. There's nothing to lose. Just more exciting stories to tell my grandchildren, right?"
I think I'm a bit embarrassed to tell her the whole truth. Liv's always the person who flows by easily; she's never had a problem fitting in. There's a chance she won't understand my full reasoning.
"Unless you fail."
I smile at her. "I never do."
Then she abruptly stops in front of me, making me bump into her. "Oh my God!" Liv gasps. "There she is!"
I follow her gaze.
Through the crowded cafeteria, I can spot the big round table in the middle. Most of Dalton High's popular crew flocks there, but it's not just filled with perky cheerleaders and brainless jocks. Some are student representatives; others are talented musicians. And the cheerleaders and jocks? They're actually pretty intelligent. What makes up that table are the three Ss they all have in common: skill, style and sociality.
But this Round Table has a head.
And that is Justine.
"I gotta give it to Trey," I murmur. "She's worth to be desperate for."
She's sitting between her two friends, and even she makes the normal action of laughing seem like God's gift for mankind. Her perfect golden hair slung over her shoulder, skin clear and bright, and beautiful shade of green eyes sparkling...
Okay, fine, I'm over-exaggerating. Clearly no one can be as perfect as that.
But Justine is damn close.
"She's like a golden goddess," Liv whispers, not-so-subtly staring at her. "How is she even real?"
"Do you think she made a deal with the devil to get her hair so smooth like that?"
"I think the devil asked her for advice."
As we sit and start opening our lunches, I'm repulsed to see the tuna in my sandwich. I told Mom a million times that I don't want the tuna. Seeing Liv eat her delicious ravioli and deciding not to starve myself, I go to the front of the cafeteria and dreadfully wait in line.
Someone nudges my elbow.
I turn around and inwardly sigh.
"You."
"Me," Trey grins. "Don't pretend like you're not happy to see me."
"You see right through me, Gonzalez."
"I always knew we'd be great partners." The line moves, and we both step forward, but he looks as if he's not speaking to me. "So, what have you got so far?"
I stare at him. "You literally asked me to help you yesterday. You think I'm some sort of genie that comes out of a lamp every time you rub it?"
"Rub what?" His smile widens mischievously.
I roll my eyes. "These things take time, Trey. You don't want her to be suspicious, right? You want this to look as natural as possible?"
He nods.
"Then espera," I firmly say. "I don't know a lot of Spanish words, but that's the closest thing to making sure you do understand this time."
Trey gives me a look like I'm as insignificant as dust in the wind. "Come on, the more you tell me, the faster we'll get it done. And we have a big audience here. What better way to showcase my affection?"
"'The faster we'll get it done'?" I repeat. "What is she, a pitstop?"
What I'm really asking: am I just signing another girl for heartbreak?
"Of course not," he defends.
"Then what is it that you like about her?"
He shrugs. "She's hot. Kinda smart. Maybe funny, too."
Silence.
I raise my eyebrows so high up it almost touches my hairline. "Is that all?" And dear God, he's still considering, his face scrunched up in a permanent frown. "You're joking."
He tilts his head, inspecting me. "You seriously need to learn human expressions, Addie. I'm not laughing. I'm not grinning. What does that say to you?"
This boy. Beneath all his posh and polite words were ten layers of arrogance and cockiness. It made me want to strangle him. Very much.
But that would mean I'd have too huge of a crowd.
"Fine," I let out, only so he'd get out of my face. "She likes theatre."
Trey arches one eyebrow. "And what am I suppose to do with that information? That department is pretty much nonexistent."
"Utilise it."
It's my turn at the cafeteria line and I take my time deciding between a kebab and spaghetti. The lunch lady glares at me, like I'm the reason she's serving hungry, hormonal teenagers everyday. Maybe I should just take both foods.
"Hey, do you think I should get a — " I turn, but no one's there.
Where's Trey?
And then, amidst the chaos of voices, I hear it:
"Attention all students of Dalton High!" The cafeteria abrupts into silence as Trey stands on top of a table occupied by a few freshmen who look terrified for their life. "As Student Body President, I've recognised that the theatre department is often under-looked. Theatre deserves as much appreciation as the other clubs."
Jesus Christ. Where's he going with this?
"Therefore, I want to announce that this year's school play will be the biggest we've ever had — bigger cast, bigger story, and definitely a bigger budget."
Someone drops an apple and the sound echoes through the room.
"Since this project is still very new," Trey pauses, "more information will come to you the following week, including votes on which play is to be adapted, and further on, the auditions." He gives us a dashing smile that I swear has one girl near me swoon. "I'm glad to be a part of this, as it comes genuine from my heart. Have a grand day, everyone."
As he casually steps down from the table, the cafeteria erupts to a rumble, mutters and whispers turning into ecstatic gossip. Trey really knows how to rile a crowd. Then, in the middle of that horde, he looks back at me and grins.
How'd I do, Hale? he mouths.
My eyes flicker to the scene behind him. Where the Round Table's joining in the ruckus, heads leaning towards each other. Probably shocked to their bones that something insignificant as the theatre department is being revived. Except for one person.
In the distance, Justine Reynolds lingers on him just for a little while.
Holy shit.
A/N: Theatre kids should get more credit tbh. And Trey, you thirsty hoe.