Solving for Ex

Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-two

the height of her ambition

I spent the rest of Sunday holed up in my room. I said I was doing homework, and watching TV. Sunday was rainy, so it probably didn’t actually seem all that weird. By the time I emerged on Monday morning, ready for school, I couldn’t ignore the look of relief on Kristin’s face.

“You feeling okay, honey? You seemed under the weather. And we didn’t see Brendan all weekend.”

Like I needed the reminder. “Yeah, I’m fine. And he just had other stuff going on.” It wasn’t a total lie. If “other stuff” was code for “avoiding Ashley.” Not like I was trying hard to get in touch with him, although I was doing plenty of staring at my phone and willing it to ring. Unfortunately, I still hadn’t really decided who I hoped it would be.

Brendan was obviously angry. But if he was going to claim he didn’t like Sofia and then make out with her in the middle of our weekly breakfast date, then he really had no right to be pissed if I wanted to sit on the hood of Vincent’s car and teach him to use his damn expensive camera. And maybe kiss him if I wanted to.

All I knew about that was that actually kissing Vincent made me want to do it again. At the same time, remembering the conversation I’d had with Vincent about cheating made me not really want to hang out with him again. Even though he said he would stop.

I was still trying to figure out if I believed him.

All of that was why riding to school with Brendan would not be a good idea today. I’d either scream at him or dissolve into a blubbering heap of tears. Or try to kiss him and see if I liked it better than kissing Vincent. Neither of those things would be good.

“Aunt Kristin. Care if I hitch a ride to school with you today?” A look of confusion swept Kristin’s face, but she must have seen the bummed-out look on mine, because she quickly said, “Sure, honey. It’ll be nice to get the time together.”

Aunt Kristin, at least, knew exactly what I needed to hear.

Everyone at school was talking about my birthday party, but not about how epic the band or the kegs or the swimming pool car crash was—they were talking about what a miracle it was that no one had gotten in trouble, not a single kid had been arrested for underage drinking. My seventeenth birthday party would go down in Mansfield Prep history as the one with the most alcohol, the most vomit, and least amount of planning, with no—absolutely zero—kids getting busted.

I was hoping to be that lucky avoiding all the people I had no desire to deal with. I ducked into the girl’s bathroom between classes until the last possible moment of hallway transit, just to avoid seeing either Brendan or Vincent. It was chicken shit of me, but surprisingly, all the sleeping, stressing, ice-cream eating and stupid show watching hadn’t really solved the problem of which guy to talk to in which way.

The only problem with the girls’ room was that other girls could go in there. And did, apparently, because on my way out of the stall between sixth and seventh periods, Sofia stood there, leaning into the mirror, daubing something on her already naturally perfect face. And slung around her shoulder and resting on her hip was my camera bag.

I froze. I could barely comprehend what I was seeing. My gray canvas camera bag, with navy padded inserts, holding my camera.

Except, it wasn’t mine. Not really. It was Brendan’s. He’d gotten it for his birthday, and had absolutely no interest in it. I’d picked it up in his room one day, taken some test shots. Borrowed it one weekend and I was hooked. He’d taken one look at the shots I uploaded from the card onto the school’s editing program in the computer lab, squeezed my shoulders, and said, “Well, guess that camera’s yours, huh?”