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Which, go figure, is the exact thing I’m thinking when Charlotte Pascal
slithers up with her cronies.
“Oh god,” Danielle says, forgetting herself. “Come back later, Pascal,
we’re closed to bullshit right now.”
My group snickers with laughter. Charlotte’s cheeks color pink, but her
vicious eyes stay planted on us. “I just wanted to congratulate you,
Danielle. It’s nice to see another hardworking female athlete nominated.”
My classmates, sensing a bloodbath, start to gather round. The parking
lot quiets. Our circle of onlookers grows.
“You can stop baiting me with that word now,” Irene says in a bored
voice. “We’re celebrating, Char. You should be doing the same thing. Go
have fun.”
“I can’t believe you got a nomination,” Charlotte says in a slippery
voice. “Especially when it’s clear you were trying to leverage gay points for
the sympathy vote.”
A hush falls over the crowd. My pulse quickens warningly.
“I’m not interested in your opinion of my sexuality,” Irene says
smoothly. “I know who I am and how I feel.”
“Yeah, see, that’s just not adding up for me. I think you were using
Zajac. We all remember the tow truck incident, Irene. How do you go from
terrorizing the poor girl to showing her off like arm candy? But I know how
calculating you can be. You’re savvy enough to spin a story for your own
gain. You took an underdog—an obviously gay underdog—and used her
like an accessory to show that you learned your lesson, you could relate to
everyone, you were a poor closeted gay girl—”
“That’s a complete lie!” I say, losing my temper. “God, Charlotte, why
are you so hell-bent on torturing her?”
Charlotte narrows her eyes like I’m an insect that has suddenly become
interesting to her. “I’m hell-bent on proving she’s a fraud. And so are you. I
don’t know what’s in it for you with this whole scheme, but I do know
you’re faking it. You don’t care about Irene. You’re in it for something else
entirely. And I can prove it.”
She whips out her phone. Irene and I lock eyes. An infinite conversation
passes between us.