029. One Down
At Aquino High, is there anything better than someone who has a dark past?
Aquino High is almost completely deserted by the time I finally move away from my position in front of the locker and start towards my car. I'm frustrated—so frustrated that I wish there was something I could kick or throw or scream at. My blackmailer has dropped me a list of impossible clues, and I have no idea how I'm supposed to figure anything out or trust anyone. And yet if I don't, everyone will be ruined and it will be my fault.
Furiously, I pull my phone out of my pocket and text my blackmailer.
I have no clue what you think you're up to and what you think you'll get out of this, I type, my fingers shaking, But what you've asked me to do is impossible. You've given me nothing to work with and if you think you'll get away with this, you're deluded.
I make it to my car and am seated in the driver's seat before she replies: I already have gotten away with it. And if you're so desperate, go see Taylor.
Her cryptic response only makes me more angry. Throwing my phone into the passenger's seat, I turn on the car and peel out of the school parking lot. Suddenly, I can't bear being in this place a minute longer.
As I drive, my knuckles white as I press my palms against the wheel, I wonder if there's more to my blackmailer's message than I thought. Why would she tell me to go see Taylor if there wasn't a point to it? Granted, she could want me to suffer and question my feelings for him, but she could genuinely be helping me figure out these secrets. And while that's twisted, too, at least it's better than the first option.
In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I turn off the road at Taylor's neighborhood. Before I can question myself I'm in his driveway, idling as the engine of my car runs underneath me and shakes my seat slightly. There's already another car in the driveway—the same one that drove me to the Italian restaurant on Friday.
What's Spencer doing at Taylor's house? The two can't possibly be friends anymore, especially not after everything that happened. Is this what my blackmailer meant? Or is this just coincidence?
Nervously, I cut the engine and get out of my car, inhaling sharply as the cold air hits my face. As I approach the door I hear loud, angry voices, as if Taylor and Spencer are arguing at each other. My curiosity piqued, I creep to the door and try the handle.
It's unlocked, but the voices are growing louder. I don't want to walk in on them and stop whatever they're talking about, especially when I need to hear it. At the same time, though, I want to be able to see them talking to each other—I can't have any doubt about who's saying what this time.
I let my gaze sweep from one end of Taylor's well-manicured yard to the other, looking from the potted plants on the porch to my car parked behind Spencer's in the driveway. The living room window is halfway open—that's probably why I can hear the voices so easily.
As quietly as possible, I descend the porch steps, sucking in a breath as the bottom step creaks. Then I tiptoe to the living room window and stand on the balls of my feet so that I can see over the top of the window.
Spencer and Taylor are both standing in the living room, facing each other with arms crossed. Right now Spencer's mouth is moving and his forehead is wrinkled; I strain my eyes so I can hear what he's saying.
"Taylor, you can't tell her," he pleads, taking a step closer to Taylor. "Seriously, please. I'm begging you."
"Oh, you're begging me?" His voice is a deep rumble. "That's a funny change. I told you, I'm going to tell her unless you break things off with her. She deserves to know."
"Deserves to know?" Spencer roars. "Stay out of my relationships, will you?"
Eyes wide, I squint to see past a smudge in the window. Any minute now either of them could look over and see me, but right now I'm too desperate to understand what they're talking about to care. If the blackmailer is right, then Spencer's secret has something to do with that night last summer. But why? And who's to say my blackmailer's right, anyway?
Technically, she could be making everything up just to get under my skin—to set me some impractical task that she knows is doomed to fail. But how likely is that? I know she would rather see me ruin my friends—and myself in the process.
Taylor rakes his hand through his hair. "I can't stay out of your relationship," he snaps. "It concerns me, too."
"I can't break up with her, Taylor. Don't you understand? Can't you see I—"
Shivering, I lose my balance and slip on the freshly watered grass, my palms slamming into the glass. Both boys' eyes shoot over to the window; Spencer looks like he's seen a ghost but Taylor merely widens his eyes passively.
"Looks like you'll be telling her soon, anyway," he says easily, striding out of the living room. At first I contemplate running away, but Taylor simply pokes his head out the front door and says, "Come on in, Erika."
I glance back through the living window, at Spencer who is pacing circles around the sofa. Then I follow Taylor inside. A blast of warmth hits me and I rub my hands against my shirt to force some feeling back into them.
When Spencer and I make eye contact, he immediately looks down at the carpet, his eyebrows drawn close together. Before I can say anything to me he pushes past me and heads for the front door. "I'm sure Taylor will tell you everything, anyway," he calls over his shoulder as the door slams shut behind him.
"Why are you here?" Taylor asks as we watch Spencer's car pull out of the driveway.
For a fraction of a second I wonder whether to tell him about my situation—then I remember my blackmailer's threat and the idea that he's one of my suspects. "I just—I wanted to stop by," I say finally, grabbing at the first thing that comes to mind.
"Why?"
Sitting down on the couch, I bury my face in my hands. "I'm just confused. Spencer and I are together but someone's been tipping me off—that he's lying about what happened that night between you and Allison. I don't know who to trust."
Every word I've said is true, and I know Taylor can tell because his steely dark eyes grow soft. Carefully, he sits down on the couch beside me, so that I can feel how close he is to me. "You're right," he murmurs. "He has been lying to you."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah." He reaches forward and tucks my hair behind my ear. This familiar gesture—something he's always done to me—both grounds and unnerves me.
I think back to how well Spencer has always treated me, how safe he's felt. How of all people, I haven't worried about him lying to me or betraying me since I read that letter he wrote. But now, this could change everything.
Taylor is still watching me, and I can still feel the shadow of where his hand had brushed my cheek seconds ago. I stare down at my fingers, wringing them together and cracking each of my knuckles one by one. Then I ask, "What really happened?"
"I don't like talking about that night." He leans back on the couch, resting both of his arms around the back. "I screwed up as badly as everyone else. Maybe worse. But you already know what I did wrong and I guess it doesn't hurt to tell you about someone else."
I think about my blackmailer, about how I'll have to report this secret to her just like I do all the others as I collect them. But that's not my primary concern right now. There's a deep, urgent need inside of me to find out what actually happened. "Taylor, please," I say, twisting to face him. "I need to know."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"I'm already hurt that he's been lying to me all this time." When Taylor still doesn't look convinced, I reach out and lace my fingers through his.
That small gesture seems to strengthen his resolve, and he squeezes my hand before he says, "Spencer told me about the letter he wrote you. He made me swear to stay quiet about it, but I can't knowing that you two are going out and you're totally oblivious."
"I care about you and I'd try and make myself be okay with you being in a relationship with Spencer if everyone's intentions were good, but they're not. Listen, Erika." He takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair again. "Spencer knew what I was doing with Allison. I didn't tell him I was sick. I didn't lie about it. I didn't really tell Spencer at all, actually. He just saw us and left. I didn't think he'd try to stop anyone from coming in—I didn't ask him because I didn't think he'd have to."
I squint my eyes shut until I see stars and sway a little in my seat. I'm so confused. Not only did Spencer do nothing to prevent Brynn's heart from breaking, but he lied about it afterwards. Why? Clearly so he'd still have a chance with me.
I don't realize I'm squeezing Taylor's hand with a death grip until he gently shakes me loose. "Are you okay?" he asks.
"No." When I open my eyes again I see him watching me carefully, his lips folded into a concerned frown. "I'm not okay. I feel like a fool. I forgave him. I apologized to him. And I was right all along!"
"Erika, I know how you feel—"
"Are you going to tell me to try to forgive him?" I demand, my voice raising. "Don't you dare do that."
"Of course not! You need to tell him what you know now and break things off with him."
His hand has let go of mine and is back around the top of the couch again. Now that my hand's free I don't know what to do with it—it toys with the ends of my hair, tugging and twisting. I know what I need to do, but to actually do it means cutting Spencer out of my life. It means letting go, once and for all.
"You can do that, right?" he's pressing.
I nod, a little too frantically. "Yeah. I will."
"Erika." He leans a little closer, so that I can feel his breath lightly fanning the tip of my nose. "Now you understand, don't you? That everyone has a little bad in them? A red streak?"
My head is pounding; I still haven't completely process the fact that Spencer's been lying to me for almost a year.
"Erika?" Now the back of his hand is pressed against my cheek.
I see what he's saying. Theoretically, he's no worse than Spencer is now. The fact that Spencer has been lying probably puts him even more in the wrong. At least Taylor owned up to and didn't deny his mistakes. But is this what it's come down to? Choosing between a cheater and a liar? At Aquino High, is there anything better than someone who's got a dark past?
But Taylor's right. I've lied, I've blackmailed, I've schemed and plotted and haven't cared about crushing anyone on my way up. Nobody's perfect. Not me, or Taylor, or Spencer, or anyone else. Not even Liam.
"No, you're right," I whisper, bringing up my hand to rest against his. The touch comforts me, and I press harder against him. The thoughts running through my head are like a tornado, running together and rotating so fast that I can't focus on one long enough to resolve it. What deserves my attention more right now, my conversation with Taylor or my hurt feelings about Spencer's betrayal?
A phone starts ringing, and I instinctively dig into the back pocket of my shorts, paranoid that my blackmailer is calling me. But the ringing continues—it sounds distant.
"Is that you?" I ask Taylor, my hand dropping down to my lap.
"Must be. I lost my phone earlier today."
"We can find it this way." I stand and start walking around the living room. "It sounds like it's coming from the mantel..."
A hand yanks back on mine and Taylor's arm curls around my waist, pulling me towards him. "Are you really worried about my phone right now?" he asks.
The phone keeps ringing, a high-pitched sound that pierces my headache. As I open my mouth to reply, he presses his forehead against mine. "Erika, this is a simple question. It comes down to this: do you still hate me?"
"Taylor, I—"
"It's a yes or no question." His nose bumps mine, and suddenly I'm transported back to the time when we'd sat at parties together and I'd had nothing to worry about except me and him. Life is so different now. This can't be what's supposed to happen.
Then why does it feel so right?
I pull away a little, so there's enough space between us for me to think clearly again. "Taylor, I don't know," I manage. "I need time to process this. I just found out Spencer's been lying to me and I need to be able to think this through."
"Take your time." His hand glides down my cheek, warm and soft and silky. "Call me when you make up your mind."
Then he lets go, and abruptly I'm standing with nobody to hold me. Even though I'm standing still I feel like I'm spinning, like I'm losing all concept of where I am and what's going on. I glance back at Taylor and study him: how concerned he looks as he watches me, how the way he stares at me sends a buzz of electricity deep inside of me. "I have to go."
To my surprise, he doesn't stop me, and I hurry to the front door. As I twist the handle and step out into the freezing rain I don't look back, afraid that if I do my resolve will weaken. I know what feels right in my heart but it's an uphill battle with my head, and that's what worries me the most.
So that I don't completely overwhelm myself, I focus on one task at a time. Right now the only thing I need to worry about is calling my blackmailer and reporting my first secret. With hands that are shaking both because of nerves and the cold, I press her contact. Where I should feel relief and gratification at finally having something to tell, instead I feel an empty pit. Regret gnaws at me, eating away at me.
"Hello?"
Her voice is crisp and clinical, as if this is nothing more than a business transaction. I know I need to act the same. Tucking a piece of hair back where Taylor had settled it, I clear my throat and say, "Hi. I have something I think you'll want to hear."
A/N: What would you do if you were in Erika's position?