"Close your eyes," Mike said.
"We're in the middle of a rehearsal hall."
"Close them anyway, princess."
I did. When I opened them again, he was holding a card in front of my face. Silver glitter. My name in his messy handwriting.
*Winter Ball. December 20th. Say yes or I'll cry in front of everyone.*
"You wouldn't," I said.
"I'm an actor. I can cry on cue." He sniffed loudly. His lip wobbled. "Lina. Please."
"Yes! Okay, yes, stop it!"
He spun toward the rest of the drama club, who were packing up props and pretending not to watch.
"Everybody! Official announcement!" He pulled me into his side and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "She's mine. Back off."
People whistled. Someone threw a foam sword at us.
Irene stood near the front of the crowd, clapping harder than anyone. Her hands smacked together again and again.
Later, at the diner where Mike bought me a grilled cheese and stole half my fries, I mentioned it.
"Irene seemed really happy for us."
"Irene?" He squinted. "Is that the one with the bangs?"
"She doesn't have bangs."
"Then no idea." He dipped a fry into my milkshake. "I only see you."
---
Irene changed after that.
Within two weeks, she was dating Ethan, the drama club's vice president, a sweet, nervous guy who wrote her poems on index cards. She was also suddenly everywhere with Ryan, a basketball player whose dad owned half of a shipping company.
She came back to the dorm with a new designer bag. Then a gold bracelet. Then shoes I'd only seen in magazines.
"Ryan says I deserve nice things," she said, turning her wrist under the lamp.
"What does Ethan say?"
She smiled. "Ethan says he's going to ask me something big. At the cast party Friday. In front of everyone."
"Like… a proposal?"
"Like a *forever* kind of question." She sighed. "I think I'm going to say yes."
That was Thursday. Seven o'clock.
At eight, the director let me leave rehearsal early. I cut through the parking lot to save time, shoving my hands into Jackson's stupid cashmere scarf.
A black Range Rover sat under the broken streetlight. The windows were fogged white. The car was rocking.
I almost laughed and kept walking.
Then a hand slapped against the inside of the glass. A gold bracelet slid down the wrist.
I stopped dead.
The fog cleared in a streak, and I saw Ryan's face. Then Irene's, flushed, her hair wild, her mouth on his.
I didn't think. I knocked on the window.
Everything inside went still.
Thirty seconds later, the door cracked open. Irene climbed out, tugging her sweater down, her lipstick smeared across her chin.
"Lina." Her voice was flat. "What are you doing here?"
"What am *I* doing? Irene, come here."
I grabbed her elbow and dragged her behind a concrete pillar. Ryan revved the engine but didn't leave.
"An hour ago," I whispered, "you sat on my bed and told me you're saying yes to Ethan."
"So?"
"So? *So?*" My voice cracked. "He writes you poems. He's planning a whole thing in front of the club. And you're in Ryan's car doing—that?"
She folded her arms. "Are you done?"
"No! They both really like you. You're lying to two people who actually care about you. That's not fair to them. Or you."
She laughed. Short. Ugly.
"Wow. Okay. That's rich."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You want to lecture me?" She stepped closer. Her breath smelled like Ryan's cologne. "What gives you the right? You've got Mike wrapped around your finger and Jackson buying you scarves. You're keeping two guys on a string, Lina. Everyone sees it."
For a second, I just stared at her.
Then I burst out laughing.
"Oh my God."
"What's so funny?"
"Irene." I wiped my eyes. "Jackson is my *uncle*."
She blinked.
"My real uncle. My grandparents had him super late. He's only two years older than me, so he made me swear never to call him that on campus. He says it makes him sound like he's fifty."
Silence.
Irene's face did something strange. Her mouth went soft and apologetic. Her eyes went hard as marbles.
"Your uncle," she repeated.
"I swear on my life."
"Huh." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Then I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It's fine. Just—please. Tell Ethan the truth before Friday."
"Sure," she said. "I'll think about it."
She turned back toward the Range Rover. She didn't get in. She just stood next to it, staring at me over the hood until I walked away.
---
The next afternoon, the rehearsal hall went silent the second Ethan walked in.
His face was gray. He held his phone up like it was evidence in a courtroom.
"Irene."
She was sitting on the stage, painting her nails. "Hey, babe."
"Don't." His hand trembled. "Somebody emailed me this. No name. Just this."
He turned the screen around. Everyone leaned in.
It was the parking lot. The fogged window. Irene and Ryan, kissing, her bracelet catching the light.
Someone gasped. Someone else muttered, "Oh, *damn*."
"Ethan, that's not—"
"Is that you or not?"
Irene's nail polish brush hovered in the air.
"It's not what it looks like."
"It looks like you're kissing Ryan." His voice broke on the name. "I was going to ask you to move in with me next year. I already told my mom."
"Ethan—"
"We're done." He dropped a stack of index cards on the stage in front of her. Poems. Dozens of them. "You can keep those. I don't want them anymore."
He walked out. The doors swung shut behind him.
Irene didn't cry. She didn't move. She sat there with one wet, red nail, staring at the floor.
Then she lifted her head, and her eyes found me in the third row.
---
I was halfway through my history reading when the dorm door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.
"Irene? Are you okay? I heard about Ethan, I'm so—"
She crossed the room in three steps.
*Crack.*
My head snapped sideways. My cheek burned like she'd pressed a hot iron to it. The textbook slid off my lap and hit the floor.
I touched my face. My fingers came away shaking.
"You," she said. "It was you."
"What? I didn't—"
"You're the only one who saw us. The *only* one."
"Irene, I would never send—"
"Shut up!" She was breathing hard, her chest heaving. "You stood there last night with that little innocent face, laughing at me. *My uncle*. You think I'm stupid?"
"It's true!"
"You had Mike. You had Jackson. You had everything." Her voice dropped to almost nothing. "And you still couldn't stand me having one good thing."
"I didn't send that email. I swear to you—"
"You ruined my love," she said, "so I'll ruin your life."
She grabbed her laptop off her desk and walked out. She didn't slam the door this time. She closed it softly.
That scared me more.
---
**Irene**
The library basement was empty at midnight.
I opened the message thread I'd saved weeks ago. The anonymous admin of the campus gossip forum. Forty thousand followers. No face. No name.
I attached the photo. Jackson at Lina's collar. Mike holding her hand. Lina's face tipped up like she was waiting for a kiss.
Then I started typing.
*I have a story about a freshman in the drama club. She's sleeping with the quarterback behind her boyfriend's back. And I can prove it.*
The reply came in under a minute.
*Send everything. Post goes live at 8 a.m.*
I closed the laptop and smiled into the dark.
"Good morning, Lina," I whispered.
The whispers started before I even reached the stairs.
"That's her."
"The drama girl?"
"She doesn't *look* like that type."
I pulled Jackson's scarf higher on my neck and kept walking. A guy by the vending machine lifted his phone and snapped a picture of me. He didn't even pretend to hide it.
"Hey," I said. "What are you doing?"
He smirked. "Ask the forum, sweetheart."
My stomach dropped.
I opened the campus forum right there in the hallway. The post sat at the top of the homepage, pinned, with a fire emoji next to it.
**DRAMA CLUB'S "INNOCENT" PRINCESS IS TWO-TIMING! Seducing the leading man behind the QB's back!**
The photo came first. Jackson's fingers at my collar. My face tipped up toward him. Mike's hand in mine.
Below that sat a video. Jackson pulling me into a hug outside the stadium last month, the day I'd cried over a failed quiz. Someone had slowed it down and added sad violin music.
Then came the screenshots.
*Jackson: Did you like the bracelet?*
*Me: I love it. You spoil me too much.*
*Jackson: Don't tell your little boyfriend.*
I'd never typed those words. Not one of them.
The last paragraph made my hands go cold.
*Anonymous source says she didn't even get in on her own grades. The QB pulled strings with the admissions office. Ask yourself how a girl like that got a full freshman scholarship.*
Four thousand comments. And it was 8:40.
---
My locker door hung open a crack.
I pulled it wider, and a wave of garbage slid out onto my shoes. Coffee grounds. Banana peels. A soggy hamburger wrapper. Someone had written across the inside of the door in pink lipstick:
**JACKSON IS OURS, SLUT.**
Two girls in football jerseys giggled at the end of the hall.
"Smells like you," one of them called.
I didn't answer. I knelt down and started scooping trash into the bin with my bare hands, because the other choice was crying in front of them.
---
The rehearsal hall was full when I walked in. Nobody was rehearsing.
Marcy, the stage manager, stepped in front of me with a clipboard pressed to her chest like a shield.
"Lina. Hey. So." She chewed her lip. "We had a quick group vote."
"A vote about what?"
"About the Christmas show." She wouldn't meet my eyes. "With everything going on, people think it's better if you step back. Just for now."
"I'm the *lead*."
"Were," someone muttered from the second row.
"None of it is true," I said. My voice came out too loud. "Jackson is my uncle. My mom's little brother."
A few people laughed outright.
"Your uncle," Marcy repeated. "Lina, your last name is Carver. His is Delgado."
"Because he's on my *mom's* side!"
"Then why didn't you ever say so?" A tall guy from the lighting crew folded his arms. "You two have been all over each other since September. Now that you're caught, he's suddenly family?"
"He made me promise not to—"
"Convenient."
I fumbled for my phone and hit Jackson's name. Straight to voicemail.
I tried again. Voicemail.
Third time, I called the athletics office.
"Football's at a closed camp in Ohio until Thursday," a bored voice told me. "Coach collects all phones. No exceptions, hon."
"It's an emergency."
"It always is."
Click.
I stared at the screen. The one person who could fix this in ten seconds was four states away with his phone in a lockbox.
---
"Lina?"
Irene's voice was soft and wet. She pushed through the crowd, her eyes already red, a tissue crumpled in her fist.
She threw her arms around me. I went stiff as a board.
"Oh, Lina." She sniffled into my shoulder, loud enough for the back row. "I *told* you. I begged you not to play with two guys' feelings. Didn't I?"
I shoved her off. "You never said that."
"I did. In our room. You just laughed." A tear rolled down her cheek, perfectly timed. "I'm not mad. I'm just sad for you."
"You posted it."
Gasps.
Irene pressed a hand to her heart. "How could you even say that? After what you did to *me* and Ethan?"
"I didn't do anything to Ethan!"
"Wow," someone said. "She's blaming her best friend now."
The crowd shifted. Closed in. I backed up until my shoulders hit the edge of the stage.
"Just admit it," a girl hissed.
"Admit what? That I have a family?"
"Admit you're a liar!"
A plastic cup flew out of nowhere. Iced coffee hit my chest, soaked through the scarf, and dripped down my stomach. Ice cubes bounced across the floor.
For a second, I just stood there, dripping.
Then I laughed. One sharp, broken sound. Because of course it was coffee. Of course it was Jackson's scarf.
"Is she *laughing*?"
"She's insane."
Someone raised another cup.
"*Hey!*"
Mike shoved through the circle so fast he knocked a music stand over. He grabbed me and pulled me into his chest, turning his back to the room. The second cup splashed across his shoulders instead of my face.
He didn't even flinch.
"Mike," I whispered. "You'll get soaked."
"Already am." His hand cupped the back of my head. "You okay, princess?"
I shook my head against his shirt.
Irene's tissue stopped moving halfway to her eye.
"Mike," she said carefully, "you saw the post, right? The screenshots? She's been lying to you."
He turned around slowly, still holding me.
"I saw it."
"Then why are you—"
"Because the Lina I know isn't the girl in that post." His voice was quiet, which somehow made the whole room quieter. "I don't know who wrote it. I don't know who that guy is to her. But if the whole world wants to doubt her, fine. I'm going to hear her out first."
Nobody spoke.
Irene's face went white. Not pale. White, like paper. Her mouth opened and stayed open, as if she'd been holding a line ready for the scene where Mike dumped me, and he'd just thrown away the script.
"You're making a mistake," she said thinly.
"Then it's mine to make." He grabbed my bag off the floor. "Come on. Let's get you dry."
---
My phone buzzed as we reached the hallway.
An email. Official university seal at the top.
**Office of Student Conduct — Notice of Investigation**
*Ms. Lina Carver: The Disciplinary Committee has received allegations regarding academic dishonesty and improper admission. You are required to attend a formal hearing. Failure to cooperate will result in the immediate suspension of your Freshman Merit Scholarship.*
I read it twice. My fingers left coffee smears on the glass.
"Lina?" Mike leaned over my shoulder. "What is it?"
"They think I cheated my way in." My voice didn't sound like mine. "If I lose that scholarship, I can't stay here. My parents can't afford it."
"Then we prove them wrong."
"With what? The only proof is in Ohio. With no phone."
Behind us, the rehearsal hall door creaked open. Marcy's voice floated out, bright and relieved.
"Okay, everyone! Good news. We already have someone for the lead. She signed up this morning."
I turned.
Through the gap in the door, I saw Irene step up onto the stage, wiping her eyes, and take my script from Marcy's hands.
She looked straight at me through the crack.
And she smiled.
"This morning," I whispered. "Mike. The post went up at eight."
He frowned. "So?"
"So how did she know to sign up before anyone asked me to leave?"
