I remember my life before my mom's death like a long dream: always blurry, missing in parts, like it was a different world. Until then, I'd strived to be someone like Paige — we were close friends at one point. All those memories of partying, gossiping, obsessing over the most superficial details barely seem real in my head anymore. A part of me must remember them, though, because falling back into that role is becoming less and less difficult each day, and more and more alarming.
Last night, Courtney and I had gone to a party thrown by a boy from Crestview Academy, a neighboring prep school. "It's crucial to branch out of social circles every once in a while," she'd said importantly, zipping up my dress. If popularity and appearances were a class, Courtney would excel as a professor. "Plus, the boys at Crestview are so cute."
"Cuter than Ashton?" I'd asked.
"Ashton does not exist tonight."
Arriving at the house — smaller than homes in Fieldbrook, but just as expensive-looking — I had suddenly felt an odd, tingling feeling all over my body that I hadn't experienced in years. Then I realized what it was: pre-party anticipation. For the first time in a very long time, it felt natural to walk in with Courtney, greet people we knew and people we didn't with big smiles, take shots at the counter and let the boys introduce themselves to us. There's a healthy rivalry going between Fieldbrook Heights and Crestview Academy's sports teams, but we're often invited to each other's parties. And Courtney had been right — the boys were really, really cute.
"Is this spot taken?"
I jerk my head up and meet a pair of familiar eyes. "What are you doing here?"
Noah shrugs. I'm sitting in the library, where I usually go to be alone with my thoughts. It's a good choice because not many students in the Heights voluntarily spend time here. Noah has a stack of books in his hands and headphones hanging from his neck, like that day I'd seen him in the cafeteria. "I like to read."
I must be staring in disbelief, because he smirks a little. "What? Guys can read, too."
"Could've fooled me," I mutter, but I move some of my stuff asides anyway so he can sit.
I continue to work on my English assignment, trying not to think about Noah's presence. I decided, after seeing him at lunch that day, that I should steer clear of him. I'm preoccupied enough as it is — with the pledge, with homework, keeping up with Courtney's crowd, and most recently, consoling Hannah over that debacle with Jay — and figuring out a new student, even if he is cute, should not be a priority. But soon enough, Noah speaks again.
"You look different today."
The librarian, Mrs. Stevenson, immediately shushes us from behind a row of books. "So what?" I whisper.
"Nothing," he says. "I just think you look better this way."
Since it's the weekend, meaning I don't have to see anyone from school, I didn't bother with my uniform or any sort of make-up — I'm wearing one of my old hoodies, my hair in a chaotic bun. "Thanks, I guess."
"Why don't you wear this more often?"
I keep forgetting that Noah isn't from Fieldbrook. He's recently moved here, and obviously still isn't accustomed to how things work in our school yet. "It's complicated."
"I have time."
"That's it." We both turn to see Mrs. Stevenson looming over us, her glasses on the tip of her crooked nose. "Either you both study silently or split up."
Noah and I exchange looks as she leaves, fighting back laughter. "You almost finished?" Noah whispers. "We can get out of here."
I hesitate, thinking about how much work I still have to do, and about my decision to stop seeing Noah. But I look up at him, meeting his curious, friendly gaze, and I feel my resolve weakening. "Okay."
"Okay," he says, grinning.
After a long drive, we arrive at a park. It's just outside of Fieldbrook — I can tell because the grass here is overgrown, the picket fences are crooked, and most of all, there's not a single designer bag or shiny car around.
We end up in a little clearing under the trees. For a while, we both lie there in silence, listening to the birds chirping and leaves rustling. It's amazing how freeing it feels to be out of Fieldbrook. I close my eyes, wishing I could stay this way forever.
"So," Noah says, "Tell me."
I turn my head and peek at him, at his dark, untamed eyebrows and the small scar above his upper lip. Compared to the clean-shaven, cookie-cutter guys I've known all my life in Fieldbrook, Noah is like a wildflower, sprouting out of the sidewalk. His hair is dark and wavy, curling up at the back of his neck. I have the inexplicable urge to run my hand through it. "Tell you what?"
"Why it's complicated."
I want to tell him everything about Fieldbrook, about the way things work there, about the games and the pledges — but something stops me. I don't know what it is, but I think it might have to do with shame. Once I say all that aloud, Noah might think I'm just as pretentious and spineless as the other students here. But after a moment, I realize there's really no harm in telling him anything — Noah's never been to a party here yet, and he can't have possibly made friends with guys like Jay in this short amount of time. So, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispers, what's the harm in venting to him, just a little?
"The first thing you should know," I blurt out, "is that kids take their social status very, very seriously around here."
"I've caught the gist of it," Noah says wisely. "Go on."
"The fastest way to get everyone to respect you is to go to a party and win at a game," I continue, realizing how weird it is to say this aloud. We've grown up practically inheriting this information from older students, so explaining it feels wrong. "Traditionally, there are a lot of them. Each are different and very risky. But essentially the whole point is to prove you've got the guts to do something incredibly stupid and get away with it." I take a deep breath. "Well, one of the worst games is called the Unconditional Pledge. Basically, it involves handing out 'pledges,' or challenges, written by someone at the party. Each is a challenge that involves lying, drugs, sex, or all three."
"So I'm guessing," Noah says, "your pledge is what's bothering you, then."
"Yeah." I stare up at a cloud shaped like a swan, a little surprised by how well Noah is taking everything. "I'm supposed to replace this girl, Paige Atkinson, as Fall Ball queen."
"Paige Atkinson," Noah muses. "I think she's in my English class."
"Lucky you," I say darkly.
"I'd rather it was you." Before I can reply, he continues, "What happens if you don't complete the pledge?"
I laugh bitterly. "That depends on how badly. But usually, unless Jay or Nick make an exception, you're outcasted. Your friends won't really want to be seen with you, unless they want to be outcasted, too, and you're never invited to another party again, so even if you wanted to redeem your reputation, you couldn't."
"That's harsh," Noah says. "Who are Jay and Nick?"
"They sort of created the game. More like perfected it, I guess."
"What if they don't complete the pledge themselves?"
I laugh again, this time incredulously. "That's never happened." The idea of one of them not succeeding is ridiculous — I think about all the times they've gotten away with one of their pledges, each one crazier than the last.
"It all sounds really stupid, if you ask me," Noah says softly.
"It is," I agree.
"But you're still participating, aren't you?"
I fall silent. He's got me there. "I don't really have a choice," I say finally.
Noah's quiet now, too. After a while, he says, "I think you're great just the way you are, you know. I know that sounds cheesy, but —"
"It does sound cheesy," I agree, despite the warm feeling that's suddenly spreading through my chest.
"— but it's true. And I think if your friends would leave you that easily, then they're not really your friends."
I open my mouth to protest, but I can't find the right words. Noah's right, and suddenly I'm cloaked in a wave of shame. "You're right."
I'm almost afraid of what Noah might say to this. "It's okay," he says thoughtfully, taking my hand. His hand is so much bigger than mine that my hand feels like it's buried in his. "You shouldn't feel bad about it."
I try to think of something to say, but I can't. I just let myself enjoy the feeling of holding hands with Noah in a grass clearing, all thoughts about Fieldbrook and the pledge out of my mind, just for the time being.