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“What, like she doesn’t deserve it?” A
“A
“Oh my God, no. I don’t have a bucket of slime, okay?” A
My jaw dropped. “You felt bad for Chloe Appleby?”
A
“Whatever,” David said, taking the filled balloon from my hand and tying it off. “She’s just one person. She’s not go
“True dat,” A
They bumped fists and got back to work on the streamers as I busied myself with balloons, wondering if Will had talked to Chloe yet. He’d been stu
David and A
ally
“The mom makes movie soundtracks for a living,” Jake said that night as David’s band, Controlled Chaos, screeched into a heavy-metal version of happy birthday. “Who knew you could even do something that cool as a job? And the guy coaches soccer. It was, like, meant to be.”
“Yeah. I guess,” I muttered.
On the other side of the room, Will stood with a few of his friends, his body rigid as he watched the band. Now and then I caught him glancing over his shoulder at us, and every time he did I tensed. Had he talked to Chloe yet? What if he said something to Jake before Chloe had a chance to?
Why, why, why had I gotten myself even deeper into this mess?
“I wonder where Chloe is,” Jake said, checking his watch, his knee bending and straightening awkwardly to the beat. Well, roughly to the beat, anyway. He checked the stairs, which were partially obscured by a million strands of plastic M&M’s beads. “I thought she’d be here by now.”
“I just can’t believe A
Jake plucked one from my hand and popped it into his mouth. It made me think of Lincoln, and I suddenly wondered what he was doing right now. What life would be like if I’d kissed him that night at Faith’s. It was so weird how I could be seriously considering kissing someone one day, and then a few weeks later have zero contact with him. Just thinking about it made me blush. Luckily Jake didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t ask about it.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Why not what?”
“Why can’t you believe A
I blinked. Was it possible that he was that clueless to what went on around him? Guys and oblivion. They seemed to go hand in hand.
“Because they’ve always hated each other,” I said with a serious “duh” tone.
“Really? Why?” Jake said, his brow knit.
I just rolled my eyes and ate another pretzel.
Just then the door to the basement slammed closed and a few people flinched. Minutes later, Chloe came teetering down the stairs, clinging to the railing as if for dear life. Even hugely pregnant, she was more stylishly dressed than half the girls in the room. She wore a black bias-cut skirt and a hot pink sweater with a boat neck and fluttery sleeves. Her skin was dewy with makeup and her light brown hair had been curled and pulled back from her face, just a few tendrils scooping around her cheeks. Jake stepped away from the wall at her arrival and she brightened at the sight of him, fluttering a wave in our direction. Looking for an open pathway through the crowded basement, she turned sideways to try to slide over, but she’d barely taken a step when Will was right in front of her.
My heart hit my throat and choked off my air supply. The music was loud enough that I couldn’t hear every word, but not so loud that a few didn’t make it through. Words like:
“Tell me?”
“Lying?”
and
“Loved you.”
Suddenly Chloe’s skin wasn’t quite so dewy anymore.
“What’s his deal?” Jake asked me, his nostrils kind of flaring.
Chloe shot us a helpless look, then reached for Will’s hand. He yanked it away and, at that moment, David’s rendition of “Happy Birthday” finally came to a wailing, pounding end.
“Just tell me! Am I the father or not?!” Will shouted.
“What?” Jake blurted.
The basement was so silent you could have heard a jelly bean drop. Will looked around, clearly embarrassed, and Chloe started shaking.
“Chloe?” Jake said, walking toward her. Everyone got out of his way. “What’s going on?”
Chloe put one hand on her stomach and reached for Jake with the other. He automatically supported her arm, which it looked like she very much needed. A
“I can’t,” Chloe said. “I can’t—”
“Just tell me, Chloe,” Will said quietly, gently. “If I’m the father … you have to tell me.”
“Dude. Back the fuck off,” Jake said.
“Maybe you’re the one who should back off, dude,” Will said sarcastically, his face reddening. “I was with her for three months. I was in love with her. Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the father, asshole,” Jake shot back.
And Chloe just stood there. Shaking. She looked like she was about to faint. Some people might have enjoyed this—might have enjoyed watching Chloe squirm after everything she’d done. Some people might have even relished it. But apparently that just wasn’t me, because all I could think about was that this was my fault. At least this part of it. I’d brought this awful scene—the whispers, the staring, the suspense—to life. And now I had to do something to make it stop before it got any worse.
“Chloe,” I said loudly. “Say something.”
Everyone turned to stare at me. Everyone but Chloe. Chloe was looking at the floor. The questions, the fear, in Jake’s eyes nearly killed me. Slowly Chloe drew her arm away from Jake.
“No, Jake,” she said finally. “You’re not the father.”
“What?” Jake breathed.
Will brought his hand to his forehead.
“It was Will. It’s Will’s baby,” Chloe whispered, her voice catching.
“Holy shit.” Will sat down on the nearest chair, bringing both hands to his mouth. “Holy, holy, holy shit.”
“But you said …” Jake looked around at the practically drooling audience, then lowered his voice, leaning toward Chloe’s ear. “You said you two never—”
Will snorted. “You said that?” he asked Chloe. “And you believed that?” he said to Jake.
Jake went white. Almost gray.
“I’m not the father?” he said, stepping away from her.
“Jake, I am so sorry,” Chloe said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I wanted to tell you so many times. At that first sonogram, I almost did, but I—”
Jake backed away farther, his heel knocking into an old CD rack and rattling everything on the shelves. “I don’t believe this.”
“I’m sorry,” Chloe said again, quietly, looking at the floor. “I don’t know what to say.”
But it didn’t matter that she didn’t know what to say. Because Jake was already gone. He took the basement steps in two leaps and slammed the door so hard a dozen strands of beads slapped to the floor, bursting from their strings and rolling over the tile.