Sasha
I spotted Ivy through the trees before she saw me. She was sitting on a tire swing. A string of yellow LED bulbs was wrapped around the rope, lighting her up in gold. The air was warm and dim, the sun had just set.
I watched her—twisting in the swing, gently smiling. It had been eighteen days since this all began. Eighteen days and thousands of messages. I imagined what she must be thinking, out here in the woods, waiting for Jake. I imagined the night she thought was in store for her, so different than the one she was going to get.
I took a breath and stepped into the clearing. Ivy turned and looked at me. My body was buzzing with adrenaline. This was it.
For a moment, we just stared at each other.
“Hello, asshole,” I said. “Surprise.”
She pursed her lips ever so slightly and raised one dark eyebrow.
She didn’t understand what was happening. “I’m who you’re waiting for,” I said. “I’m Jake.”
Slowly Ivy’s face transformed in that golden light, and she opened her mouth and out came a dirty cackle. “You sick fuck,” she said.
“Break up with Xavier or I’ll tell him everything,” I said.
She shook her head. “Oh, come on. You think I didn’t know it was you?”
Ivy reached down her shirt, brought out a lighter, flicked it. She lit a thin hand-rolled cigarette. A joint, maybe. She took a long drag and blew out a curl of smoke. She sucked her teeth and stared at me. She was bluffing, wasn’t she? Of course she was. My heart was pounding.
She pulled herself out of the swing, joint clenched between her teeth. She walked toward me, slowly smiling.
“Stop lying,” I said. “You wrote to me because you thought I was a hot guy who liked you and . . . If you knew it was me, then why did you come here?” I tried to keep my voice calm. I had no idea what to believe.
“For proof,” she said. She reached into her pocket and took out her phone. There was a sudden burst of blinding light as she snapped a picture. “So should I upload this right to Instagram or tell Xavier first, do you think?”
I could barely breathe. I pointed to her phone. “Delete that.”
Ivy grinned and shook her head. “Nah. I thought he deserved to know the truth about what a fucking psycho you are, and now he finally will.”
The blood was hammering in my ears.
And in that moment I realized how incredibly fucking stupid I’d been. I was so desperate for the satisfaction of getting to confront her, that I convinced myself it was a safe bet. I thought Ivy would do whatever I said just to avoid Xavier knowing what she’d written. That she’d be so ashamed and all the power would be mine. And if she protested I could threaten to show her messages to the world, and make her soft squishy core public. But in all the versions of this scene that I’d ever played out in my head, I had never for a second imagined this one.
And maybe she was lying. But maybe she wasn’t.
I couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.
I started to reach for her phone. She shoved it into her pocket. Then in one swift motion, Ivy grabbed me by the neck of my T-shirt, bunched it up in her fist and yanked me toward her, hard. Our faces were almost touching. Then she pushed me back.
She stuck a foot into the center of the tire and pulled herself up. “Maybe I should just call him right now, and we can all talk about it,” she said.
“Delete the picture!” I said. I reached for the swing. The tire was heavy and cold. I started to climb too.
“Oh, you’re coming to get me? Maybe it’s not just him you’re obsessed with. Maybe you’re obsessed with both of us, hmm?” She swung her foot forward toward me, her heel colliding with my jaw. My teeth rattled and hot pain shot through the side of my face. I grabbed the rope to steady myself.
The swing jerked. Ivy stumbled. She windmilled her arms, teetering on the edge of the tire.
And then she fell.
She landed on the ground with a sick heavy thunk. Her head cracked against the base of the tree.
A shot of adrenaline exploded in my stomach.
Ivy wasn’t moving.
I jumped off the swing.
“Ivy.” I leaned in. “IVY!?”
I touched her shoulder, gently at first, then harder. I shook her. My heart was pounding so hard. “Oh my God.”
Ivy’s eyes popped open. “Boo!” The joint was still pinched between her fingers. She stuck it into her mouth and sat up. “Sorry, you’re not that lucky,” Ivy said. She laughed. “I actually feel sad for you.” I could smell alcohol on her breath, sour and sharp. “What did you think would happen out here? That I’d weep and cry and boo-hoo and beggy beg you not to tell?” She paused, took another drag of her joint. She rubbed the back of her head. “Too bad, turns out you’re the one who’s going to do the begging!”
“You’re bluffing,” I said.
“Think whatever you want,” she said, with a slow grin. “By morning he’ll finally know who you really are.”
She held her phone out then, and turned it toward me so I could see the picture she’d taken.
And for a moment, everything stopped—there I was, eyes wild, mouth twisted into a snarl, fingers raised to block the light. Seeing myself there on her screen, something inside me flipped.
I looked crazy. Sick, insane.
I looked like a monster.
Maybe I was one.
I stood up, hands shaking. I turned, and I ran. “Aw don’t leave now, Peaches!” Ivy shouted after me. But I just kept going.
He’ll finally know who you really are.
He’ll finally know who you really are.
He’ll finally know who you really are.
I had wanted to keep him safe from Ivy. But maybe all along I should have been protecting him from someone else, someone just as messed up, and dangerous—me.