Chapter 68: Sadie: A Snitch

SADIE

"We had tickets. I thought we were sitting behind the players because that’s where I always sit, and yeah, maybe I got the seats wrong. I wasn’t refusing to move. She could’ve said, ’Hey, those are ours,’ and we would’ve been gone. Instead, she starts cussing us out and going on about my jacket being fake and me only getting attention because I hook up with guys like Trey. That’s such a fucked-up thing to say to someone. I haven’t been doing great mentally, and having all those people hear it made me feel even worse. I put in the work, but apparently it’s easier to say I slept my way into everything."

The words spilling out of Lola’s phone—or rather, Dixie’s mouth—are enough to give me an earache. I’m quite literally watching her say them, and I still find myself questioning reality. Surely one person can’t fit that much horseshit into a single explanation of what happened.

She’s crying hard enough for the tears and snot to deserve their own acting credits, all while claiming she’s the victim. Then she starts repeating what she said to me, except now she’s saying I said it to her.

I know lying comes easily to her, but there’s something sickening about her borrowing my side of an argument she started and expecting sympathy for it.

"She posted this three hours ago," Lola says. Her eyes move from me to Trey. "How did neither of you know?"

During those three hours, we were at the bar, surrounded by people who were having far too much fun to notice what Dixie was doing with her phone. Trey and I weren’t exactly keeping up either, for reasons I’m happy to leave out of this conversation. If Lola hadn’t shown up, it would’ve taken me until tomorrow to learn that half of Boreal’s corner of the internet now thinks I’m a mean girl. I’m sure that fits nicely beside all the other things about me they have a problem with.

"She posted this before she came here," Trey adds from the sofa.

As usual, I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but I hope it involves being mad. I’m certainly mad, and considering his place at the center of this entire mess, I feel entitled to some company. Dixie wouldn’t be online crying over things she said to me if it weren’t all about him.

Lola’s eyes widen. "She came here?"

"Yeah." I let out a breath. "She made a whole scene. They must have cleaned up the hallway, or you’d have seen what was left of it."

"Okay, I’m completely lost." Lola lowers her phone enough to look at both of us properly. "She came here after posting this shit? Walk me through this, because what the fuck."

"Why would she even put that online when so many people were at the arena?" I rub the corner of my eye, because the more I think about it, the less sense it makes. "They saw what happened."

"Because she thinks enough people will back her version," Trey answers.

"Yeah, and it’s working. If enough accounts say she’s right, everyone else starts acting like it’s been confirmed." Lola scrolls again. "But some people who were there are backing you. Check your Instagram followers."

"Why are people looking for my Instagram?" I ask, though I’m already getting my phone out.

It takes a few seconds for my profile to come up, then I’m staring at my follower count. I can’t remember the last few digits, but I remember enough to know there are at least two thousand extra people here. All of them found me in the few hours I wasn’t looking.

"What’s happening?" I hold the screen out to Lola. "How did they even find me?"

"That’s the internet. People pick a side, then go looking for everyone involved." She scrolls through the posts on her phone. "Some people who were at the game are explaining what actually happened. They’re posting clips too, but Dixie has way more followers than you, so her version is getting around faster." She looks up at me. "I can’t believe she’d do this. Some of her fans might start bothering you on campus."

Two thousand strangers now know my name because of a jacket and a slap? A headache starts pressing against my temples.

Is there a single day at Boreal when I get to mind my business and have something go well?

A few minutes ago, Trey and I were in this room trying to figure out what was happening between us. I haven’t even had time to process that, and now strangers are looking up my account because Dixie decided to tell the internet a load of bullshit about me.

Lola keeps talking, but I only catch pieces of it. I haven’t done anything to these people. Most of them couldn’t have picked me out of a crowd before tonight, but somehow they already have opinions about the kind of person I am. Why does that never seem to matter?

"Paige posted on her blog too." Lola’s voice pulls me back into the conversation. "She deleted it after a while, but someone sent me a screenshot."

I stop squeezing my phone. Paige has been lying low after the Delta Rho party, so I have no reason to believe her sudden return is good news for me. Lola would sound different if she had posted another picture of my body, at least. I lower my phone and lean toward hers, trying to guess what else Paige could have found to use against me.

Lola brings up the screenshot. I start reading aloud.

"’A little birdie told this very well-informed gossip girl that Quiz Bowl planned a collab with the hockey team to get people to sign up for their bottom-of-the-barrel club. Which is honestly so sweet. Borrow the hockey team’s popularity, make a few shirts, hope someone notices you. Except they couldn’t even manage the shirts, and their captain got bounced from her seat at the game. Hard to sell people on joining your club when you can’t keep your campaign or yourself together.’"

Lola scoffs. "She probably deleted it because she embarrassed herself."

"When did she post this?" I take her phone to check, but the screenshot cuts off the top of the post.

"I’m not sure. Someone sent it to me a few minutes before seven, so it had to be up before then."

"Before seven," I repeat.

I read the line about the shirts a second time, my pulse picking up. Paige could insult our campaign all she wanted once she’d seen it, but she’d written about the shirts while we were still waiting for Sophie, unsure whether they’d arrive in time. That one detail makes the room tilt, and the piña colada I had at the bar threatens to come back up.

"Sadie?" Lola touches my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

I blink and become aware of the room again. She’s watching me, and so is Trey. I shake my head.

"The shirts were delayed, and only my team knew. Paige knew too, before the game had even started." My voice sounds odd to my own ears. "Someone in Quiz Bowl told her. Maybe they sold her the information, and maybe the shirts were late on purpose. I don’t know yet, but the thing with Dixie wasn’t some random argument over seats either."

"Oh shit...that’s...that’s...fuck." Lola takes another look at the post. "Are they actually insane? They just do whatever they want to people on this campus and expect nobody to stop them?"

My hands tighten into fists. There’s heat behind my eyes, and I can’t tell whether I’m furious or one more thought away from crying. Maybe both. Someone on my team might have helped them. If everyone else at Boreal wants to growl at me, fine, but shouldn’t I at least be able to feel safe with my own people? My lips start to quiver, and I bite down on them before Trey and Lola can see.

"How can they drag Quiz Bowl into this?" I whisper.

"Sadie." Trey waits until I look at him. "I’ll deal with Dixie. You figure out who on your team talked to Paige."

He rises from the sofa, and I have to stop myself from crossing the room. He wanted a hug earlier. Now I want to put my arms around him and let him hold me for a while, with my face against him and no room in my head for Dixie, Paige, or whichever teammate thought betraying Quiz Bowl was a good idea.

I know I can’t hide from this, and I won’t. I’m going to find out who talked to Paige and give them a taste of their own medicine. Right now, though, I’m so tired of needing a moment to breathe and never quite getting one.

"You okay?" Trey asks. "Need me to—"

"No." I shake my head before he can finish. "Go rest. You had a tough game."

He hesitates before nodding, his eyes lingering on my face as if he’s still worried about leaving me. Then he turns toward his room.

I watch him go, trying not to wish I’d answered differently, but after a few steps he stops. He comes back to me, leans down with one hand against my cheek, and presses a kiss to my forehead so gently that I forget Lola is standing there until he pulls away.

"Good night," he says, leaving me with no time to answer before he heads to his room. ℯℯ𝘭.

Lola watches him go. When she turns back to me, her mouth is already open. "Did he just—" She puckers her lips and points at her forehead. "Did he just do that?"

I touch the spot with two fingers, like I can still feel the shape of it.

"I have no idea what’s happening to my life," I tell her, which is the only honest answer I have left tonight.