Sweet Like Revenge

VI - Fall Like Thunder

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then

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A lie said once is a proposal. Quiet, brittle, easily disputed.

But if a lie tastes good, if it's spilled from pretty lips and repeated by the masses, it might just become illusory truth.

The girl in the mirror was almost completely unrecognizable, her mouth painted like cotton candy from a childhood long forgotten. Blushing pink rouge danced on usually bare cheeks, a dash of mascara combed through virgin lashes.

I grabbed my purse from the foot of my bed, popping Nate's green jacket inside with care. It had hung on my closet door all weekend, a reminder of what he'd done for me under the bleachers the past Friday night.

"You look pretty," my mother cooed, trailing me to the door. Her smile was hopeful, her eyes twinkling as they digested the color palette of my outfit — a far cry from my usual beige-on-beige. I just prayed that her eyes stayed far away from the neckline of my tank top, where one of her pinhole cameras was tucked beneath my new polka dot scarf.

Tides changed quickly in Irvine, but I knew that whatever Astor had said about me would take longer than a couple of days to wash out to sea. I had hope, of course, that some new and delicious scandal bumped his lie off the headlines, that the name Ana Anderson would be the last on everyone's lips. But for the first time ever, I was almost prepared if it wasn't. I was prepared to stand up for myself, to speak my truth and take the Elites on. Maybe if I showed Astor that he couldn't push me around, that I wasn't his plaything, maybe he'd leave me alone. Maybe Sienna would, too.

That's all I ever wanted.

And if worse came to worst, if another Panther tried to corner me the same way that Astor had at school or his redheaded teammate had under the bleachers, that camera was my insurance. That time, I'd have proof, and I'd make sure that no one had a choice but to believe me.

As soon as my new pink sneakers hit the school halls, the whispering began.

"Is that really her?"

"She doesn't seem the type."

"It's always the quiet ones."

"I don't think it's true."

A chorus of crude nicknames, a mixture of outrage and disbelief. Nate was half right. Some people didn't believe Astor. But I was right, too. It didn't make much of a difference.

I clung onto my purse, the knowledge of what was inside sparking determination in my core. I had a Panthers jacket. Not just any Panther, either. The Panther. The queen's Panther. I had a key to the castle, and I was determined to make the most of it. To let the Elites know that they could keep playing their childish games, but that I was playing, too. That I wouldn't sit on the sidelines anymore. Because unlike them, I had something worth playing for.

And I was playing for keeps.

I slammed my locker shut, drowning out the whispers around me. My resolve faltered when I caught a glimpse of the Elites gathered around Sienna's locker — oozing glamor, exuding importance. But my nerve retracted for only a moment before an inhale of fresh air restored my strength.

I opened my purse. I draped Nate's jacket between my clasped fingers. And then I did something that a commoner should never do. I broke the barrier between us and them.