Read Online #Scandal by Sarah Ockler - Free Book Online Page B

school newspaper, lurks behind them. With a pen, he pokes at his curly moptop, observing the protest a moment before scribbling something onto a yellow pad. Not sure why he bothers with the journalism gig—everyone ditched the
    Lavender Oaks Explorer when Miss Demeanor hit the scene last year—but if his unwavering dedication to the fashion disaster of jeans plus sport coat is any indication, Franklin is a determined trend-bucker.
    The group disperses as I approach, reassembling at the far end of the parking lot to greet the incoming cars.
    I dig deep for some enthusiasm and call out a “thanks!” across the quad. (e)VIll might be whackadoo, but they get it. Facebook is out of control, and though my account exposed Kiara’s fling with technology, maybe—in a secret-handshake-on-the-grassy-knoll kind of way—they’re on my side.
    Unlike Griffin, who’s suddenly yanking me through the school’s front doorway.
    “What the hell, Lucy?” she says. “I’ve been calling and texting all weekend. I thought you were dead.” 80

    Play dumb play dumb play dumb . . .
    “I saw the pictures,” she says, forcing me to meet her eyes. Confusion battles rage on her face, barely concealed, and I cringe at the memory of her Paul-maul pics. “Where’s Cole?” she demands. “What’s going on?”
    “Nothing. I didn’t . . . I didn’t post that stuff.”
    “It’s your Facebook.” She’s wearing the baby veal face again. “You were flirting with Cole all night, and—”
    “Griffin. Why would I post pictures like that on my own page? Like, totally busting myself? That makes no sense.”
    She snorts. “Unlike making out with Cole and spending the night in his bed? After you made out with Marceau, who by the way was sniffing around your locker earlier, all starry-eyed and ‘where is Lucy Vacarro?’ That makes sense?”
    “I’m just saying I didn’t upload the pictures.”
    “Sorry, Luce, but the evidence is kind of stacked.”
    “Someone swiped my phone,” I say, and Griff’s scowl is like, Yeah right. “What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
    Franklin and his nosy yellow pad pass through the doorway, eyeing us with detached politeness.
    Griff crosses her arms and presses her back to the maroon lockers, waiting. When Franklin’s gone, she says dryly, “Okay, prove.”
    81

    I don’t deserve her trust, but the sudden lack of it stings.
    “Don’t go all blackout on me now,” she says at my silence. “You were acting crazy all night, and now Ellie thinks I knew what happened and kept it from her, and she’s . . .” Griff’s white-blond curls seem to tighten with their own rage, and she shakes her head to untangle them.
    “I was kidding about you and Cole hooking up. I never thought you’d—”
    “The kiss just . . . it happened. And Ellie . . .” Everything inside me burns. I want to ask Griff if she knew they’d broken up, if Ellie had said anything to her before prom, but the accusation in her eyes silences me.
    Three days ago, I had two best friends. We weren’t perfect, but we were mostly close. And now?
    “Listen, Luce.” Griffin folds her arms again. “Ellie wants her dress back.”
    Last year the administrators had the bathroom at the end of the art wing painted orange, and they wired it with a commercial-free XM feed from the easy-listening station. They said it was to “discourage student loitering, smoking, and socializing,” which they believed its tucked-away location made all too easy.
    Instead, it became the default emo hideaway, private 82

    and cold, our daily little miseries set to the smell of bleach and their own tearful soundtracks.
    Lav-Oaks is a silver linings kinda place.
    A place where Phil Collins is now cautioning me with dire emphasis: Oh! Think twice . . .
    “Lucy?” Griff’s head prairie dogs over the top of the adjacent stall.
    “What if it wasn’t?” I say. ’Cause it’s another day for you and me in paradise . . .
    “Educated guess. I heard