Jill Hathaway - Imposter

Scotch stops speaking and starts grinding his teeth together. Without my realizing it, the rage brewing inside me has taken over. “Asshole,” I mutter.

Randall looks confused. “Uh, did you just call me an asshole?”

“Misogynistic douche bag.” I can’t help it. The words just fly out of Scotch’s mouth.

“Wait. Miss-oh-ginous . . . what?” Randall scratches his head.

“You want to know what really happened last night?” I ask. Since we’ve stopped running, more and more people are slowing down to listen to our conversation. The gym teacher has disappeared into his office.

Randall looks seriously freaked out now. “Um. Okay?”

I take a deep breath. “Last night, I dropped Samantha off so I could go home and watch some Golden Girls. That Betty White gets me hot, if you know what I mean.” I wink at Randall twice, and he turns bright red.

A couple of girls start to laugh.

“What did he just say?” asks a guy with a fauxhawk.

“I think he just said he whacks it to Golden Girls,” a girl in a pink Juicy Couture sweatshirt answers helpfully.

Considering my job done, I slide back into my own body. I lift my head from the desk and realize I’ve drooled a little bit on the copy of Sports Illustrated. I wipe the corner of my mouth with my sleeve. The librarian didn’t even notice me appear to fall asleep.

fter school, Rollins waits for me in his car. He’s got his radio turned up and is beating his hands on the steering wheel, but the minute I open the passenger door, he shuts off the music.

“So I heard an interesting rumor today,” he says, crossing his arms. “I thought you might know a little something about it.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask innocently, arranging my backpack on the floor.

“Evidently Scotch Becker announced his fondness for Betty White today in gym class?”

I’m unable to suppress a smirk. The rumor had spread like wildfire, and almost everyone was talking about it by lunchtime. I overheard Scotch in the hallway, bewildered, trying to explain to his football buddies that it was all a joke. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“Not that I’m Scotch’s biggest fan, but why would you do that to him?” Rollins asks, sounding genuinely flabbergasted. “Yeah, the guy’s an ass, but you don’t need to be messing with his head.”

It occurs to me that, in the confusion of last night, I never did tell Rollins about running into Scotch or how Samantha was wasted in the back of his car. Quickly, I fill him in, explaining how distraught Samantha seemed in English this morning and how I slid into Scotch to find out what really happened between the two of them. When I get to the part about Scotch claiming that I came onto him last night, Rollins holds up his hand for me to stop. He looks like he’s going to puke.

“Okay, okay, I get the picture. I guess it served him right. Do you really think he took advantage of Samantha?”

I shrug. “There’s no way to know. Scotch is a lying sack of shit, and Sam doesn’t trust me enough to tell the truth. I hope he’s all talk. For her sake.”

Rollins shakes his head. “If I ever hear him talking about you that way . . .”

“Hey,” I say softly, reaching out to grab his arm. “I can take care of myself.”

Rollins stares at me for a moment and then nods, starting the car.

“So. Friday Night Fright?” I ask, mentally thumbing through my DVDs, wondering which horror flick we should watch.

“Uh, yeah. I have some things to do first, though,” Rollins says vaguely.

“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”

It’s not unusual for Rollins to have to run home and give his mother supper and get her ready for bed before he comes over, but he’s usually pretty up-front about it—at least, he has been since I learned about his mother’s condition. However, something about the way he’s avoiding my gaze makes me feel like he’s trying to hide something.

We don’t say anything more until he pulls into my driveway. I grab my backpack, trying to think of something lighthearted to say to ease the awkwardness between us. “I, um, guess I’ll see you later.”

“Later.” He barely waits for me to close the door before he’s backing out into the street—a definite contrast to the way he usually waits for me to get inside before he leaves. As I watch him disappear around the corner, I feel a bit queasy. If he’s not going home, where is he going?

Some part of me wonders if, wherever he’s going, Anna will be there.

Onscreen, Jason Voorhees chases some poor girl through the woods. Mattie and her friend Regina are sprawled on the floor, devouring a bowl of popcorn.

Mattie started hanging out with Regina a lot after Sophie and Amber died. She’s a sweet girl, but she kind of reminds me of Eeyore. Her older brother, Todd, was killed in a boating accident a few years ago, and she brings him up all the time. One minute she’ll be talking about how hot the new band teacher is, and the next she’ll be in tears because she remembers how her brother used to play the clarinet in elementary school. It’s exhausting to spend time with her, but I think she gets Mattie in a way that few other people do.

Rollins sits inches away from me on the couch. Almost everything about him is familiar—the scent of leather that lingers on him long after he takes off his jacket, the way his lip ring shines in the light from the television, the warmth that emanates off his body in our otherwise chilly living room.

But there’s something about him that’s changed. There’s a tension in his shoulders, as if he isn’t completely comfortable sitting this close to me. I wonder if it’s because he’s thinking about Anna.

God, these thoughts are torturous. And I feel ridiculous, getting so worked up over practically nothing. So he has a new, hot friend. So he might have gone to see her tonight before he came over here. Why is it any of my business? Why did it take Rollins possibly being interested in someone else before I came to my senses and realized what a freaking amazing guy he is?

A loud noise causes Mattie and Regina to shriek. In the movie, Jason has jumped out at the girl, his knife blade flashing. I take the opportunity to pretend to be startled and move a bit closer to Rollins, setting my hand next to his until our pinkies meet. Almost imperceptibly, he moves an inch away from me, so we’re not touching. Did he mean to do that? Can’t he stand to be close to me anymore?

I look around the room, searching for some way to get Mattie and Regina to leave us alone. My eyes fall on the popcorn bowl on the floor, nearly empty. I grab the remote control and hit the Pause button.

“Hey, Mattie. Way to eat all the popcorn. Rollins and I didn’t get any.”

Mattie glances at the bowl and then looks up guiltily. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Maybe you and Regina could go make some more?” I raise my eyebrows and tilt my head slightly toward the kitchen, hoping to convey that this is an order, not a request.

Mattie looks at me and then Rollins, and she smiles. “Oh, sure. Come on, Regina.” Mattie scoops up the popcorn bowl.

“Hey, do you have any of that flavored powder to sprinkle on top?” Regina asks, following Mattie. “Todd used to love that stuff. He could go through a whole bottle in two days.”

With the two gone, I turn toward Rollins. “I was hoping we’d get a moment alone to talk,” I say, my heart banging so hard I’m afraid he might hear it.