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“I plan to. But in a nice way,” I add in case she's still worried. Granted, I don’t know for sure whether I’ll be able to make good on it, but she doesn’t need to know. “I’ll let you know when it’s over. Maybe we could go out tonight, grab some drinks to celebrate finally having closure.”
She has no idea how many times I've practiced this in my head since yesterday afternoon. It's been less than twenty-four hours, but I have already gone through countless scenarios in my head. Sure, it would have been nice if I had gotten a little more sleep—my concealer is working overtime on the bags under my eyes—but I may as well be a little kid on Christmas Eve, eagerly awaiting morning. My brain was on overdrive, both anticipating our meeting and dreading it slightly.
I'm only human. Seeing in person the man who made me feel so small and insignificant is bound to stir up mixed emotions.
It wasn't enough that he went out of his way to make fun of me whenever our paths crossed at school. He couldn't leave it there, laughing at me with his friends, asking if my frizzy, uncontrollable curls were a wig, wondering out loud where I found a uniform as big as the one I needed to wear. Even my thick glasses were fodder for his extremely unfunny jokes.
I can still hear echoes of the nasty comments and the laughter from him and his so-called friends, and it makes my shoulders hunch up around my ears the way they did back then. Breathe, girl. You've got this.
Sure, I wasn't the only person he tormented. Anybody even slightly different was a target. Somehow, he seemed to take particular pleasure in taunting me, probably because I was no good at hiding my reactions. No matter how hard I fought, I couldn't keep from tearing up, which only made him laugh harder.
Nothing he did topped my humiliation at the senior dance.
Just thinking about it stirs nausea in my belly. That night, when I was so proud of myself. I’d spent every last penny I had on my dress, and its shimmery, full skirt made me feel like a princess when I zipped it up. I even managed to tame my mane into a soft cloud of curls pinned in place at the nape of my neck.
I felt pretty and classy as I sailed into the decorated gymnasium, my cheeks flushed with excitement. I was so sure everybody would see me through new eyes and wish they had been nicer to me.
And when Sawyer’s eyes widened at the sight of me, I was sure I’d had the intended effect. No, I didn't have a crush on him—not really. That didn't mean it wouldn't have thrilled me to know he thought I looked good for once. For one brief moment, maybe one of the best moments of my young life, I thought I'd won. I’d made my bully see how wrong he was, how he had misjudged me. I was on top of the world.
And it only got better when he approached me toward the end of the night. Even now, the memory of the way he looked that night is crystal clear. Like any girl’s dream come true. His brown eyes were warm and friendly for once, and his generous mouth was set in what looked like a genuine smile rather than a smirk.
I could kick myself now for letting him talk to me in the first place, to say nothing of the way my heart threatened to explode in happiness at the speech he gave me. “Listen. It's almost graduation, and I wouldn't feel right leaving this place if I didn't apologize for what an idiot I've been. Can you ever forgive me for acting like such a douchebag?”
At the time, it was the happiest moment of my life. I'm so sorry for that version of me who wanted so desperately to be liked. Of course, I accepted his apology, and when he asked if I wanted to dance, I just about floated up to the ceiling.
I still remember it so clearly—I can't even remember the last time I’d thought about that night, but it all comes back like it was yesterday. Like the memories have been waiting for me to return to them all these years. The song that was playing, sweet and gentle and a little swoony. Feeling so proud when I noticed everybody looking at us as Sawyer led me out onto the dance floor. The way his much larger hand engulfed mine, and how nice that felt. I was queen of the dance, at least in my wounded heart. I was getting my happy ending.
And that's what I believed right up until the moment we stopped dead in the center of the floor and Sawyer pushed me away from him, laughing. I didn’t understand at first, thinking we were laughing together at how strange it was for the two of us, out of everybody in the school, to end up together on the dance floor.
My laughter didn’t last long.
“She really thinks I want to dance with her!” he shouted to his asshole friends standing around the edges of the floor, watching us closely. “Can you believe this loser?”
Desperate. Deluded. I hear them in my head now, the way the words rang out that night. It seemed to come from all around me, everywhere I turned. Everybody was in on it, or so it felt at the time. Pointing, laughing, while Sawyer made a point of holding his arms out to his sides and puffing out his cheeks while he waddled ungracefully.
“Look at that dress!” he finally shouted, cackling, and all those cruel, stupid people joined in. Even some of the girls laughed—they wore sleek, sophisticated dresses that were probably a little too low-cut for kids our age. None of them wanted to look like a princess. They all wanted to be supermodels. I was a joke to them, too.
And looking back, I was desperate. Insanely desperate for acceptance and friendship. I'd spent my entire time at that school treated like an outsider, somebody who would never be one of them no matter where I went to college.
Look at you now. The voice in my head makes a good point. I can't pretend I haven't thought about those people from time to time as Sarah and I have built our business. Every so often, I'll remember the way it felt when I first started at the academy. Finding out there was no such thing as earning entrance to a rarefied world full of kids who only thought they were hot shit because they happened to be lucky enough to be born who they were, where they were, to whom they were. It had nothing to do with anything they'd earned—at least in my case, I’d earned the right to be there through hard work.
That didn't matter—if anything, they looked down on anybody who took their studies seriously the way I did. The term scholarship student was an insult. At least, that's how it always seemed to me, teased mercilessly, called a bookworm and all other kinds of much more hurtful names.
And now Sawyer needs me. The ringleader, the one person who could have brought it all to an end simply by telling everybody to lay off me. He had that kind of pull, that clout, the son of a billionaire whose money basically kept the school in business.
Sawyer made his choices. Considering he's in desperate need of my help, he hasn't changed much. Still running his mouth, still thinking he's God's gift. Nobody's as smart as he is, as clever as he is.
He's about to learn his lesson the hard way, and I can't wait to be the one to teach him.
Never go out of your way to make somebody miserable, because there might come a time when you need them badly. So badly, you're willing to offer nearly a quarter of a million to get you out of a jam you caused.
And even then, it won’t be enough. Sawyer Cargill might be able to buy whatever his heart desires, but he can’t buy forgiveness. He can’t buy me.
