Page 5 of Better Than Revenge
Nolen said my name, maybe announcing another spot filled, but I didn’t hear any recognizable words beyond that. There was more clapping as someone behind me gave an excited shout. My head throbbed to the beat of my pumping blood. Jensen grabbed my hand and squeezed. I pulled it free.
He gave me a confused look. Was he really confused?
Oh no. I was going to cry. I couldn’t be here anymore. I stood. Nolen had obviously been in the middle of a sentence because he stopped.
“Finley?” he asked, waiting.
“Nothing, sorry, I have an appointment.”
“Okay, thanks for your time.”
I gave a short wave and left the group. I half walked, half stumbled my way over a grassy hill that led to the main corridor. Near the closest building, a group of students sat around eating lunch. The girls were showing each other videos on their phones, and some guys in their football jerseys were throwing empty chip bags and watching seagulls chase after them. Theo, the starting kicker, and Jensen’s mortal enemy, leaned against the building, one earbud in, as if he was only barely interested in being with his friends. As if he was too good for everyone.
His eyes danced around me but never landed. I was invisible to him. Not that I cared.
I clenched my teeth, the football jersey he wore making my stomach even tighter. I pulled out my phone.It wasn’t a prank,I typed into a text message to Deja as I walked past the squawking seagulls.
He’s dead to me,she responded back fast. Then just as quickly added,Wait, does this mean he actually made it?
Yes.
My phone buzzed with another text. This one from Jensen.Congrats on the research spot.
I had made the team. I was one of the two researchers. This meant they liked my idea, just not the way I presented it? I wasn’t good enough. This meant my senior year would be spent researching and developing potential podcast ideas for someone else. Would I feel just as upset if that someone else wasn’t Jensen? The first tear escaped my eye and trickled down my cheek.
Another Jensen text buzzed through.I know this was all unexpected, for me too, but I hope you can be happy for me.
I stared at those words he had typed into his phone while sittingunder that tree, surrounded bymyfriends. Was I being selfish? Jealous? Definitely that last one.
Is this something you even want? Like really want?I finally typedback.
Yes.
I released a sigh. Maybe I could eventually be happy for him. Just not today. Today I was sad for me.
NOPE. I COULDN’T BE HAPPYfor him. Ever. Three things happened that afternoon that made it impossible.
Deja and I had seventh period together, and next to me, she was bouncing between scoffing and quietly cursing. We were listening to the afternoon announcements, where the current podcast seniors were introducing next year’s podcast team. Apparently, I was supposed to be there in the booth, but had fled the scene earlier so didn’t get those details. And Jensen hadn’t thought to tell me. Why would he? Secrets were his new thing, apparently.
That was the first thing that made happiness for his newfound success an impossibility.
The second thing was happening now while they interviewed him, the whole school, including Deja and me, forced to listen during the last fifteen minutes of our last class.
Susie had just asked him, “Tell the school, Jensen, the interesting idea you tried out with.”
“Well, Susie,” he said, “we thought it would be fun for the schoolto be given a weekly puzzle or challenge. It won’t be some easy brain teaser. It will be something you really have to think about. The first person to solve it will have a chance to win prizes like maybe signed football gear or extra credit points for classes. If you have cool teachers, that is.” He said this last bit with a charming laugh.
My fingers were curled around the edge of my desk, my knuckles white with the pressure.
“Am I just angry, or was that your idea?” Deja whisper-yelled next to me.
“Not the football gear stuff,” I mumbled. But the rest, yes. That jerk tried out with my idea. My sadness from before was slowly bubbling up into anger, making my eyeballs hot and my chest burn.
Over the speakers, Susie laughed, then directed a question to Ava. Our class was losing interest, and low-speaking voices filled the room. Mr.Vasquez, sitting at his desk up front, looking at his phone, didn’t seem to care.
“I hate him so much,” Deja said.
My first instinct was to defend my boyfriend, but my clenched teeth made that impossible.