Speechless

Everyone knows that Chelsea Knot can’t keep a secret

Until now. Because the last secret she shared turned her into a social outcast—and nearly got someone killed.

Now Chelsea has taken a vow of silence—to learnto keep her mouth shut, and to stop hurting anyone else. And if she thinks keeping secrets is hard, not speaking up when she’s ignored, ridiculed and even attacked is worse.

But there’s strength in silence, and in the new friends who are, shockingly, coming her way— people she never noticed before; a boy she might even fall for. If only her new friends can forgive what she’s done. If only she can forgive herself.

Awards and praise for Hannah Harrington’s debut novel Saving June

A VOYA Perfect Ten title

Gold medalist in the Moonbean Children’s Book Awards for Young Adult Fiction—Mature Issues

“Saving June should become a movie someday—it even includes its own soundtrack.”

—VOYA

“Harper’s voice rings true, and readers looking for a mildly steamy romance (with more than a splash of alcohol, smoking and sex) won’t be disappointed.”

—Kirkus

“An incredible debut. Like the best of songs, it brings tears to your eyes and makes you smile. Like the best road trip stories, it takes you on a vivid journey that you don’t want to end.”

—Stephanie Kuehnert, author of Ballads of Suburbia

“With a powerful story, characters that truly come alive and a romance worth swooning over, Saving June is a fresh, fun and poignant book that I couldn’t tear myself away from.”

—Kody Keplinger, author of The DUFF

“Hannah Harrington weaves a fast-paced and heartfelt story about first loss and first loves. Readers will adore following a protagonist as real and raw as Harper Scott…a tender, funny and moving debut. I couldn’t put it down!”

—Courtney Summers, author of Cracked Up to Be and Some Girls Are

“Wow. This novel truly blew me away…a beautiful coming of age story.”

—Reading Lark blog

“We both absolutely loved this book. It was realistic, it was heart-wrenching.”

—Books to the Sky blog

Speechless

Hannah Harrington

www.miraink.co.uk

For Paula

Contents

In Which National Geographic Inadvertently Changes My Life

Six Hours Later

Three Days Later

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

Day Six

Day Seven

Day Eight

Day Nine

Day Twelve

Day Fifteen

Day Eighteen

Day Twenty

Day Twenty-One

Day Twenty-Four

Days Twenty-Eight & Twenty-Nine

Day Thirty-One

Day Thirty-Two

Day Thirty-Three

Day Thirty-Four

Day Thirty-Five

Acknowledgments

Speechless Reader Guide

Questions for Discussion

Q & A with Hannah Harrington

in which

national geographic

inadvertently changes

my life

Keeping secrets isn’t my specialty. It never has been, ever since kindergarten when I found out Becky Swanson had a crush on Tommy Barnes, and I managed to circulate that fact to the entire class, including Tommy himself, within our fifteen minute recess—a pretty impressive feat, in retrospect. That was ten years ago, and it still may hold the record for my personal best.

The secret I have right now is so, so much juicier than that. I’m just about ready to burst at the seams.

“Will you stop the teasing already?” Kristen says. We’re in her bedroom where I’m helping her decide on an outfit for tonight—a drawn-out process when your wardrobe is as massive as hers. “It’s annoying. Just tell me.”

Kristen is not a patient person. I realize I’ve been pushing it by alluding to my newfound information over the past twenty minutes without actually divulging anything. Of course I’m going to tell her; she’s my best friend, and I can’t keep it to myself much longer without truly pissing her off. A pissed-off Kristen is not a fun Kristen. Still, it’s rare for me to have the upper hand with her, so I can’t help but hold it over her head just a little.

“I don’t know,” I say innocently. “I’m not sure you can handle it....”

She turns around from where she’s digging through her closet and chucks a black leather sandal at me. I shield my face with both hands, laughing as the shoe bounces off one arm and onto the mattress. Kristen props a hand on her narrow hip and cocks her head at me, her glossy, shoulder-length blond hair swaying with the motion.

“You’re building this up way too much,” she says. She yanks out a shimmery red top from her closet before facing me again. “I bet whatever it is, it’s completely lame.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll keep it to myself.” When she glares at me, I just smile in return and say, “Don’t wear that. That baby-doll cut looks like something out of the maternity section.”

She hangs the top back up and comes over to the bed, flopping down on her stomach next to me. “Spill,” she whines, the previous iciness dissolving into borderline desperation. This is as close as Kristen ever gets to groveling. “Otherwise I’m uninviting you from the party.”

The threat can’t be real—Kristen knows I’ve been looking forward to her New Year’s Eve party for over a month now. She even helped concoct the cover story necessary to convince my mother to let me come over to her house despite the grounding I received after my parents saw my latest report card. Like I’m ever going to need geometry in real life anyway.

Even though Kristen can be…touchy, she wouldn’t uninvite me from the party over something like this—but I decide it’s better to cave already than to test her on it.

“Okay, okay,” I relent. “I’ll tell you.”

She breaks into a grin and scoots closer to me. I like having her attention like this; Kristen is easily bored, so when I do get her full focus, it makes me feel like I’m doing something right. She is, after all, one of—if not the—most popular girls in the sophomore class, if you keep track of that sort of thing, which I do. She’s used to people fawning all over her to get on her good side. I’ve been on her good side for almost two years now, and I intend to stay there.

I’d better make this good.

“So I met up with Megan today because she wanted me to help her pick out new shoes, right?” I start. “She also wanted to bitch to me about Owen, because he totally blew her off last weekend and they’ve been fighting a lot, and she’s wondering if she should break up with him.”

Kristen’s mouth tugs into a frown. “Um, yawn. I already know this.”

“I’m not done yet,” I assure her. “Anyway, so Megan brings along Tessa Schauer, which…whatever. She’s annoying, but I can deal. We shop for a while and everything’s fine, and then I remember I need to call my mom about picking stuff up from the dry cleaners, except I’m an idiot who didn’t charge my phone and the battery’s dead. I ask Tessa if I can borrow hers since she’s right there, and she hands it off and walks away. I call my mom, and then I’m about to give it back, but I decided to look through the pictures on the phone because I’m nosy like that, and…” I pause for a moment, just to draw out the anticipation.

“And…?” Kristen prompts. She’s totally hanging on to every word.

“And,” I say, “the first one I see? It’s of Tessa. With Owen. Looking very…shall we say…friendly.”

Her eyes widen. “How friendly?” she asks.

I dig my phone out of my pocket and toss it at her. “Look for yourself.”

I watch in amusement as she fumbles with my phone, scrolling through my text messages. “Shut up,” she gasps, looking back up at me. “You forwarded the pictures to yourself?”

“Duh.”

“Won’t Tessa know?”

I’m a little insulted by the question, to be honest. Of course I thought ahead. I’m not an amateur. “I deleted the sent texts,” I explain. “She’ll have no idea.”

“That is…” Kristen pauses, and then grins up at me. “Totally brilliant.”

I take the phone back and look at the screen, where the high-angled self-portrait of Tessa and Owen midkiss stares back at me. So tacky. Not just the picture, or how Owen’s mouth is open so wide I can actually see his tongue entering Tessa’s mouth (gross, gross, gross), but making out with your alleged best friend’s boyfriend behind her back? That’s just classless. I would never in a million years hook up with Kristen’s boyfriend, Warren Snyder, while she’s dating him. Okay, I would never hook up with him, period, because he’s a sleaze, but that’s beside the point. The point is, some things are sacred.

“She’s a shitty friend,” I tell Kristen. “I can’t believe she did that to Megan.” There’s no way Megan will forgive her when she finds out. She’s dated Owen for over a year, and Tessa’s been her best friend for longer than that. An entire friendship down the drain, all because Tessa couldn’t keep her hands off Owen. No boy is worth that. Not even Brendon Ryan, whom I would do a number of immoral and insane things for, and who is quite possibly the love of my life, even if he doesn’t know it yet. We’ve been caught in a wildly passionate, completely one-sided affair since freshman year.

“Tessa Schauer is a slutty bitch. I hope Megan kicks her ass,” Kristen says. “When are you going to tell her?”

“Tonight, probably.” Megan and Tessa will both be at the party, so I’ll have to find a way to corner Megan alone and break the news. Tessa will know it’s me, even if I erased my tracks, but whatever. Who cares? Snooping on someone’s phone is a far more minor offense than slutting around with your best friend’s boyfriend. No one will have sympathy for her.

Kristen rolls off the bed and stands in front of her full-length mirror, fiddling with the ends of her perfect hair. “You know, you could have some fun with this,” she muses.

I sit up. “How?”

“If you tell Tessa you know about her and Owen, I bet she’d do just about anything to keep you from sharing that with Megan.”

“Like blackmail?” I frown. “I don’t know…”

“I’m just saying,” Kristen says, “I know for a fact that she has a fake ID. She was attention-whoring like crazy, showing it off to everyone who would listen in Econ last week. Maybe you could convince her to hook up the two of us with our own.”

Interesting idea. Except—

“What would we do with a fake ID?” I ask. Buying booze is the obvious answer, but while Kristen might pass for twenty-one with the right push-up bra and a pair of heels, there’s no way I could. I am much less…developed than her.

“Well, I could go to Rave with Warren, for starters,” she says. “You only have to be eighteen to get in.”

Rave is this nightclub in Westfield, the next town over. Warren turned eighteen last month and went there to celebrate, and wouldn’t shut up about it for two weeks. I have to admit, it would be interesting to see what all the fuss is about.

And if it’s important to Kristen, then it’s important to me.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I tell her, and by the way Kristen smiles at me, I know that was exactly what she wanted to hear.

six hours later

I don’t know how I’m going to talk myself out of this one.

My phone buzzes insistently in my hand, like it knows I’m trying to avoid it. A glance at the front screen confirms my impending doom: MOM flashes there like it’s mocking me. Crap.

Kristen nudges me in the rib cage with her elbow. “Who the hell is calling you?” she demands. “Everyone worth knowing is already here.”

It’s true; the party is in full swing, the room filled with half of Grand Lake High’s student body—well, the half that matters, anyway—and loud music. It’s no secret Kristen Courteau throws the best parties. Absentee parents, an older brother who has no problem supplying minors with alcohol, a big house with a top-notch stereo system—it’s everything a group of rowdy sixteen-year-olds could ask for.

On this couch I’m packed in tight like a sardine, stuck between Kristen and Brendon Ryan. Brendon Ryan, the last person I want knowing that my mother is calling to check up on me.

“It’s my mom,” I explain, leaning my head close to hers to be heard over the racket and praying that Brendon is too absorbed in downing his beer to pay attention. “She’ll be pissed if I don’t answer.”

“Then answer it,” Kristen says, like it’s that simple.

“And have her hear all this?” I shake my head. “She’ll kill me!”

“Fine, then don’t answer it.” Kristen rolls her eyes and knocks back the rest of her drink. Somehow she manages to look good doing even that. “I’m getting more beer,” she informs me, peeling herself off the couch and dancing her way across the room to the cooler and abandoning me to resolve this problem on my own. Sometimes Kristen can be such a bitch. If she wasn’t my best friend, I’d probably hate her.

Next to me, Brendon curls his hand over the cap of my shoulder and leans in close to my ear. Normally I’d be thrilled because a) Brendon Ryan is touching me, b) his near proximity means I can smell him, and c) BRENDON RYAN IS TOUCHING ME OH MY GOD (!!!), but I can’t even savor the moment because I’m too panicked. Also, tonight he reeks too much of beer and cloying cologne. This is a disappointment because I always assumed that a perfect creature such as Brendon would smell of spring rain and mountain breezes and other heavenly aromas.

“Hey,” he says, his breath warm against my ear, and oh, yeah, that’s enough to send my already racing pulse into overdrive. “I bet if you go down the hall it’ll be quieter.”

It’s a no-brainer suggestion, really, but in that moment, I feel like Brendon is a certified genius for coming up with it. Maybe it’s due to the fact that when I’m anywhere within a six-foot radius of Brendon I lose all ability to think coherently. Well, okay, the Jell-O shot I kicked back ten minutes ago probably isn’t helping matters.

“Yes,” I finally choke out once I realize I’ve spent the last several seconds staring into his brain-melty hazel eyes with my mouth hanging open like the love-struck idiot I am. “Good idea.”

I push myself off the couch, stumble past the cluster of barely clothed freshman girls writhing to some electro dance remix—nasty—and don’t stop until I’ve reached the end of the hallway. Of course, even down here I can feel vibrations from the stereo’s pulsating bass. My phone stopped ringing a while ago. Great. Now I need to come up with an excuse to explain why I didn’t answer Mom’s call right away. One that does not involve divulging that I’m at a New Year’s Eve party with a bunch of intoxicated minors.

It’s so stupid. One lousy grade and my parents act like it’s the end of the world. A D- in geometry is not going to ruin my entire life. But of course they don’t see it that way. The only reason I was allowed over to Kristen’s at all was under the pretense that we’d be babysitting her younger cousins. If Mom finds out what’s really going on, there’ll be hell to pay.

I open the hall closet and lock myself inside; at least the door blocks some of the sound from the raging party. My phone starts ringing again—Mom, of course. I push aside a broom handle and answer it with the most nonchalant hello I can muster.

“Chelsea,” she says, and by the way she says my name alone, I can perfectly picture the pinched expression on her face. “Why didn’t you pick up before?”

“Um…” I rack my brain for the first believable excuse. “My phone was at the bottom of my bag, and I couldn’t find it in time. You know my purse…it’s like a black hole.”

“Uh-huh,” she says. I can’t tell if she’s skeptical or if I’m just paranoid.

I perch awkwardly on the edge of a cardboard box, keeping one eye on the door. “So, what’s up?”

“I just thought I’d ask if you could pick up a gallon of milk before you drive home tomorrow morning.” She pauses. “How is the babysitting going?”

“Fine,” I say, though of course as soon as the word leaves my mouth, something crashes in the hallway. I cringe and press a hand to my forehead. This is just perfect.

“What was that?”

I recover without missing a beat. “Oh, just one of the kids causing trouble,” I say. “Probably should’ve skipped the candy after dinner—sugar overload.” I let out a laugh and hope it doesn’t come out too forced. “Actually I should probably go help Kristen wrangle them before they destroy the house.”

“All right,” Mom says, so oblivious I feel kind of bad. But only for a second. Then I’m just relieved that she actually buys my story. “Just make sure to pick up the milk tomorrow.”

“Right. The milk. Got it.” I need to wrap up this call ASAP before someone gives me away. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Mom says, “Have a good night, sweetie,” before hanging up. And I’m in the clear.

Or, almost. I wriggle out of the closet and shut the door behind me, yanking my skirt down and raking my hands through my hair. I spent two hours wrestling with a flat iron to make it straight, and it’s already getting all poofy and gross. Great. I try to smooth it down as best I can, cursing genetics for the millionth time in my life for not gifting me with thin, silky hair like Kristen’s.

“Chelsea?”

I whip around to see Tessa Schauer standing there, peering at me with raised, overly plucked eyebrows. Usually when Tessa looks at me it’s for approval, or else a little fearful, but right now there’s just mild curiosity written across her face.

I don’t like it.

“What?” I snap, and she cringes just the slightest bit. That’s better.

All the bronzer in the world can’t hide her sudden blush. “I was just wondering what you were doing in the closet,” she says.

“None of your business.” No way am I letting Tessa know I’m the kind of loser who needs permission from her parents to do anything. As far as she’s concerned, I do whatever I want, whenever I want.

“Jeez, no need to bite my head off,” she says. “It was just a question.”

“That’s funny, because I have a question for you,” I say. “What’s it like to stab your best friend in the back?”

“What are you talking about?” she scoffs, but I can see the guilt flicker in her eyes. She’s not that smooth.

“I know about you and Owen,” I tell her. Tessa’s eyes go wide, and I take a step closer. “Did you really think you could keep it a secret?”

She backs up, flustered. “I don’t know what you mean,” she lies. “Are you drunk?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” I retort. “What do you think Megan’s going to say when she finds out? Her boyfriend and her best friend. Talk about a knife in the back.”

Finally Tessa drops the innocent act, her jaw tensing with anger. “She won’t believe you.”

“Pictures don’t lie,” I point out.

Realization dawns on her face. “You snooped on my phone.”

I smirk at her. “You should be more careful with your indiscretions,” I say, and pull my phone from my pocket. “What was the point of pictures anyway? Were you going to post them to your Facebook and let Megan find out that way? Maybe I should save you the time and just forward them to her right now....” My thumb hovers over the keypad.

Tessa dives for my phone, but I snatch it back out of reach. Does she seriously think she can wrestle it from me? She really is a low-class bitch.

Now her anger gives way to panic. “Please, don’t tell her,” she begs. “It was so stupid of me, I know, but he said he was going to dump her anyway, and it was just a few times, and…” Her voice wavers. “Please, you can’t tell her—”

“Chill out,” I snap, just so she’ll stop this sniveling display of desperation. The secondhand embarrassment is killing me. “You look so pathetic right now.”

“I know you don’t like me, Chelsea,” she says, wiping away a stray tear from under one eye. “But please, don’t do this. Megan’s my best friend.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you stuck your tongue down her boyfriend’s throat.”

Tessa flinches. “You can’t tell her,” she says again. “You can’t.”

“Okay,” I say.

“‘Okay’?” she echoes. Cautious optimism creeps into her voice. “So you won’t say anything?”

“As long as you do something for me.”

* * *

By the time I return to the living room, Kristen’s over in the corner, wrapped around Warren. I don’t have to look around to know there’s more than one girl in this room staring in envy. Warren’s a senior, star of the basketball team, tall with broad shoulders and just enough stubble to make him look older and more mature than he is. And Kristen is—well, Kristen. Blonde, blue-eyed, curvy in all the right places and skinny in all the others, so pretty it hurts. Standing next to her is always a blow to the self-esteem.

I’ll never know exactly why Kristen made me her project, but she did. All through middle school I’d been intimidated by her from a safe distance, until eighth grade, when the seating assignment for biology designated us as lab partners. Not only did Kristen acknowledge my existence, but somehow over the course of the year, she started inviting me over to her house and to the mall, passing me notes between classes, saving me a spot at her lunch table, and before I knew it we were friends. Not just friends, but best friends.

Being Kristen’s best friend has its benefits—everyone knowing your name, invites to just about every social gathering (or at least all the ones worth attending), and a built-in social circle. The same social circle that includes Brendon Ryan, who could easily be my soul mate. That is, if I could get him to notice me.

I turn my head and there he is, refilling his cup of beer at the table with Natalie Thomas glued to his side. Ugh, I can’t stand Natalie. She used to be Kristen’s best friend, before I came along; she’d never say it to my face, but I know she secretly resents me for that. She’s such a hanger-on, one with a notorious habit of flirting with all the guys within a five-mile radius—regardless of whether they have girlfriends or not.

Tonight she’s donned this bright neon-green glittery dress that would cause irreversible retinal damage to look at directly, and it comes down only to the very tops of her thighs. So, so trashy. She makes me want to vom.

Brendon Ryan is too good for her. Brendon Ryan is classy. He wears preppy polo shirts and button-downs with sweaters over them and styles his dark blond hair perfectly so it looks messy, but in a purposeful way. He’s student council president and always raises his hand in class before speaking, and instead of chewing gum he prefers mints, which he carries around in this tiny tin case. I’ve been in love with him ever since the first week of freshman year when he turned around in the seat in front of me in homeroom and offered me one, flashing that dazzling smile of his. Everything about Brendon oozes effortless cool. Unlike all the try-hard jocks Kristen and I tend to associate with.

If Natalie thinks she has her sights set on Brendon, she has another think coming.

I march right up there and position myself between the two of them. It’s a tight squeeze, but one I manage to pull off by pretending I am in dire need of more pretzels.

“Hi!” I say to Brendon.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. “How’d that phone call go?”

“I managed to pull it off. Thanks to you.”

Natalie leans over to me as I pop a handful of pretzels into my mouth. “You’re really pigging out there, aren’t you?” she comments. “Try and leave some for the rest of us.”

“I see someone left the gates open,” I mutter under my breath. I study her botched blond dye job, as tacky as the rest of her look, and add, “Wow, Natalie, I didn’t know brassy roots were in this season. Is trailer-trash chic back in style?”

Natalie scowls at me in return. “I’m surprised you have an opinion,” she says. “Aren’t you supposed to just be Kristen’s little mouthpiece? Enjoy it while you can—she’ll throw you away like she does everyone else soon enough.”

“Hmm, shouldn’t you be stocking up on more hooker heels?” I shoot back. I let my eyes travel down to the ones she has on and smirk. “Leopard print? Keeping it classy, I see.”

She glares and makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, but it does the trick—she spins around and stalks off, wobbling. Whether that’s due to her drunkenness or the height of her stupid heels, I can’t be sure.

Brendon looks at me, miffed. “That was kind of rude.”

“Me or her?” I ask.

“Both, actually.”

“She started it,” I reply. “Besides, maybe I’d be nicer to her if she dressed a little better.” It would also help if she stayed away from Brendon and didn’t get her slutty germs all over him. Natalie is the kind of girl who can give you an STD from eye contact alone.

“I think she dresses just fine.”

Warren’s voice from behind me makes me jump a little, and I whirl to see him standing there with Kristen and his friend Joey Morgan. Kristen smacks him hard on the shoulder, and Warren in turn grabs her in a greedy kiss, which she readily reciprocates. Gross. Those two are always slobbering all over each other. Get a room already.

“I don’t know, man,” Brendon says. “Personally I prefer something left to the imagination.”

He winks at me, and the surge of butterflies in my stomach is so strong I think I may throw up right there. I need something to calm my nerves. The most obvious remedy is more alcohol. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.

Two Jell-O shots later and I’m thinking about what Natalie said—about me being Kristen’s mouthpiece. I know that’s how I’m seen, and if I’m being honest with myself, it’s kind of true. It’s no secret that Kristen is the ringleader of our social group. The real thing that’s bugging me is what she said about me being tossed aside. Being Kristen’s friend is a balancing act, yes, but it’s one I’ve pulled off for a few years; if she wanted to get rid of me, she would’ve by now.

I don’t know why Natalie’s stupid comment is annoying me so much. After all, it’s Natalie; her opinion doesn’t matter.

Brendon hands me another shot, and I notice his outstretched arm is a perfect golden tan.

“God, you’re tan,” I tell him, running my fingers over his wrist and marveling at the deep red-brown shade. His skin feels hot to the touch, and the butterflies in my stomach flutter again.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “I spent Christmas in Miami with my grandparents.”

“Oooh, nice!” I look at my own arm and cringe. “I’m so pasty,” I moan, and Kristen laughs.

“You’re such a ginger,” she says. She lowers her voice like she’s confiding a secret. “Still, it could be worse. So I’m in the locker room before P.E. the other day, right? Steph Lidell comes in and starts changing right next to me, and she takes off her sweater, and I am, like, blinded by orange.”

This isn’t news to me. Steph sits in front of me in Geometry, and whenever she passes back papers, I get a full view of her streaky orange hands. Still, I know better than to point out that it’s totally old news. Kristen doesn’t like being one-upped when she’s telling a story.

“It’s already bad enough that she has that fried, bleached-out hair, but a gross spray tan? Really?” Kristen shakes her head sadly. “It was horrible. I mean, she’s like seven feet tall! So she’s just this giant orange giraffe who smells bad. Like some weird combination of mustard and sweat or something. Seriously, I almost passed out.” She laughs, then sighs and adds, “I swear, it was tragic.”

“Seriously tragic,” I agree, tipping the Jell-O shot back until it slides down my throat, weirdly warm and cold at the same time. These things are like ninety percent vodka. As it hits my stomach, I shake my head hard and grimace.

Joey claps me so hard on the back I nearly choke. “You drunk yet, Chelsea?”

Yes, actually, I am. More than a little. I turn around to face Joey, and the room spins around me. Maybe that last shot wasn’t such a good idea. I’m really feeling it now.

Joey slides his hand up and hangs his arm loosely over my shoulders. I hope he doesn’t think we’re hooking up tonight. I’ve made out with him a few times, but never actually enjoyed it. Kristen keeps pushing me toward him, though, with the hope that if I start dating Warren’s best friend we can all go out on double dates. I might be on board with this plan if I found Joey even remotely attractive, but to me he’s just another beefy, boneheaded jock. He’s definitely no Brendon Ryan. The fact that he’s pulling me in under his sweaty armpit makes me want to puke.

No, wait, that’s the alcohol.

“Um…” I shrug out from under Joey’s grip. “I think I’m gonna—” I stop and clutch one hand over my swirling stomach.

My nausea must show in my face because Kristen laughs and says, “Oh, my God, if you puke on my carpet I’m going to be so pissed!”

Brendon looks at me, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I insist. My stomach, however, does not agree. “I just need to… Bathroom. Bathroom would be good.”

I bolt out of the room, shove past two juniors molesting each other on the staircase and take the steps two at a time. When I reach the top, I see a line of bored-looking girls outside the bathroom. Yeah, I don’t know if I can wait that long. I’m definitely not willing to take the risk.

There’s another bathroom in the guest room, I know, and Kristen won’t mind if I use it. I rush to the end of the hallway and throw open the door without a second thought. Before I take more than a step in, I’m stopped in my tracks by what I see. Someone else is already in here.

Two someones.

I’ve never seen guys together. Not like this. The two boys are entangled, one lying on top of the other, panting hard. The dark-haired boy on top has his hand in the hair of the blond boy underneath him. The telltale sound of jeans being unzipped makes me gasp; the blond boy must hear it, because his head jerks up and his eyes meet mine, and I realize I know him. It’s Noah Beckett. We’re not friends, exactly, but we’re in the same grade. I sat next to him in Spanish last year. He used to let me borrow his pencils, and now he’s making out with some guy I don’t recognize in my best friend’s guest room.