Chapter 22: Four Hundred and Twelve

I took the jacket out of his hands.

It was heavier than I remembered, and it smelled of his cologne now instead of the library.

The mustard stain was still on the left cuff, and the black thread was still on the top button.

The right sleeve had come away at the seam and hung by a few loose stitches.

"You tore it," I said.

"I was holding it. I didn't mean to."

He pushed the heel of his hand against his eyes.

"Rory, please. The video is all over the school. My dad hasn't answered his phone. Tell them it was a joke."

"A joke."

"A prank. Tell them it went too far. Tell them you were in on it."

He looked up at me, red-eyed.

"You can make it stop. They'll listen to you."

I held the jacket against my chest.

I had pictured this scene a hundred times in two weeks, and in all of them I felt wonderful.

I felt tired, mostly.

I also felt very clear.

"You want me to say it was a joke," I said.

"Yes."

"You posted me in front of nine thousand people. You told a room of four hundred I was jealous. You typed a letter and signed my name."

I did not raise my voice.

"And now you want a favor."

"I'm asking nicely."

"I know. You're very good at it."

He flinched.

"Do you want to know how many photos of yours I liked?" I asked.

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