I finally finished this chapter after many rewrites! It's a little boring but the next chapter is definitely more exciting. I'll try to upload a new chapter every Saturday, but I can't make any solid promises though : ( what with school and every thing

I love your feedback, please comment and tell me what you think!

-MuseGoddess

Chapter Ten

Girl Talk

Heather confronted me at lunch Monday the next day, detective-style. "What is going on?"

"Wh-what?" I blinked my lightly lined eyes at her in confusion, though I was pretty sure I knew what she was implying.

She crossed her tanned arms over her red-and-black Stella McCartney minidress. "What is going on?" she repeated, louder.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said evasively. She just stared. I avoided her piercing gaze by brushing invisible lint off my favorite dark purple Delia's tee with the cute lace sleeves.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Do I look blind?" Heather placed her hand on her hip, gold bangles tumbling down her arm.

I directed my next words to my caramel-colored Uggs. "No, you don't."

She opened her glossy mouth to respond, but was cut off by a dirty-blond high schooler in a faded red polo behind me. "Um, you're holding up the line."

Heather shot him a look, and the guy shut up.

"Do we really need to play that stupid guess—"

"Okay!" I threw up my hands. "Just let me pay."

"Fine." She tapped her black Marc Jacobs wedge on the white linoleum impatiently. I inched the black plastic tray along the two raised metal bars like an extremely breakable diamond vase. Heather tapped faster.

I reached the white-aproned cashier and handed over my student ID card. Once I'd paid, Heather grabbed my tray in one moisturized palm, my right hand in the other, and yanked me away like a claustrophobic in a stone tunnel. She sat me down at a round two-seater and plopped down across from me, still clutching my food. I immediately tugged the tray away from her, nails skidding across the black plastic, and shoved a cheese-soaked nacho in my mouth.

"Look." Heather rolled her sparkle-dusted eyes. "You didn't come to our suite last night to hang out, and neither did Brit. Then you come to the stable superearly—way before Brit does, like you want to avoid her. And you keep giving her the slip, so I know you are avoiding her, which is like, rarer than Alison screaming. You have been disgustingly close, like, ever since she's arrived at Canterwood." Heather huffed. "Plus when Jacob waved at you just now you ignored him. What's up?"

"Nothing! Nothing's up," I said, waayy too quickly. I bit my lip and stuffed my mouth with cheese. Stop talking, Sasha!

Heather tapped her heels against her chair's metal legs and sighed like someone delivering a punishment. "Do I honestly have to drag Brit here to—"

"Mnoh!" I swallowed with difficulty and grabbed her wrist. "No." Heather sat.

"Why do you even care, anyway?" I picked at the lace on my shirt.

"Because. You were totally off at YENT practice today and…well, you're my friend. Okay? And don't change the subject."

"Fine. But—but don't judge me or scream or anything." I rubbed my temples.

"I don't do that, but whatever. This better be good, Silver." Heather sat back and crossed her arms, flipping her highlighted blonde hair behind her impatiently.

I took a deep breath and then let it all out. "BritandJacobkeptmeetingupwit houtmeandsoIgotsuspiciousand readBrit' 'rekeepingsomethingfrommeandh e'stakingheroutonadateeventhou ghhe'sdatingmeandshe'saboy-snatcher!" I gasped for air and dropped my golden-brown head to the white plastic table.

Heather's mouth dropped open into a pink shiny O. "You read her texts without her permission?"

"You're missing the point!" I smacked the surface of the table frustratedly. I'd thought Heather of all people would understand, given that she'd hacked my email over break and had actually written my ex-almost-boyfriend. Like she could talk to me about honesty. "Brit and Jacob are cheating on me!"

Luckily Heather had chosen a fairly secluded table, because that last part had come out pretty loud.

"Shh!" she whispered-hissed, and leaned closer to me, white-yarn-covered hoops swinging. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "And I don't know what to do!" I bit my lip, feeling tears well up.

My former archnemesis placed a comforting French-manicured hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, Sasha."

I wiped away the black-tinted wetness on my cheeks. "Wow, that's like the first time you've used my real name."

We giggled softly. I ripped open a packet of red-and-yellow pepper flakes and dumped them on my nachos. "So what do I do?" I asked, dipping a chip in a pool of cheese sauce. Talking to Heather had definitely helped.

She chewed her full bottom lip. "You need proof before you confront them."

"Proof?" I popped open my Sprite. The soda seemed to hiss-agree with me. "I told you, her texts said—"

"No, I meant real proof. You obviously can't tell Brit you wiped her BlackBerry, so you need to provide some real, solid proof." Heather pointed at my Baked Lays. "Could I have some?"

"Oh—sure." I nodded. Heather ripped the yellow cellophane bag open and dumped a handful in her mouth.

"Like what kind of proof?" I gulped my soda and squeezed my eyes shut as the fizz burned my throat.

Heather crunch-chewed Lays. "I don't know. Maybe a picture?"

I wiped my fizz-burn-watering eyes and dried my hand on the purple cotton surface of my shirt. "How am I supposed to get a picture of them hanging out? Are you saying I should stalk them?"

Heather snagged a nacho from my plate and moved her shoulders in a you-said-it-not-me shrug.

I gasped. "How creepy is that?"

Heather eyed me slyly. "Sasha the Stalker!" she giggle-blurted and burst out laughing.

"It's not funny," I said, tipping the blue-and-green Sprite can toward my candy-cane-glossed lips.

Heather stopped laughing and focused her blue eyes on me. "Do you have any other ideas?"

She was right, as usual.