Free The Julian Game by Adele Griffin Page B

a good-bye, it was a complete kiss-off, and rightly so—I’d been such a child. I wanted to scream, or cry, or throw something. There was nothing I could say in my own defense. I’d trusted Ella, which was mistake number one. And when I had the opportunity to come clean, I’d shown myself to be just what Ella said I was, a flustered little ant too scared to take a risk. So why did losing Julian feel like I’d risked and lost everything anyway?

seventeen
    MacArthur Academy was a redbrick monster, overbuilt in gables and turrets. Originally it had been a private home, but I couldn’t imagine who’d want to live there. A Dickens or Disney villain, maybe.
    On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Julian had lacrosse practice until five. I didn’t know if he took the late bus or car-pooled or how he got home. Either way, I’d have to snag him before he left the grounds.
    And so at four forty-five on Monday afternoon, I stayed late and finished my homework in the Fulton library before taking the footpath that cut between the two school campuses.
    In the murky water of my online relationship with Julian, I’d had power. Elizabeth’s personality flowed so naturally from my fingertips. Sometimes she’d seemed absolutely real, this girl who lived far from home, who rode her bike along the Schuylkill River by day and painted in her studio dorm till morning. She hadn’t been condescending with Julian, but she’d always had her say on everything from how much to pay for distressed jeans to the difference between fair use versus copyright infringement—a point that we’d hotly debated during one of our late-night sessions.
    Elizabeth had confidence. She didn’t hesitate.
    Where did that leave me?
    Earlier this morning, I’d locked myself in my bathroom. Where I’d tugged on the electric blue wig and blotted on more of the berry lipstick that I was wearing all the time now. When I’d looked into my reflection, I’d found myself and Elizabeth together in the same face.
    “You can do this,” I told the girl in the mirror. If Elizabeth was Julian’s learning experience, she was mine, too. As Elizabeth, I’d learned I was pretty and confident and interesting enough to catch not only Julian’s eye, but also Ella’s attention. And I knew I could continue to tap into her, even while being myself. Of course I could.
    Then I’d taken off the wig and stuffed it in my book bag. Just so that a little piece of Elizabeth came along with me on my mission.
     
    Lacrosse practice was already over. I saw cars and the late bus pulling out through the gates. I stepped up my pace. Julian was number 08. My eyes picked him out trotting across the field, his helmet wedged on his stick that he carried over his shoulder.
    “Julian.” When he didn’t hear, I shouted it deeper through cupped hands. “Julian!”
    He looked over. Signaled to the car before U-turning to jog across the field to where I stood, where he slid the helmet off the stick and planted it in the ground like a flag on the moon.
    “Unhaughty. You tracked me down.” He sounded happy about it.
    The place where he’d been punched was as thickly blue as an oil painting of a night sky and centered by an eye so darkly bloodshot that my own eyes hurt just looking. He was out of breath and sweating in the cold air, his dark hair damp against his cheeks. On the back of one hand, he’d scrawled the words get juice + pasta in Sharpie. Smudged now. It made him seem more human. (Julian did errands! Julian ate food!)
    “Hey. I came over here to tell you something.” I forced myself to say it. My confession was the last thing I wanted to tell him, but I had to get it over with. “And I understand if you never want to speak to me again because of it. But I’m Elizabeth Lavenzck. And your eye is partly my fault, and I’m incredibly, sincerely sorry about that.”
    “Aha.” He took the news with the controlled, careful face that reminded me of Dad pretending not to mind Stacey’s