Filed to story: The One That Got Away
“But … where did they even get that idea?” I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Louis shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe somebody saw us. What does it even matter? It’s not true.”
I screw my lips together tight. I can’t cry right now, because if I start, I’ll never be able to stop. I will cry the whole way home, and everyone will see, and I can’t have that. I fix my gaze somewhere over Louis’s shoulder.
“I don’t get it. Why are you mad at me?” He’s still confused.
People are starting to bottleneck behind Louis. They need to get to their seats. “People are waiting behind you,” I say.
Louis says, “Chris, can I have my seat?”
Chris looks at me and I shake my head.
“It’s my seat now, Kavinsky,” she says.
“Come on, Bella,” Louis says, touching my shoulder.
I jerk away from him and his mouth drops open. People are looking at us and whispering and snickering. Louis glances over his shoulder, his face red. Then he finally makes his way down the aisle.
“Are you OK?” Chris asks.
I can feel my eyes welling up. “No. Not really.”
She sighs. “It’s not fair for the girl. Guys have it easy. I’m sure they were all congratulating him, pounding him on the back for being such a stud.”
Sniffling, I say, “Do you think he’s the one who told people?”
“Who knows?”
A tear trickles down to my cheek and Chris wipes it away with her sweater sleeve. “It might not have been him. But it doesn’t matter, Bella, because even if he didn’t encourage all the talk, I doubt he discouraged it, if you know what I’m saying.”
I shake my head.
“What I’m saying is, I’m sure he denied it – with a shit-eating grin on his face. That’s how guys like Louis are. They love to look like the man, have all the other guys look up to them.” Bitterly she says, “They care more about their reputation than yours.” She shakes her head. “But what’s done is done. You’ve just gotta hold your head up and act like you don’t give a shit.”
I nod, but more tears leak out.
“I’m telling you, he isn’t worth it. Let Vivian have him.” Chris tousles my hair. “What else can you do, kid?”
Genevivian comes on board last. I quickly straighten up and wipe my eyes and brace myself. But she doesn’t go directly to her seat. She stops at Bethy Morgan’s seat and whispers something in her ear. Bethy gasps and turns in her seat – and looks right at me.
Oh my God.
Chris and I watch as Genevivian goes from seat to seat.
“Bitch,” Chris breathes.
Tears burn my eyes. “I’m just gonna go to sleep now,” and I rest my head on Chris’s shoulder, and I cry. She keeps her arm tight around me.
Alice and Kitty pick me up from school. They ask me how the trip was, if I stayed on the bunny slope all day. I try to be upbeat; I even make up a story about how I went down a blue circle slope. Softly Alice asks, “Is everything OK?”
I falter. Alice always knows when I’m not telling the truth.
“Yeah. I’m just tired. Chris and I stayed up late talking.”
“Take a nap when we get home,” Alice advises.
My phone buzzes, and I look down at it. A text from Louis.
Can we talk?
I turn off my phone. “I think maybe I’ll just sleep right through Christmas break,” I say. Thank God and Jesus for Christmas break. At least I have ten days before I have to go back to school and face everyone. Maybe I’ll just never go back. Maybe I can convince Daddy to home school me.
When Daddy and Kitty go to bed, Alice and I wrap presents in the living room. Mid-wrap, Alice decides that we should have recital party the day after Christmas. I’d hoped she’d forgotten all about her grand idea to have recital party, but Alice’s memory has always been killer. “It’ll be a post-Christmas, pre-New Year’s Eve party,” she says, tying a bow on one of Kitty’s presents from Daddy.
“It’s too last-minute,” I say, carefully cutting a sheet of rocking-horse wrapping paper. I’m being extra careful because I want to save a strip of it for a background page in Alice’s scrapbook, which is nearly done. “No one will come.”
“Yes, they will! We haven’t had one in ages; tons of people used to come.” Alice gets up and starts pulling down Mommy’s old cookbooks and stacking them on the coffee table. “Don’t be a Grinch. I think this should be a tradition that we bring back for Kitty’s sake.”
I cut off a strip of fat green ribbon. Maybe this party will help me take my mind off things. “Find that Mediterranean chicken dish Mommy used to make. With the honey-yogurt dip.”
“Yes! And remember the caviar dip? People love the caviar dip. We have to make that too. Should we do cheese straws or cheese puffs?”
“Cheese puffs,” I say. Alice’s so excited about it that even in my current state of self-pity, I can’t begrudge her.
She gets a pen and paper from the kitchen and starts writing things down. “So we said the chicken dish, caviar dip, cheese puffs, punch… We can bake some cookies or brownies. We’ll invite all the neighbours – Josh and his parents, the Shahs, Ms Rothschild. Who of your friends do you want to invite? Chris?”
I shake my head. “Chris is visiting her relatives in Boca Raton.”
“What about Louis? He could bring his mom, and doesn’t he have a younger brother?” I can tell she is trying.
“Let’s leave off Louis,” I say.