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“I have no comment.” He slams the laptop lid down and swivels to me, a dumbass deer in the headlights.
Oh shit.I can’t believe I convinced myself that Corrine was the only obstacle in a potential relationship with Holden. Up until now, I was still working on this documentary behind his back—using his little brother to tug on heartstrings, fabricating a financial struggle to make him relatable. All my manipulation comes flashing forward and I’m stunned into paralysis. Why did I do that? Why did I do that to Holden and why am I only really feeling bad, realizing the consequences, now that it’s come to light? Now that I have him to lose as something other than a friend? Is it because I lost him before and survived? I don’t think I can this time.
Everything I did was to make the documentary better. One tweak here, one lie there, color correction to make it consistent.It was okay when it was just me and Admissions. It was our secret, a harmless one that wouldn’t ever come back to haunt me. I didn’t mean forthisto happen.
“I can explain.”
His tone is hard, sharp. “I’m sure you can’t.”
I reach for his hand, but he pulls away, standing in one swift motion. “Holden. I didn’t know. I didn’t know why you wanted the headset.”
“I’m supposed to forgive you then, because you didn’t know? You knew that I wanted them, and you almost had them, but then—what?”
“I just—I panicked. It was about to be over and then I wouldn’t get to see you all the time anymore. Look at this whole story we created after you lost. I found the heartafterthe contest.”
“Oh, please,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t lie. I know when you’re lying, Saine. You’ve always been a bad actress.”
With my heart threatening to hammer its way through my rib cage, I take one steadying breath. “Thatisthe truth. Part of it. But there was nothing to your story, because you didn’t tell me the truth. I couldn’t let you have a happy ending. You didn’t earn it and my documentary would have been boring. It was like, in that moment, you getting the prize would mean menotgetting into Temple.”
“Tell me this is a bad joke.”
I focus on the ground. “I needed an excuse to be around you, to keep working on the documentary.”
“You didn’t. You didn’t need an excuse. You could have justasked me. I wanted to be your friend again so badly, I wanted you, and you, you didthis.” He attacks the tears shedding from his eyes with careless hands. “You’re so selfish. You’ve always been so selfish. It’s always about what you want.”
“I didn’t know.” My voice breaks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but as soon as I knew, I tried to fix it.”
“Fix it? The only thing you tried to fix was your documentary.” He pulls my camera from the tripod and stuffs it into my hands; I nearly drop it. “Good luck finishing now. I’m out.”
“You’re out?” I track his progress as he tears down the lighting equipment. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not filming anymore. And you can’t use me and my brother as some plot device to get you into school. I’mdone.”
“It’s so much better, the story going this way.” I ball my free hand into a fist. “Youearnthe ending. There’s nothing exciting about just getting the headset. At least Lada had something she wanted to prove; even when I tried tomakea plot about a financial struggle with your family, it wasn’t special. This plot with Trevor is so compelling—”
“Not everything has to be a fucking story! Sometimes someone just gets something they want without having to jump through unnecessary hoops. Maybe just going for the thing means they’ve earned it. Stop trying to play the director of my life.” He thrusts a hand into his hair. “I can’t believe I thought this could work. I can’t believe I forgot how you’re always looking out for yourself first. To call Trevor aplot. And on top of manipulating this thing by losing the contest, you were lyingabout why I was doing it? For money?”
It hurts. It does. I didn’t think making one little decision would end up like this. I didn’t know it would affect Trevor. I didn’tknowand it’s like he’s not hearing me, not caring that it was an accident. He just wants to be mad and that makes me mad.
He points to the door leading to the stairs. “You need to leave.”
“Holden.”
He turns back to his equipment, throwing the pieces onto his bed. “Go on. Leave.”
“Please turn around and talk to me—”
“You’re used to doing things behind my back; this won’t be any different.”
