The Rivals Read Free Page A

Ms. Merritt in her Faculty Club show? And if we don’t, will she see through us? And if she sees through us, then what? Will she just clap and cheer and keep looking the other way?
    “Ironic, isn’t it?” I say to Martin.
    “Or a self-fulfilling prophecy,” he quips.
    Then I hear someone behind me.
    “If it isn’t Alexandra Nicole Patrick. The girl who just couldn’t say no.”
    I grit my teeth, take a deep breath, and then turn around. It’s Natalie Moretti. She testified against me last year in the Mockingbirds courtroom, painted me as some animal in heat. She was kind of rubbing up against him , she told the council. Her eyes are every bit as cold as they were that day. Her brown hair is pulled tight at her neck, and she’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, showing every smooth, toned muscle in her arms. Natalie is the überathlete here. Lacrosse superstar in the fall, track goddess in the spring. I don’t think her lean muscles would even permit an ounce of fat to reside on her body. They’d attack any fat molecule that dared appear, eating it up and spitting it out like a victorious cannibal.
    “Hello, Natalie,” I say coolly, determined to be the picture of poise, even though I’m burning up inside because her name, her face, her voice dredge up the worst memories of the trial. She is the face of judgment and, worse, the judgment of another girl. She is more living, breathing proof that there are people who think I asked for it. She is the reminder that I wasn’t raped in an alley at gunpoint, that I was drunk, that I flirted with Carter, that I kissed him.
    Before I said no. Before he went too far.
    She is the face of all my shame.
    I bet she’s the one who tipped off Ms. Merritt.
    “How was your summer? Plenty of time to think about all the stories you told, or were you too busy entertaining more young men?”
    “You can shut the hell up, Natalie,” Martin says, staring hard at her as he clenches his fists.
    “Oh, so cute. Your boyfriend defends you,” she says to me in a sickly sweet voice. Then she turns to Martin. “If I were you, I’d be careful, though. She might turn around and prosecute you next.”
    It’s my turn to get a word in, so I say to her, “You don’t have a clue about us or me or anything, Natalie. And you never will.”
    “Are you allowed to talk to me that way, Alex? Isn’t that bullying? Should I file charges with the Mockingbirds?”
    I want to slug her. I picture a fat red welt appearing across her cheek courtesy of my fist. I’ve never hit anyone, and have no clue how to land a punch, but it’s a nice image. Somehow I rein in the overwhelming urge to practice a right hook for the first time. “Feel free,” I mutter.
    “Maybe I will, then,” Natalie says, leaning closer to me, her breath now inches from my face. “Maybe I’ll be your case this year, and I’ll accuse you. How would that feel, Alexandra Nicole Patrick? How would it feel for you to be the accused?” Then she lowers her voice, her mouth coming closer to me, and more words slither out in a low hiss. “You’re only leading the group because you couldn’t keep your legs closed.”
    My entire body coils, every muscle and nerve ending tightening and then snapping as I start to raise my right hand to slap her, to whack her across the face for real this time.
    But before I can even lift my hand, there’s another voice.
    “Who’s excited for D-Day!”
    I turn around and see McKenna Foster. I stuff my hand into my pocket. I brush my other hand against my shirt, like I’m wiping Natalie off, getting rid of the coat of filth she breathed onto me. Even though neither Martin nor McKenna could hear the last thing Natalie said, I can’t help but wonder if other students will blame me for what happened last year. If they’ll think I asked for it, if they’ll think I don’t deserve to lead the Mockingbirds.
    If they all believe in shared culpability .
    I wonder if McKenna knows why I’m a Mockingbird and