Page 72 of Perfect on Paper

Brougham slowed to a stop as soon as he noticed me, and swam over to the edge of the pool. “Hey.”

I dropped down to a crouch, careful not to let the hem of my skirt touch the wet ground. “Hey. Can we talk?”

He bobbed in the water, considering. “Yeah, I can spare a few minutes.”

Gee, how generous. I hopped backward while he hoisted himself out of the pool, and did my very best not to stare at the water droplets dripping down his torso, running over the smooth curve of muscles on his slim back.

He snatched a towel from the stands and rubbed it over his body haphazardly before slinging it over his shoulders. If this is how he dried himself off, no wonder his clothes were soaked through the day I’d met him. “What’s up?”

I lowered my voice. It was an unnecessary precaution,given I was pretty sure the person swimming in the far lane couldn’t eavesdrop with his ears underwater, but it felt respectful anyway. “I’m sorry about the other day.”

Brougham’s face was, as usual, expressionless. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

He paused, and I realized after a beat he was waiting for me to say something. That was fair. I had told him I’d get back to him, after all.

But instead of speaking, I totally froze.

He was looking at me, and the tiniest fleck of hope or expectation flickered across his features, and words failed me. It was like preparing to give a speech to a crowded auditorium, then freaking out at the mic. I had no clue where this fear had sprouted from. All I knew was it was paralyzing.

Brougham’s face went default blank again, and he cleared his throat before speaking in a dull tone. “Just… to check in, to make sure we’re on the same page… The other day was weird, but I don’t think it meant anything to either of us, right?”

So that hadn’t been hope on his face. I’d just been reading what I wanted to see again. As quickly and as enthusiastically as I could, praying my face didn’t betray my bewilderment, I nodded. “Right.”

“Okay, good. Because, um, Win asked me to go to prom with her. As her date. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t weird.” He searched my face.

Win.

Since when did he call her Win?

And since when was he back on theWintrain?

It was weird it was weird it was weird it was—

“Not weird at all,” I squeaked, twisting my face into what I hoped was a delighted smile. Because I washappyfor him.I’d helped him, and I’d gotten him what he wanted, and I wasnot going to embarrass myselfby admitting I thought the other day meant something.Why did you kiss me, if you still wanted her?I wanted to ask. But I already knew the answer. I was there. I was a distraction. I was a stand-in. I knew how he felt about Winona. I couldn’t be surprised, could I?

I almost tried to figure out a way to change the subject, to confirm that everything was okay between us, that we hadn’t broken something that should’ve been unbreakable Tuesday. But he’d set his towel down and turned back to the pool, impatient. He wasn’t in the mood for a chat. So, instead, I said, “I’ll leave you to it.”

And he nodded. “Cool. See ya. And thanks again.”

Thanks again.

Thanks again.

There was nothing else I could do except duck my head, shove my fisted hands inside my blazer pockets, and walk back to Mom.

I spent the next two weeks flatlining.

Even though Brooke and I hung out as often as we ever had—before Ray, anyway—our conversations were falling to listlessness. We didn’t talk about Brougham, and we couldn’t talk about Ray without Brooke getting emotional and me inwardly disintegrating from guilt, so we avoided the subjects.

Honestly, I disintegrated into guilt several times a day as it was. It was getting harder and harder for me to look Brooke in the eyes and pretend her heartache had nothing to do with me. I’d ruined things between Brougham and me, and IknewI had to tell Brooke what I did to her, but Icouldn’t bear to ruin us, too, so I kept putting it off, day by day. I kept telling myself the timing didn’t feel right, but, honestly, it was mostly that I didn’t want her to know I was a terrible person who did awful things.

I didn’t want to think of myself that way. In my own head, I was the hero, a good person. I’d always been the hero. I was nice (wasn’t I?) and I tried my best to do the right thing (usually). But you weren’t a good person because you wanted to be. You were a good person when you did good things. And I’d done some bad, bad things to the people I was meant to care about most.

To add to my self-made purgatory, every time I caught a fleeting glance of Brougham, it felt like getting an electric shock. Brougham mediating a game of keep-away between Hunter, Luke, and Finn in the halls. Brougham chasing down a teacher between classes to clarify something, his face earnest and posture respectful. Brougham grabbing books from his locker, lost in his own thoughts.

He never looked at me. I might’ve been invisible. Just an ornament decorating the halls, blending into the navy.

One afternoon, as Mom drove me home from school, even she caught on to my foul mood about it all. I didn’t want to dump on her with all my shit: she dealt with high school drama all day every day. The last thing she needed was me piling it on more when she got home. But honestly, it hadn’t occurred to me that she’d notice—it’s not like she usually did—so I hadn’t put on a convincing act.

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