The Revenge Artist - Philip Siegel Page 0,41
bystanders and maybe even a janitor (sorry!) before we barrel into an empty classroom.
“It’s all sabotage. I’m being set up.” I gather my words and organize them into intelligible sentences all about the new Break-Up Artist. Melanie takes a step back, letting it all soak in.
“Whoa.”
“I don’t know what to do.” I never thought I’d hear myself utter those words. People sound so dramatic when they say it, but I understand. This new schemer has eluded me for months. How can I ever expect to catch up?
“Don’t tell anyone else about it,” Melanie says. I’m grateful that she seems confident in her advice. I can follow her lead for now. “This Revenge Artist is being sneaky. You need to be sneaky back. You don’t want this person to know that you know what’s up.”
“You’re right. The Revenge Artist. I like that.” I rub my hands together. I have a competitive edge. Kind of. “Do you know anyone who might have access to Jake’s emails?” Melanie doesn’t seem to understand. “He’s innocent.” I think about the nasty looks I shot his way and shudder.
Melanie sits on the desk. She seems to have an aversion to chairs. “I don’t know. His phone isn’t password-protected. It’s anyone’s game.”
I hit my head against the chalkboard. Of course. “His gym locker.” All the times I snuck into guys’ lockers during gym and messed around on their phones. The memories flood back to me. I thought I was the only one crafty enough to think of that.
The door opens, and a teacher and students trickle in before the bell rings. “We should go,” Melanie says.
“Becca?” Val strolls up to us, books hugged into her chest. Even though we’re all smiles, I get this underlying awkward vibe emanating from Val’s side of the circle. Melanie nods hi.
“Hi,” Val says. A socially mandated hi. Not a genuine greeting. It’s a fractional difference in her voice I can pinpoint with accuracy.
Melanie isn’t shaken by Val’s reticence. She seems above high school pettiness, another reason why I like hanging out with her. “We should go,” she says.
“Yeah. The bell and all,” I say to Val who just nods exaggeratedly.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
I’m about to spill about the Revenge Artist, but I don’t know where to start. I just unloaded the entire saga to Melanie, and I don’t have the energy or time to repeat myself. Val and I will have some much needed catch-up time in the future.
“Yep. All good.” There’s an awkward moment of silence. I guess both of us are used to answering an is everything okay with more detail.
“I got into Rutgers.”
“Really? That’s great!”
“When do you hear back from Bartlett?” Val asks me.
I totally forgot about that other huge thing in my life. “Three weeks, I think.”
“You nervous?”
“Yeah. It’ll be weird if I get in and Fred doesn’t or vice versa or we both get in. So many options. So much to deal with.”
Val gives me a suspicious look and lines crinkle her forehead. “Fred applied to Bartlett, too?”
I swallow a massive lump back in my throat. “I thought I told you.”
Val shakes her head no.
“Wow. It’s really serious between you two?”
“I don’t know. Not really.”
“Not really?” Melanie interjects. “I think saying I Love You constitutes major seriousness.”
Oh crap.
“I thought she knew…I’m gonna head to class,” Melanie says through gritted teeth. Her face burns redder than a rash, and she escapes out to the hall.
I keep a smile on my face. Maybe Val didn’t hear that.
“Sounds like things are going well,” Val says. “I’m glad I finally got to hear the news.”
She walks to her desk in the second row. I block her from putting down her books, forcing her to listen. “Val, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell her. It slipped out a few weeks ago.”
“A few weeks ago?”
“I’m sorry for that, too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? This is a milestone, and you didn’t tell me.”
She’s waiting for an answer that I don’t want to give. I was afraid that it would hurt our friendship. The scary part is I still believe it. Because no matter how many inside jokes we laugh about, our relationship is still fragile.
“I thought we tell each other everything.” Bile singes her words.
“How’s your study group going?” I shoot back. There’s silence again, just the ringing of the bell over the loudspeaker. We’ve managed to shut each other up, a new frontier in our relationship.
“Have fun with your new friend,” Val says.
School lets out at noon the Wednesday before