Once I’m out of the shower, I throw on the first pair of non-jeans I can find: Yellow, wide-legged linen trousers. My black silk tee from last night is wrinkled, so I hang it in the shower and turn on the hot water while I apply tinted moisturizer and a little blush. Spritz my damp hair with sea salt spray and even manage a little mascara. By the time I’ve finished brushing my teeth, the tee is still wrinkled. I toss it on, grab the sandals by the door, and am back in the car in less than 12 minutes, according to my cell phone. For the first time this morning, I notice a barrage of texts from Gwen and Waverly. I ignore them. I can explain at lunch.
The halls are bustling when I get to school, my chest burning from the parking lot-to-classroom sprint.
“Woah, Ms. Sloane! You okay?” Josh Marville asks when I barely avoid slamming into him outside my classroom.
“Yeah. Yes. Of course, Josh. Just… running a little late.” A bead of water slips down the back of my neck. I give my hair a shake.
“Oh.” He tries to hide a smile. “’Cause, um, you know you still have ten minutes ‘till the first bell, right?”
“Right. Of course,” I lie. “Just wanted to make sure I was here in case anybody needed extra help. Need any extra help, Josh?”
“Nah. I’m good.”
“Okay, then. Well, I’ll take that as a sign that I’m doing my job.” I give him a quick smile, then dive into my classroom, slamming the door against the noise behind me.
“Well, well, well.” I hear Waverly’s voice before I see her, sitting with her coffee in the first desk by the window. Gwen’s sitting on my desk in a black shift dress and ankle boots, flipping through my textbook. “Look who’s not dead in a ditch somewhere, Gwennie!”
Gwen closes the textbook hard enough to make me jump.
“Oh, God. I’m—I should have texted you.” I glance back and forth between them. They both look pissed. “I just… I forgot, and then I fell asleep, and this morning I was running so late that I…” My protests sound pathetic, so I stop. Tuck my bag under my desk and slide next to Gwen. “I should have called. I’m really, really sorry.”
“Or even answered a text, Elle.” Gwen’s tone is harsh. “You could have been in trouble, and we wouldn’t have known until this morning. That’s really shitty.” Her eyes are glassy.
“I know. I just saw the texts a few minutes ago. I’m so sorry.” I rest my head on her shoulder and wrap my arms around her waist, squeezing tight. “It will never happen again.”
“We’ll forgive you,” Waverly says curtly, “if you tell us exactly where you were. And who you were with.” She crosses her legs, uncrosses them, then crosses them again. “Okay.” I straighten up and hop off the desk. No reason to be within arm’s length of either of them when I drop the bomb. “But don’t freak out. There’s more to this story than you guys know.”
“WE KNEW IT!” Waverly’s voice is shrill enough to crack a window. “You were with HIM? How could you go over there, after everything he did to you?”
I glance at Gwen.
“I kind of want to know the same thing,” she says sharply.
“I know, I know. It seems bad. But he’s not married and I just read the whole situation wrong and nothing happened last night. We were talking and we fell asleep. I swear, I’ll explain everything when we have time.” My eyes linger on Gwen. I know I should have called, but isn’t she overreacting?
“No wife?” Waverly’s nose crinkles. “Wait. What?”
“It’s not what we thought. Not what I thought. I’ll explain tonight. Let me make it up to you. I’ll make you guys dinner.”
“But he still lied to you, right?” Gwen asks.
“What do you mean, dinner? Like takeout?” Waverly says skeptically.
“No, I mean I’ll cook for you. And we’ll have dessert.” I ignore Gwen’s question. I know Luke lied. Or at least, he didn’t tell me everything. But to blame him for that would be hypocritical. And I want to believe that lies of omission aren’t really lies. They’re necessary survival tactics.
“What about booze?” Gwen narrows her eyes at me playfully. “Will there be booze at this apology dinner? Booze and dessert and groveling?”
“Wine. Cocktails. Chocolate. Groveling. Whatever you want,” I promise.
“Okay. We’re in,” Waverly announces as the bell rings. My door flies open and a student stampede spills inside.
“Gotta go. I’ve got AP Lit.” Gwen slides off the desk and points a finger at one of the students in the back. “Rob Feinman! That better not be gum in your mouth. And if it is, it better not be strawberry gum, because I will be forced to confiscate the rest of the pack immediately!”