Ace of Spades: Part One

Ward’s voice drags, making what I’m sure was meant to be a positive, somewhat lively sentence as lifeless as a eulogy.

The national anthem blares from the speakers and we sing along, with our palms placed on our chests as we watch the school values fly past: Generosity, Grace, Determination, Integrity, Idealism, Nobility, Excellence, Respectfulness, and Eloquence.

She looks back at the teachers with her hand still placed over her heart, from when we sang the national anthem, feigning surprise like she does every year.

This time, I roll my eyes without a care, and I’m pretty sure the girl in the front row with the red bows in her hair looks at me with disdain for doing so.

Prom is one of Niveus’s many compulsory and meaningless events, and so, like a masochist, I watched them all night, from the benches at the side of the hall.

High school is like a kingdom, only instead of temperamental royals, golden thrones, and designer outfits flown in from Europe, the hallways are filled with loud postpubescent teens, the classrooms with rows of wooden desks and students dressed in ugly plaid skirts, navy-colored slacks, and stiff blue blazers.

Usually there’s more from Ruby, a subtle jab that seems harmless to most but that I know isn’t.

I can’t wait to go to class and get away from her snide remarks.

“I didn’t even know Headmaster Collins was stepping down,” I say, annoyed that I have to restart all the work I’ve put in over the past three years with him. Especially given Headmaster Ward’s unwelcoming, icy demeanor.

I glance up; the people behind Mindy are blatantly rubbernecking at us now.

I want my future to look as seamless as his, everything perfectly laid out.

As we got older, we realized Lola’s actually sounds like the name of a sketchy club. Despite the connotations, we still use it. It’s our way of saying Let’s talk in private.

My head still warm where his mouth touched it, heart still beating erratically—his gaze that told me everything I needed to know.

I’ve watched girls fawn all over him, and I’ve listened to him drone on about his hypothetical perfect girlfriend, waiting for the moment he turns my way and realizes that his perfect girl could be me.

But I do remember how Jamie finally looked at me and saw us as something more than platonic.

He told me to meet him in his bedroom, and while that night we only made out, it was the catalyst for what happened the rest of the year: Jamie sneaking kisses, whispering things in my ear, asking me to come over...

Jamie acts like the One is this predetermined thing that God or Santa came up with when he was born.

Wherever we go for Lola’s, however public, it always feels intimate.

She’s semipopular, not because she worked for it, but because she’s pretty. People love to reward conventionally attractive people.

Rain pounds the road as I peer out the window at the body—her body. Through the rivulets, I see her face.

Her old teacher is on sabbatical for the semester, so the students in that class got divided up.

His smile falters a little. I must be imagining it, because surely someone as self-centered as Scotty couldn’t care less about what I think of him.

It’s almost sacred now, so Belle’s presence in my home cinema is basically blasphemy.

He mutters a “thanks,” already engrossed in the movie, so Belle reaches up for it.

Jack materializes, uniform wrinkled and tie slightly undone.

Aces has made me as noticeable as a guy with a face tattoo, and the annoying squelching of my sneakers against the marble doesn’t help my case.

I stay quiet, seated sideways on the ground of the stall, looking at my blue plaid skirt spread over my outstretched legs, the thick gray socks that cover most of my thighs, and my brown-heeled brogues pressing against the wall.

I reach into my pocket, my heart hammering away against my shirt, and my stomach convulsing even more.

I hear the hubbub of chatter around me as everyone starts to dissect the text.

I only remember snippets of Jamie’s party.

My head still throbs, so I try to focus on something else, hoping the pain subsides.

I remember the eggs thrown at my house when I got in. Resentment breeds contempt.

Instead, I turn to face the three demons again, devious smiles on their cherubic faces, and my hand suddenly comes back to life.

Instead, I turn to face the three demons again, devious smiles on their cherubic faces, and my hand suddenly comes back to life.

I feel too dejected to pretend.

Now everyone keeps looking at me like I have this giant red A embossed on my school sweatshirt like Hester in The Scarlet Letter.

Then he moves past, and I watch his figure compress as he walks away, until it is no longer discernible.

If this is true, could I be implicated if I click on the file?

The ball is compulsory—part of “Niveus’s special school spirit”—but I’m considering faking a serious illness.

It has been brought to my attention that you have both been collecting defamatory information about each other.