Page 112 of Necessary Cruelty

Thirty-Three

Newsof my elopement is all over school by second period, if I’m judging by the way people openly stare at me in the halls. Their gazes linger on the designer dress and practically bulge when my ring catches in the light.

I’ve never felt as much like a zoo animal on display as I did when I stepped foot inside Deception High this morning.

Then I notice that something is different.

Most of the looks aren’t hostile. If anything, people scurry out of my way like there will be consequences if they don’t. The silence is there like it always has been, but now it’s respectful instead of deafening.

Vin has still marked me. But instead of being a pariah, now I belong to him.

Every so often, though, I catch a smile or a nod from someone who has never given me either for years. I nearly run into a bay of lockers when a girl from my P.E. class murmurs a quick Hi, Zaya as she passes me.

Then one of the football players dives to catch a football in mid-air before it can hit me in the back of the head.

When I look up at him wide-eyed, he thanks me for the invitation.

Too stupid to put it together, I ask what invitation he’s talking about.

“To your wedding, of course.”

Giselle Cortland works fast, I have to give her that. Apparently, sometime this morning a save the date went out on social media with a promise that formal invitations would arrive by the end of the week. My fake wedding is gearing up to be as big as Founder’s Day, with most of the town planning to attend.

It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that the invites were coming at the last possible moment.

For the first time ever, I have a partner for the lab experiment in Physics as opposed to working alone like I normally do. People who had spent years pretending I don’t exist, suddenly find time to compliment my outfit or greet me as if we were long-lost friends.

This should all make me angry, this reminder of all the things Vin has taken away from me over the years. Instead of angry, it all just makes me feel weird. Like I’m getting a glimpse into someone else’s life while wearing their skin, making the world around me seem both completely familiar and entirely alien.

And when I think about him, it isn’t anger that stirs in my belly and robs me of breath.

As if I need another reminder that I’m in the midst of doing the dumbest thing I’ve ever done: falling in love with him.

When I get distracted in class and drop a beaker so it shatters to the floor, three different people rush over to help clean it up. It takes a beat too long for me to thank them. I’m still not used to being allowed to speak to anyone.

Part of me expects Vin to jump out from behind a lab table with murder in his eyes.

Then I remember again that I let him marry me yesterday.

I’d already decided not to eat lunch today, and I never willingly skip a meal. But that’s where Vin will be, holding court with his friends at his usual table in the cafeteria. The minute that I set foot inside, every single eye in the room will be on us, raptly watching, waiting to see what we say or do. Even with our newfound peace, hanging out with Vin and his friends while the whole school watches is not how I want to spend any amount of time.

I’m not used to this much attention, even when it’s good. I think I might be going more than a little crazy from it. Being invisible had its perks from time to time — at least I didn’t feel like everyone was watching me like they’re desperate to see what I might do next.

Briefly, I consider going to the library, but I don’t want to run into Jake. I’ve never seen him eat lunch in the cafeteria, so that has to be where he goes. We haven’t spoken since he stalked out of my house the night of the Founder’s Ball, and something tells me we never will again.

Can’t exactly blame him.

It’s almost a reprieve to hide in the upstairs girl’s bathroom after third period. Nobody ever comes up here, because the air-conditioner blew out after the winter and never got fixed. The slatted windows near the ceiling are the only source of ventilation.

Only burnouts come to this bathroom because they’ll claim any empty place to use for getting high, but they also won’t skip lunch. With the pipes dried out from disuse, it smells like sewer gas and ditch weed pretty much all the time.

I should have the place to myself for at least twenty minutes.

A burst of hot fetid air greets me as the wooden door creaks open. The smell isn’t so bad if you only breathe through your mouth.

Clearly, I’m willing to trade a lot for peace and quiet right now.

It takes a second for me to realize I’m not alone. Someone is crying in the last stall. I try to catch the door before it bangs shut, but I’m not quick enough. The sound echoes off the tile, and the sobbing immediately cuts off.

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