One Night That Changes Everything (23 page)

“Yeah, well.” I shrug and give him a smile. “So are you ready to make the exchange?”

“No,” Tyler says. “I want you to tell me who gave you that notebook.” And then I realize this is my chance. My chance to really get back at Cooper. If I tell on him, if I let Tyler know Cooper was the one who gave me the notebook, who knows what Tyler would do? He would definitely set out to make Cooper’s life a living hell.

It wouldn’t even be that hard. For me, I mean. All I’d have to do is say his name, and I could totally get him back. But unfortunately, as much as I don’t want to admit it, I still care
about Cooper. And I’d feel horrible for turning on him after he risked his own ass for me. Besides, it doesn’t matter. As long as I get my notebook back, getting the 318s to go after Cooper serves no real purpose.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to tell you,” I say finally, being careful not to look across the parking lot at Cooper.

Tyler turns around then and looks at all of the 318s who are gathered around him. “I want to know,” he says. “Who gave her the notebook? And why did you do it?” And then I realize that’s why he brought everyone here. Not so he could hurt me or yell at me or outnumber me. He brought everyone here so that he could try to figure out who gave me the notebook. He looks around at all of the 318s and holds the gaze of each one. Honestly, it’s a little bit ridiculous. I mean, could they be any more full of themselves? Lame.

When Tyler gets to Cooper, Cooper holds his gaze steady. For a second, my heart leaps into my chest, and I wonder if maybe Cooper might say something himself. If he might admit that he’s the one who gave me the notebook, if he might stick up for me, if he might tell the 318s that what they did to me was wrong.

But he doesn’t say anything, and Tyler just moves on to try and intimidate the next person. I swallow my disappointment. Whatever. I mean, if he wanted to say something, he would have done it before now. I’ve totally been watching too many romantic comedies where, at the end of the movie, the
guy makes some big grand declaration before the couple ends up happy and walks off into the sunset. Or in this case, I guess we’d walk off into the sunrise.

Anyway.

“Look,” I say, my grip tightening on the notebook. “While it’s nice for you to bring everyone here and show off your intimidation tactics, I’d like to get home. It’s been kind of a long night, if you know what I mean.”

“Whatever,” Tyler says.

I take a couple of steps toward him, and he takes a couple of steps toward me. I give him the black notebook, and he gives me mine at exactly the same time. Our hands touch for a moment, and a shiver goes through me. And not in a good way.

“Oh,” I say, as I make my way back toward the car, my notebook safely in my hand. “Just fyi, I made a copy of your pledge book.” Tyler’s jaw drops. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything with it, but I trust you’re going to drop the complaint you filed with the dean about what I posted on Lanesboro Losers.”

Tyler’s mouth tightens into a line. “Fine,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say sweetly. “I
so
totally appreciate it.” And then I turn around and head back to the car. Marissa and Clarice follow me, and we all climb in.

Right before she shuts the door, Clarice looks behind her at the 318s, who are standing in the parking lot, looking a little stunned and dejected.

“You’re lucky,” she yells at them, “that I didn’t have to use my pepper spray.”

She slams the door, and Marissa peels out of the parking lot.

6:47 a.m.

We go to a diner to celebrate.

The sun is really coming up now, and it’s turning the sky shades of pink and purple and blue and warming up the air. It’s a welcome sight after such a long night, and suddenly, even though we just had snacks not that long ago, I’m famished.

“I want pancakes,” I decide once we’re settled in the booth, and when the waitress comes around, that’s just what I get. A big stack of pancakes with chocolate chips and whipped cream and then to top it off, I pour syrup over the whole thing. After the night I’ve had, I deserve it. And honestly, who cares? I don’t eat like this all the time, but I also don’t care to look like a stick figure. I pour an extra glob of syrup on for good measure.

“Oh my God,” Clarice says, shoving her phone at us across the table. “Are you kidding me? Look at what Jamie’s last Facebook update says!”

I squint at the screen.

“It says, ‘watching a movie with my bestie,’” Clarice scoffs and looks at me and Marissa, waiting for a reaction.

“What’s wrong with that?” Marissa asks. She takes a sip of her soda.

“Yeah,” I say. “What’s wrong with that? It sounds nice.” It totally does, too. This night is making it feel like it’s been at least five years since we just stayed in and watched a movie.

“The problem
is
,” Clarice says, “that her bestie is her sister, Madeline, who is the one who left her in Southie tonight!”

“So they made up,” I say. “Like sisters do.” I swallow and think of Kate, then check my phone again for the thousandth time. Still no text.

“They made up,” Clarice says, “two hours after she left her in the ghetto!”

“It wasn’t exactly the ghetto,” I point out. “And nothing bad happened to her.”

Clarice looks down at her phone forlornly, like if she stares at it enough, the Facebook status will change.

But Marissa notices the look on my face, and she reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Hey,” she says. “You and Kate are going to be fine.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“Because Kate loves you,” Clarice says. “Of course she’s going to forgive you.”

“I never should have told her,” I say, spearing a piece of pancake and chewing on it thoughtfully. “She never would have found out.”

“Eliza!” Clarice says. “That’s not true! You needed to tell her, otherwise you would have always had a secret from her, which would have totally marred your sisterhood!”

“She’s right,” Marissa says. “Now you guys can deal with it and get over it.”

“Hopefully,” I say, checking my phone again even though it’s only been two seconds.

“She probably went to sleep,” Marissa says, seeing me check my phone.

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “You’re probably right.”

There’s silence for a little bit as we all chew our food and sip our drinks. Then Clarice picks her phone back up. “New email alert,” she says. “‘One of your friends has posted new pictures on Lanesboro Losers.’ I wonder who—Eliza! You posted new pics?”

“What?” I ask, confused. “No, I haven’t.” And then I remember. Cooper. The camera. Me. In a bathing suit. “Oh my God,” I say, reaching across the table and trying to grab the phone out of her hand before she can see it. But it’s too late.

“Wow,” she says, her eyes widening.

“I’m deleting it,” I say.

“What picture is it?” Marissa asks.

“It’s the picture Cooper took of me,” I say.

Clarice passes the phone to Marissa. “Wow,” she says. “You look hot.”

I look at the picture on the phone, even though I already saw it earlier. “You know what?” I say. “I think maybe I might leave it up.”

After our carb-laden breakfast, I crash. Hard. The adrenaline that’s been coursing through my veins all night is gone, my coffee wore off hours ago, and all the sugar and whipped cream is making me sluggish and sleepy.

“Are you guys still staying over?” I ask as Marissa pulls her car onto my street.

“I have to go home,” Marissa says. “Grounded, remember? I have to sneak back in.”

“Oh, right,” I say, shaking my head. “I forgot you were arrested tonight, that’s so weird.”

“I’m going to go home too,” Clarice says. “I have to get up early tomorrow. I mean, today. Me and Jamie are going to play tennis.”

“You guys,” I say, looking at them both. I think about how they stood by my side tonight, how they were there for me, how they stuck by me and helped me through what’s probably been the hardest night of my life. “Thanks for tonight. For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Marissa says.

“What are friends for?” Clarice adds with a smile.

I open the car door and make my way to my front porch. I’m so tired I can barely walk up the steps, and all I can think about is how good my bed is going to feel, how amazing it’s going to be to get out of these clothes and into a nice comfy pair of pajama pants and a tank top. I’m sliding my key into the lock when the sound of a car pulling into the driveway interrupts my thoughts of clean, crisp sheets and a warm, cozy bed.

I turn around and see a red BMW. Cooper.

“Hey,” he says, getting out of the car and walking up my driveway.

“Hey,” I say. The sun is completely over the horizon now, and it’s that perfect time of the morning, when it’s still sunny and bright, and you can almost trick yourself into thinking it’s going to warm up and be a nice day.

Cooper walks up onto the porch and kicks the toe of his shoe against the concrete.

“Oh my God,” I say. “What happened to your face?” Cooper has a reddish bruise under his eye, and it looks all shiny and a little bit swollen. I resist the urge to reach out and run my finger over it, to make sure he’s okay.

“Nothing,” he says. I give him a skeptical look, and he sighs. “Fine, Tyler found out I was the one who gave you our pledge book and let’s just say he wasn’t too pleased.”

“You guys got into a fight?” I ask.

“Not really,” he says. “It was more like a … a little scrape.” He looks away and I reach out and grab his chin, moving his
face back so I can get a better look at the bruise. His skin feels warm and all scruffy under my fingers. “It’s fine,” he says. “The guys broke it up before it could really escalate.”

“Ouch,” I say. I pull my hand away from his face, and my fingers feel like they’re on fire. “I didn’t tell him. That you were the one who gave it to me.”

“I know,” he says. “I was there, remember?” But he doesn’t say it in a cocky way.

“So then how did he find out?”

“I told him.” He’s staring at me now, his eyes searching mine.

“Oh.” I swallow. “Are you … did you … Why did you tell him?”

“Because I didn’t want anything to do with them anymore,” he says. “After what they did to you tonight. The only reason I didn’t stop it before is because I knew they would have made it even worse for you.”

“Thanks,” I say truthfully. “You helped me a lot tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. He starts to say something else, but I cut him off.

“I have to go in now,” I say.

“Oh,” he says. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I say. I put my hand back on my key, which is still in the lock, and Cooper turns away and starts to walk down the driveway, and I think about how lucky I am that I didn’t have to tell him what I wrote about him in my notebook. And then my heart skips a beat. Because I wonder what would happen if I
did
tell him, if I stopped pretending
that I didn’t care, if I just told him how I really felt.

“Hey,” I say, turning back around. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?” he asks.

“Ask me out,” I say. “Put my name on that list.”

“I don’t know,” he says, walking back toward the porch. “I didn’t … I didn’t want to. I just … I wasn’t looking at it the same way they were.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“They thought it would be fun to mess with some girls, to get them to believe they were really interested in them… . And I …” he trails off and then shoves his hands into his pockets, looking down at the ground. When he looks back up at me, he says, “One time last year I saw you outside at lunch. You were reading something in your history book, and drinking a juice box, and you were wearing an iPod and a pink hoodie, and your lips were moving but no sound was coming out, and ever since then I wanted to talk to you.”

“If that’s true,” I say, “then why didn’t you?”

“Chicken,” he says. “I thought you were too smart for me.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I am too smart for you.”

He laughs. “Eliza,” he says, and takes a step closer. “I swear to God, I didn’t want to hurt you. After the first day, I completely forgot about the real reason I asked you out.”

“You could have told me,” I say.

“I know.” He’s really close now, and my heart is beating so fast and my stomach feels all crazy and wobbly. “I’m sorry.”

I take a deep breath and think about what I wrote about
him in my notebook, about how badly he hurt me, about how much he made me cry. “You really, really hurt me,” I say. “I liked you so much, Cooper. I liked you so, so much.”

“I liked you, too, so, so much,” he says. “Can you … could you ever think about forgiving me?”

He’s so close now, and I can smell his laundry soap and the cologne I gave him and see where his sideburns fade into the sides of his face. His eyes are searching mine, and I open my mouth to say something, to give in, to tell him yes, not because I’m a sucker, but because I believe him, because he helped me tonight, because I think he’s telling the truth. But before I can say anything, his lips are on mine, and we’re kissing and it feels right and good and exactly the way things are supposed to be.

“You do know you’re in a lot of trouble with me,” I say, when we finally pull apart.

“I know,” he says into my hair.

“And you know that you’re going to have to spend days and days and months and months making it up to me before I forgive you?”

“I’ll do it,” he says. “I’ll watch hours and hours of cheesy eighties movies with you.”

“Do you promise?” I ask.

“Promise,” he says. And then he kisses me again.

Later, after I make Cooper leave (Um, hello! Yeah, I’m giving him another chance, but the boy has to grovel and work for my attention at least a little bit—plus, you know, I’m pretty exhausted)
and we make plans to talk later that day, I head out onto the back deck with my notebook.

And I read the whole thing, cover to cover. My seventh-grade fears. My eighth-grade fears. Every single thing I’ve ever been afraid to do, right here in one book. I realize I did some of them tonight, and nothing horrible happened. I didn’t die. In fact, I learned a lot about myself and about the things I’m capable of doing. I realized that my friends are true. And that sometimes people make mistakes and deserve second chances.