BostonSpilledTea.com

THE CANNONDALE SCHOOL - MESSAGE BOARD

NEW THREAD, 3:45 PM: that quiz was brutal, but do we seriously feel bad for them?

[comments]

it was wicked accurate so we shouldn't need to feel bad if it's the truth

the girls varsity lacrosse team is part of cannondale's most successful athletic program, they don't deserve the hate

i wonder if the team is blaming MB for starting this by punching out GK at Winter Formal

join GWT if you don't want to be brainwashed in WAC by KJ and CE

WAC is whack! bros before hoes

^ careful. some guys go to both

whoever made the quiz should stop while they're ahead, the school is out for blood

✘ ✘ ✘

I couldn't pretend the whispers hadn't reached my corner of the library this evening concerning the latest thread on the message board, but I could pretend to ignore them. Studying with Trip for our upcoming AP Gov exam was the perfect distraction, and I nearly succeeded in pushing it all out of my mind. That was the most I could ask for, given the circumstances.

By the time Trip walked me back to Roosevelt Hall, evening hours were about to start. Kelsey was still at the library, tutoring a freshman as part of her esteemed gig in the Spanish Honors Society.

With the lacrosse season underway, my day-to-day routine had changed significantly, and the same went for most spring athletes. I held myself to a rigid schedule to ensure that I still had sufficient time for my academics and additional school obligations. Kelsey and I had rescheduled WAC meeting for Wednesday mornings, and I spent most evenings in the library studying.

Macallan was on her top bunk bed when I returned to our dorm room. For reasons I failed to comprehend, she despised the library and preferred to study in Roosevelt Hall's spacious common room on the first floor. When I'd left for the library earlier, my hair still damp from my post-practice shower, she was about to meet Gianna there.

"So, apparently, Trip wants to study political science at Duke," I sighed out as I set my backpack down on my desk chair. "I think he's too inherently good to be an actual politician, but who knows? He's already got that whole charmingly humble thing going for him."

Macallan made an incoherent sound of agreement, but there was a squeaky sniffle at the end that commandeered my attention. I turned away from the closet and directed my gaze to the top bunk.

"Mac?" I called, my sudden trepidation sending a chill dancing up my spine. "Hey, are you okay?"

My overall lack of optimism served to keep my expression carefully neutral when Macallan maneuvered herself around to face me, tears trickling down her cheeks. She went to respond, but all that came out was a mangled sob. She shook her head, tears still falling.

A horrifying thought seared through my brain: she and Jameson had broken up. I'd never seriously considered that scenario before. Macallan and Jameson had become a constant - like the sun rising in the east every morning.

"I'm okay. I just can't stop crying," Macallan finally croaked out, climbing down the ladder and sinking into her desk chair. She had a green stuffed dinosaur tucked under one arm that I knew to be named Roger.

"Take all the time you need," I said, moving my backpack onto the floor and pulling my own desk chair over to sit in front of her.

She nodded, sniffling as she inhaled a shaky breath. After an equally shaky exhale, she looked up at me. "My period is late," she whispered, clutching Roger closer to her chest. "Like five days late."

I couldn't name the emotion that ignited something inside my chest, but I didn't dare let it escape the confines of my ribcage. What I felt in this moment didn't matter.

I settled on a practical question. "Have you taken a test?"

Macallan shook her head, a few more tears escaping her eyes. "I'm on the pill, and Jameson and I are always safe. I don't know what I did wrong."

"Nothing." I leaned forward, setting my hands lightly on her shoulders. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"People will talk," she whispered. "People are already talking. This could be a grenade, and I'm terrified of walking into the health center and having someone see."

"I'm going to go."

I heard my decision before I completed the thought. It was automatic.

"What?" Macallan squeaked, rocketing into an upright position. Blonde hair clung to her damp cheeks.

"I'm going to go to the health center and get the pregnancy test for you."

If this really was a grenade, I supposed I'd just thrown myself on it. But I would do it again, and again.

She frantically shook her head, her eyes wild. "No, Chan, I won't make you-"

"You're not making me do anything," I assured her, snatching my backpack up off the floor. I would need it to store the unnecessarily conspicuous bag the nurse would give me. "I'm leaving right now, and we can figure everything else out after."

"Are you sure about this?" Macallan asked, swiping her cheeks with the back of her hands. She grimaced when they came away streaked with mascara resembling tyre marks.

"I'll be back in like 30 minutes," I promised. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, my features set with determination. "I love you."

Her crystalline eyes shined as she took a shaky breath. "Love you too. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," I told her, my voice soft as I slipped out the door.

✘ ✘ ✘

I completed the necessary paperwork in five-minutes.

Once it was processed, I endured a brief yet concise chat with one of the nurses about sexual health and the additional resources that Cannondale offered. The school wanted its students to make informed, medically-accurate choices about their health and safety. Everyone knew that the health center only involved a student's parents or guardians under specific circumstances, not wanting to deter them from accessing the resources available to them. Sex education at Cannondale could still be better, of course, but I appreciated our access to resources.

"Don't hesitate to check-in with us again if you need to," the nurse told me, her smile thin as she bestowed me with a white paper bag.

"Of course," I nodded, mirroring her expression.

When I returned to the waiting room, I made a deliberate effort to avoid making eye contact with anyone. There were plenty of reasons why I was at the health center since I was an athlete, but I still wanted to make a swift exit. I wanted to get back to Macallan, so she could move forward - in whatever direction that might be.

Outside, the evening air was cold and damp.

It had rained all afternoon, but that hadn't stopped Coach Mayer from working us hard in practice. She also refused to recognize the rain as an excuse for sloppy stickwork. We all had to be in our best form - rain or shine.

"England!"

I didn't turn around.

I didn't turn around because I knew that the absolute last person I wanted to encounter on campus right now was making his way over to me. I slipped off a strap of my backpack, tugging it partly in front of me and unzipping it to tuck the paper bag inside.

"Hey, I've been looking for you," Grayson Kirby said, catching up to me in a rush of breezy, sandalwood cologne that reminded me of the men's sport coat section at Nordstrom.

"What a shame." The words rolled off my tongue in the most nonchalant way I could muster. I felt Grayson's eyes tracking my movements as I zipped my backpack, and shrugged on the free strap.

"I'm not doing it for fun, believe me," he huffed out, shifting the strap of his athletic bag on his shoulder. "You need to know that the quiz and message board shit isn't my fault. I haven't done anything wrong."

"But if you did do something wrong, you still wouldn't think it was your fault."

Grayson opened his mouth, but no words came out. He seemed to have misplaced his vocabulary. I couldn't refrain from smirking as I turned towards the path that led back to Roosevelt Hall, but he blocked my path. His shadow spilled over me in the dying light.

"I know I screwed up at Winter Formal," he blurted out, taking a step back as I pinned him with a glare. "What I said was fucked, and I bet everyone with a brain knows that."

"Your self-awareness is so impressive," I deadpanned.

Those summer stormcloud eyes of his flashed with irritation. "What more do you want from me?"

"An apology is the bare minimum, but I'd appreciate it if you'd cut the crap with Guys With Ties-"

"I'm sorry," Grayson interrupted hastily before taking another step back as if the rest of my sentence had smacked him in the face. "Hold on, what was that second part?"

"Cut the crap with Guys With Ties."

A smirk automatically worked its way across his face. "England, I don't know what-"

"Don't you dare act like you haven't read what's on the message board," I cut in, rolling back my shoulders and placing my hands on my hips as I'd seen my mom do when anyone dared to undermine her. If Grayson wanted to have this conversation, I wasn't going to let him get away with playing dumb.

Grayson seemed to note the new edge to my voice because his disposition shifted, becoming more serious. "I know I can't prove it, but none of that is me," he said, slicing a hand down through the air as if it was a gavel. "I'm graduating in a few months, and I don't need the school up my ass or Princeton getting even a whiff of this bullshit."

I wished I didn't believe him. Grayson was an asshole, but he wasn't a dumb jock. He didn't go around shoving dweebs into lockers or cat-calling cheerleaders as if we were starring in a cliché movie about filthy rich high school students.

I clenched my jaw, hating that I was about to feed the flames of his ego. "As one of GWT's presidents, your word could go a long way. Your bone-headed minions might listen to you, and back off."

He predictably smirked again. "You think I've got minions?"

"Focus."

"Alright." He heaved out a sigh, raking a hand through his sandy blond hair. "If I was to go about cutting the crap, what would you want me to do?"

I didn't need to contemplate my response. "Make a statement at your next meeting that condones the message board posts and shows respect for WAC."

Grayson remained quiet for a long moment, lowering his eyes to the cobblestone. "You should get McKenna to do it."

"Trip isn't one of GWT's presidents."

He lifted his eyes to meet mine, suddenly crinkled with mirth. "I probably should've seen that coming," he shook his head, barking out a short laugh. "I mean, why wouldn't it be you and McKenna? Everyone at this damn school treats him like a hero, including you."

I had at least a hundred savvy retorts to his comment, but I decided to stake a claim on the moral high ground. "Can we focus again?"

"Why haven't you told him about what I said at Winter Formal?" Grayson asked, completely disregarding my request. "You could rat me out, and get whatever justice you think you deserve."

"I don't owe you an explanation." I broke eye contact with him when the doors to the health center opened, and Caroline Drake walked out alongside two other low-profile girls in our graduating class.

I hadn't spoken to Caroline since February when we had our final assigned Thursday night dinner together. Apparently, she was the school journalist who'd interviewed Trip and Grayson for the boys' lacrosse article in the Cannondale Weekly that Win mentioned. She seemed like the type of girl who would aggressively volunteer to write that article, but then act as though she was doing it out of the goodness of her heart.

"Hey, Chandler," Caroline called out with unjustifiable enthusiasm as she approached us.

I offered her a singular wave. I didn't need my manners to inadvertently invite another undesired person to chat with me.

Grayson turned towards the trio, but his expression resembled a brick wall. I imagined he didn't feel the need to acknowledge them; they were juniors who were a light-years outside of his social stratosphere. He returned his attention to me.

"I don't see why you're making this a big deal," he said, lowering his voice. "McKenna's family isn't like mine or yours. That's what I meant that night, okay? His parents didn't go to an Ivy League or Duke for that matter, but it's not like they're poor."

"We're not talking about this," I seethed, tempted to jab him in the chest with my finger. Words didn't seem to be getting the point across.

Grayon ran his tongue over his front teeth. "You want to know what I think, England?"

"No."

He neglected to take my answer into account. "I think you're scared that he'll assume you're ashamed of him, so you'd rather just keep your mouth shut."

"That's stupid."

"Sure," he drew out the word. "Because what do I know? I'm just an entitled ass."

I confronted his attitude by staying on the moral high ground. Throwing my words from Winter Formal back at me was clever, but there was nothing he could say that could insult me. Not anymore. As I inhaled a breath, I recalled Gianna saying something about how there were boys like him everywhere with not much to offer other than a pretty face.

"I have places to be," I told Grayson and his pretty face. "Don't go looking for me again."

"Yeah, whatever." He stepped aside for me to leave, making an exaggerated sweeping gesture with his hand. "I'll see you tomorrow."

With that unfortunate reminder playing on my mind, I left without a backward glance.

✘ ✘ ✘

At midnight, I leaned against the countertop of the third floor bathroom in Roosevelt Hall. Macallan had refused to take the test until our floor went silent, not wanting to entertain a conversation with someone while she hoped to find some semblance of privacy.

"This is stupid," Macallan muttered from behind the stall door. "Why is this all so stupid?"

"Just breathe," I instructed, despite knowing that this was far easier said than done. My lungs were currently threatening to rebel against my composure.

"Whatever happens, we're here for you," Kelsey chimed in, her voice echoing softly in the otherwise empty bathroom. She sat perched up on the ledge beneath a bay of windows with reflective film.

It was just the three of us in the bathroom; Gianna had a single on the second floor and couldn't risk getting caught sneaking upstairs by the hall faculty - or worse, another student.

Macallan expelled an aggressive sigh. "I love both of you dearly, but please god stop talking. You're making me pee shy."

Kelsey snickered, and I grinned, shaking my head. Even under what I imagined was immense stress, Macallan could still lighten the mood. She still had sunshine at her core, even when surrounded by clouds.

"Your wish is our command, Glinda," Kelsey said, her gaze meeting mine. Despite her relaxed disposition, concern flitted in and out of her eyes. The result of Macallan's test could initiate a seemingly endless ripple effect of consequences, and we both knew it.

Silence reigned for the next few minutes. I caught myself gripping the edge of the countertop, my knuckles straining white.

The metal latch on the door eventually clicked open, and Macallan stepped out, her left hand closed around the test. Before I could formulate a reaction of any kind, she let out a watery laugh, her eyes glistening with tears once again. "I have never been so happy to fail a test."

Kelsey hopped off the ledge, her UGG slippers hitting the tiled floor with a soft thud. "You're not pregnant?"

"I'm not pregnant," Macallan laughed again. She trekked over to the counter, wrapping the test in paper towels, throwing it out, and washing her hands.

I exhaled for what felt like the first time in the last five hours. My lungs burned, but the relief coursing through me overpowered that fleeting sensation.

The next thing I knew, Macallan yanked Kelsey and me into a hug. "Thank you," she murmured, her tears sinking into the soft cotton of my sweatshirt. "Just thank you."

I didn't know how long the three of us stood wrapped up in each other, but that grenade I'd thrown myself on top of ended up being a dud, and I knew we were going to be okay. It wasn't an epiphany but a promise.