Tatum Brantford.
Her father owned the biggest car dealership in the county.
She wore a gold Cartier bracelet on her wrist, and she tapped it against her glass the way people tap a microphone.
“Okay, I have to know,” she said loudly. “Which is it, Jonathan?”
The music seemed to drop away.
“A bet or charity?”
She grabbed my wrist.
Her fingers dug in.
She yanked the white-rose corsage right off my arm and dropped it on the floor.
Then she ground it under her heel.
“Because looks like Jonathan’s doing community service,” she said sweetly. “And honestly? Pick one, Jonathan. Say it out loud so she can hear.”
The whole gym turned to look.
My throat closed.
My cheeks burned right where the mark was.
Jonathan opened his mouth.
“Neither,” he said, and his voice cracked. “Laney, I need to tell you something tonight. Please. Just give me—”
“I want to leave,” I whispered.
