When my uncle is a campus star, and I’m just a nobody

"Close your eyes," Mike said.

"We're in the middle of a rehearsal hall."

"Close them anyway, princess."

I did. When I opened them again, he was holding a card in front of my face. Silver glitter. My name in his messy handwriting.

*Winter Ball. December 20th. Say yes or I'll cry in front of everyone.*

"You wouldn't," I said.

"I'm an actor. I can cry on cue." He sniffed loudly. His lip wobbled. "Lina. Please."

"Yes! Okay, yes, stop it!"

He spun toward the rest of the drama club, who were packing up props and pretending not to watch.

"Everybody! Official announcement!" He pulled me into his side and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "She's mine. Back off."

People whistled. Someone threw a foam sword at us.

Irene stood near the front of the crowd, clapping harder than anyone. Her hands smacked together again and again.

Later, at the diner where Mike bought me a grilled cheese and stole half my fries, I mentioned it.

"Irene seemed really happy for us."

"Irene?" He squinted. "Is that the one with the bangs?"

"She doesn't have bangs."

"Then no idea." He dipped a fry into my milkshake. "I only see you."

---

Irene changed after that.

Within two weeks, she was dating Ethan, the drama club's vice president, a sweet, nervous guy who wrote her poems on index cards. She was also suddenly everywhere with Ryan, a basketball player whose dad owned half of a shipping company.

She came back to the dorm with a new designer bag. Then a gold bracelet. Then shoes I'd only seen in magazines.

"Ryan says I deserve nice things," she said, turning her wrist under the lamp.

"What does Ethan say?"

She smiled. "Ethan says he's going to ask me something big. At the cast party Friday. In front of everyone."

"Like… a proposal?"

"Like a *forever* kind of question." She sighed. "I think I'm going to say yes."

That was Thursday. Seven o'clock.

At eight, the director let me leave rehearsal early. I cut through the parking lot to save time, shoving my hands into Jackson's stupid cashmere scarf.

A black Range Rover sat under the broken streetlight. The windows were fogged white. The car was rocking.

I almost laughed and kept walking.

Then a hand slapped against the inside of the glass. A gold bracelet slid down the wrist.

I stopped dead.

The fog cleared in a streak, and I saw Ryan's face. Then Irene's, flushed, her hair wild, her mouth on his.

I didn't think. I knocked on the window.

Everything inside went still.

Thirty seconds later, the door cracked open. Irene climbed out, tugging her sweater down, her lipstick smeared across her chin.

"Lina." Her voice was flat. "What are you doing here?"

"What am *I* doing? Irene, come here."

I grabbed her elbow and dragged her behind a concrete pillar. Ryan revved the engine but didn't leave.

"An hour ago," I whispered, "you sat on my bed and told me you're saying yes to Ethan."

"So?"

"So? *So?*" My voice cracked. "He writes you poems. He's planning a whole thing in front of the club. And you're in Ryan's car doing—that?"

She folded her arms. "Are you done?"

"No! They both really like you. You're lying to two people who actually care about you. That's not fair to them. Or you."

She laughed. Short. Ugly.

"Wow. Okay. That's rich."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You want to lecture me?" She stepped closer. Her breath smelled like Ryan's cologne. "What gives you the right? You've got Mike wrapped around your finger and Jackson buying you scarves. You're keeping two guys on a string, Lina. Everyone sees it."

For a second, I just stared at her.

Then I burst out laughing.

"Oh my God."

"What's so funny?"

"Irene." I wiped my eyes. "Jackson is my *uncle*."

She blinked.

"My real uncle. My grandparents had him super late. He's only two years older than me, so he made me swear never to call him that on campus. He says it makes him sound like he's fifty."

Silence.

Irene's face did something strange. Her mouth went soft and apologetic. Her eyes went hard as marbles.

"Your uncle," she repeated.

"I swear on my life."

"Huh." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Then I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's fine. Just—please. Tell Ethan the truth before Friday."

"Sure," she said. "I'll think about it."

She turned back toward the Range Rover. She didn't get in. She just stood next to it, staring at me over the hood until I walked away.

---

The next afternoon, the rehearsal hall went silent the second Ethan walked in.

His face was gray. He held his phone up like it was evidence in a courtroom.

"Irene."

She was sitting on the stage, painting her nails. "Hey, babe."

"Don't." His hand trembled. "Somebody emailed me this. No name. Just this."

He turned the screen around. Everyone leaned in.

It was the parking lot. The fogged window. Irene and Ryan, kissing, her bracelet catching the light.

Someone gasped. Someone else muttered, "Oh, *damn*."

"Ethan, that's not—"

"Is that you or not?"

Irene's nail polish brush hovered in the air.

"It's not what it looks like."

"It looks like you're kissing Ryan." His voice broke on the name. "I was going to ask you to move in with me next year. I already told my mom."

"Ethan—"

"We're done." He dropped a stack of index cards on the stage in front of her. Poems. Dozens of them. "You can keep those. I don't want them anymore."

He walked out. The doors swung shut behind him.

Irene didn't cry. She didn't move. She sat there with one wet, red nail, staring at the floor.

Then she lifted her head, and her eyes found me in the third row.

---

I was halfway through my history reading when the dorm door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.

"Irene? Are you okay? I heard about Ethan, I'm so—"

She crossed the room in three steps.

*Crack.*

My head snapped sideways. My cheek burned like she'd pressed a hot iron to it. The textbook slid off my lap and hit the floor.

I touched my face. My fingers came away shaking.

"You," she said. "It was you."

"What? I didn't—"

"You're the only one who saw us. The *only* one."

"Irene, I would never send—"

"Shut up!" She was breathing hard, her chest heaving. "You stood there last night with that little innocent face, laughing at me. *My uncle*. You think I'm stupid?"

"It's true!"

"You had Mike. You had Jackson. You had everything." Her voice dropped to almost nothing. "And you still couldn't stand me having one good thing."

"I didn't send that email. I swear to you—"

"You ruined my love," she said, "so I'll ruin your life."

She grabbed her laptop off her desk and walked out. She didn't slam the door this time. She closed it softly.

That scared me more.

---

**Irene**

The library basement was empty at midnight.

I opened the message thread I'd saved weeks ago. The anonymous admin of the campus gossip forum. Forty thousand followers. No face. No name.

I attached the photo. Jackson at Lina's collar. Mike holding her hand. Lina's face tipped up like she was waiting for a kiss.

Then I started typing.

*I have a story about a freshman in the drama club. She's sleeping with the quarterback behind her boyfriend's back. And I can prove it.*

The reply came in under a minute.

*Send everything. Post goes live at 8 a.m.*

I closed the laptop and smiled into the dark.

"Good morning, Lina," I whispered.