Getting Caught by Mandy Hubbard Page A

and push away memories of the party at Ken Greeley’s, the cold sneer on Peyton’s face, the way everything turned shimmery when the tears in my eyes pooled over. But even though I can do all that, I can never forget the sound of her cruel laughter as she watched me fall to pieces.
    “Hey, listen. I’m as guilty as you are. All I know is that that girl might need shock treatments to repair the damage. She was that worked up.”
    I sit up and look over at Peyton’s house with a grin, picturing her in pure meltdown mode. I might feel the tiniest bit sorry for her— if I didn’t remember the sound of that laughter ringing in my ears over and over.
    The snotty bitch had this one coming. “She’ll recover. Trust me. Peyton always ends up on top. Even if she has to stomp on everyone to get there.”
    When the conversation ends, I toss my phone aside, fall back against the lawn again, and look up at the sky. Five years ago, Peyton would have been by my side, naming all the types of clouds and species of birds. Starting in third grade, we were inseparable, always going over to each other’s house after school for cookies and milk. We’d just veg for hours in front of the TV. If a teacher wanted us to pair up, neither of us had to say a word; it was obvious that we were together. Then, in middle school, she started spending all of this time on lame extracurricular activities and rarely had time to hang.
    The unraveling began when she went away to some stupid summer academy for over-achievers. That was the summer my parents went through some trial-separation thing…back when we were a real family, before they looked at me like I was a disappointment. They expected me to go to all these weird therapy sessions with them. Maybe it’s because avoidance is my coping mechanism, but those sessions were just hell. Who wants to be part of lame family therapy when the real problems have nothing to do with you?
    I tried all summer to get in touch with Peyton, sending a zillion letters. Write every day, my ass. She didn’t send a single one. She didn’t call, either.
    And then when she came back, I got it. I’d been replaced. Bryn Samuels was new in town, and they’d met at that stupid academy.
    I should have known. Peyton wants the best of everything. Once she realized I wasn’t ivy-league, pep-squad material, she tossed me in the ditch and drove off.
    I cringe, thinking of that day at Ken Greeley’s. When she invited me to that party, I decided to give her one last chance—why give up on so many years of best-friendship? I vowed to tell her that I didn’t hate all those hobbies she had—I was scared of them, scared of being left behind.
    But what I got instead was a rude awakening. When I got there, they were all hanging out around the pool, giggling, and I heard my name, the voice drifting through a row of bushes. Someone said, What a loser. She dresses like the captain of the Salvation Army. And everyone laughed. I thought to myself, “Peyton can’t be there. If she was, she’d defend me.” But that was when I caught a glimpse of her curly hair and saw her face. She was seated next to Bryn, laughing just as loud as the rest of them. That was the day I decided I never, ever wanted to be part of their crowd again; in fact, I wanted to be the opposite of whatever they were.
    I was going to leave Ken’s house without saying a word, but when I spun around I smacked right into Grant, Ken Greeley’s best friend. The commotion was enough to alert Peyton to my presence.
    She called me over to their little group and for some stupid, pathetic reason, I walked up to her. Maybe I thought she was going to have an explanation for what was going on.
    But she didn’t. She just looked at me, smiled, and shoved me into the pool. Everyone laughed and taunted me, and the tears quickly mixed with the chlorine until I could barely see where I was going well enough to climb out.
    And since I’d walked the mile to Ken’s house, I had to