I can only squint at the screen, dazed with confusion. Was Hunter cheating on me with Brynn? I wrack my brain and deep down, I don’t think he was. I mean, I’d be willing to bet they definitely hooked up the night before he dumped me, and the seeds of lust were being planted a little before, if Hunter’s distant behavior meant anything. But how was their relationship in the works otherwise?
Quickly, I click on Instagram and load up Hunter’s profile. I’m actually kind of shocked to see he hasn’t unfollowed me, even though I kicked a globe at his head. Then I realize he’s probably just waiting to see if I have some kind of psychotic episode via a sad selfie or something, so he can be all, “Phew, I’m so glad I’m not with her anymore. What a psycho!”
I scroll through the past few weeks of Hunter’s photos, but don’t see anything out of the ordinary.
Then I move over to Brynn’s profile and I see it right away: a selfie with Hunter from last night. She’s resting her head on his chest with her arms wrapped around him, and they’re both smiling coyly at the camera. Below it is a caption: “Nine years in the making.”
And it’s invited one hundred and eight likes and nearly thirty comments. I fight the bile rising up in my throat as I read them.
Carrie Torres, a cheerleader and one of the more popular girls in our class, writes: “OMG, you and Hunter are together?!?! I’ve only been waiting for that since seventh grade!”
Jeez, even Ben Granderson, the hermit of the senior class, is in on it: “It’s about time, Panz. We all knew she was crazy about you.”
I sit back in my seat, my breakfast threatening to eject itself from my stomach. This is probably the “destiny” that was “in the works”: Hunter and Brynn were somehow destined for each other for years. But how obvious was it that everyone was rooting for her?
Because Hunter asked me out and was with me for the last eight months.
I scroll down past a few more nauseating “Yay! You’re dating” responses on Brynn’s pic, until I stumble upon one from Hunter’s older sister, Lisa: “So psyched for you, little bro. Brynn’s so awesome.”
There’s an empty feeling in my stomach as I let this sink in. Brynn’s so awesome. Does that mean I’m not?
It hits me then that there’s no way I’d ever stack up to Brynn, even if she is a know-it-all with bratty tendencies. She’s known these people forever, and familiarity probably outweighs her flaws. She isn’t the villain in this scenario. It’s me. I had thrown a wrench in the epic love story of Hunter and Brynn, which was apparently obvious to everyone but me.
Like, if this were a bad TV show, Brynn would be the one the audience is rooting for because she and Hunter have been friends forever, and she’s been choking back her feelings for him. She’s about to tell him when some new character—me—is foisted onto the show with the express purpose of keeping the main characters apart. Naturally, Hunter and I don’t belong together simply because Brynn and her feelings exist.
I’m about to sign off when I get some sudden inspiration. I uncheck the box near Brynn’s name and unfollow her and then do the same on Hunter, Kim, and Steve’s profiles. I debate unfollowing Alisha, since I haven’t seen or heard from her, but something deep down tells me not to.
I make my way out of the library. Right away I notice Hunter coming toward me, and the rage comes flooding back. If he makes eye contact with me, I plan on glaring at him as hard as I can.
But his eyes are on his phone as he texts, and he’s smiling. Suddenly his phone rings and he answers, not even seeing me. “Hey, you,” he purrs. “I dreamed about you last night.”
I swear to god.
He’s so absorbed in his conversation that he doesn’t notice me pass him. Obviously he gets to be happy while I’m the one with enough emotions to fill an entire telenovela.
And then I remember I have to see him and Brynn again in class. Together.
I spin around and turn back to the main hall. Then I march into the guidance office and make an appointment with the office assistant.
I’m getting the hell out of home ec, and nobody can stop me.
Despite not having any more run-ins with Hunter and Brynn, I’m still feeling rage-y by the time I return to the guidance office for my appointment around midday. I only have one thing on my agenda this afternoon, and it’s to not be spending last period with the lying, exhibitionist lovebirds every day. I have no idea what other elective I could possibly take, but even an extra gym class is more appealing than being in close proximity to Hunter and Brynn as they undress each other with their eyes or whatever heartless cheaters do when they’re together.
I hear my phone buzzing from my backpack and find a text from Jodie.
How’s it going, Lionel Messi?
Only Jodie can make me laugh at myself right now. It’s the first time I’ve smiled in days.
Trying to switch out of home ec.
Don’t give them the satisfaction of running away from them!
I’m about to respond, “Do you really want me in the general vicinity of knives and meat cleavers with those two around?” when the door opens to my counselor Mrs. Gillroy’s office. She’s wearing a dark conservative suit, which contrasts with her bright, flaming-orange blouse. If my emotions could be a color right now, they’d be that.
“Mary Ellen, good to see you again,” Mrs. Gillroy says. “What brings you here today? Did you want to start thinking about your admissions essay for Penn State?”
“No, but I can’t believe you remembered I want to go there.” We had a brief college discussion
