I manage to keep the tears back the whole ride home. I don't know how – it seems an impossible feat – but somehow, I make it across the immaculate lawn and over to my house without shedding a single tear.

The hard part is sneaking in undetected. As soon as my mother looks at me, she'll know something is wrong the way mothers always seem to, and that's the last thing I want.

What would I even say? That the boy I've been lying to you about for weeks betrayed me? That my ex is a psychopath hellbent on ruining my life? Or the one thing that would horrify my parents the most: I'm not the perfect daughter. Somehow, admitting those things out loud feels worse than having to live them, so I'd rather avoid it altogether.

After turning the key, I push the door just enough to slip through the gap and click it closed behind me. The hallway remains quiet and still through the dark, as though everyone's asleep. After waiting a moment, I tiptoe to my bedroom, peel off my clothes, and crawl into bed. Until now, I've been operating on autopilot, keeping it together until I'd made it safely home. It's only now, buried under the safety of the covers, that I let out a breath-stealing sob.

They roll in quick succession, each one more powerful than the last. I fight for breath, gasping and crying as parts of that video play on a loop in my head. I thought things couldn't get any worse after what happened with Chase, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Getting to know Blake, falling for him – it's been the worst thing of all.

At some point, the tears run dry as I cradle the duvet, tired yet unable to sleep. Despite knowing he won't, I check my phone to see if Blake messaged, but there's nothing – no sorry, no begging, just a notification from my Fitbit that it's almost time for bed.

I throw my phone aside and convince myself it's for the best. Blake and I would never have worked in the long run. We're too different. Once the initial attraction wore off, there wouldn't be anything keeping us together. Really, I should be grateful things ended like this.

I am.

When it looks like sleeping isn't an option, I pull out my campaign book and flip through the pages in some masochistic attempt at distracting my racing thoughts. Part of me wants to feign sickness next week until the whole thing is over. Maybe it's cowardly, but I can't bear the idea of standing on that stage like everything is fine. Blake was supposed to be in my corner, the one person who understood how much this meant to me, but instead, he'd used that against me.

I put the book down and curl on my side like I used to do as a kid. My mind won't stop racing, combing through every moment with Blake like it's looking for clues. At what moment did he break off his deal? Which parts of us were genuine, and which were fake? It's like everything has become too tangled, tainted by his secret.

Destroyed.

Somehow, despite the odds, I fall into a dreamless sleep. When I wake, it's to my mother's shrill voice shouting for me to dress and come downstairs. Confused by the commotion, I quickly slip on a hoodie and sweatpants before heading to the kitchen. My mother is at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee and the oats before her untouched. Dad is here, too, sitting beside her and looking somewhat uncertain. Something is wrong.

Slowly, I pull out the barstool and sit at the table, hands folded in my lap. There's only one thing this impromptu meeting could be about, but I don't want to believe it. I don't want to believe that the same weekend my world crashes is the weekend my parents find out I've been lying; there is no way life is that cruel.

"What's wrong?" I ask. It's a testament to my acting skills that my voice comes out steady. If it weren't for the rapid pounding in my chest, I'd think this were any other morning.

"I had an interesting discussion with Angela's mother at the grocery store earlier," she says, putting her coffee aside. She's using her Mayor voice – calm and clipped with an edge of authority about it.

I feel the blood drain from my face. It's the moment I've spent half my campaign dreading, yet somehow, I'm still not prepared for it. I open my mouth – to say what I don't know – but one look from my mother keeps me silent.

Her eyes stare me down, dark and unwavering. "Angela is campaigning for president."

I swallow, but my mouth feels like sandpaper. Anything I say can and will be used against me. "Really."

"How is Angela campaigning for president when she's your campaign captain?" Mom asks. I go to speak, but she puts out her hand. "Don't answer that; it's rhetorical. Angela's mother was kind enough to inform me that your campaign captain is Blake O'Hare and has been this whole time."

I close my eyes at the mention of his name, unable to stomach it. It's only been one night, a few measly hours since I found out Blake's dark, unforgivable secret, but it feels like a lifetime. I still half expect to head to his basement later, the way I have pretty much every night since this started. To suddenly not have that, to know that I'll never get to kiss him again, makes it feel like I'm suffocating.

"How could you lie to us, Rosebud?" Dad asks. "You've always been so trustworthy and honest."

"Did that boy put you up to this?" Mom asks.

I keep my eyes closed, hoping it will silence them, but no such luck. The questions come faster, each one more accusatory than the last, until finally, I can't take it.

"Blake isn't the reason I lied," I say finally. "You are."

When I open my eyes, it's to my parents looking dumbfounded. They share a look, the kind that suggests I've officially gone insane, and maybe I have, or maybe I've just stopped caring.

"What are you talking about?" Mom asks.

"I'm talking about your expectations of me," I say, throwing my hands up. Maybe if last night hadn't happened, I wouldn't be this upset, but now it's like the pain I'd felt from Blake's betrayal has morphed into anger. Not just at him or my parents, but everything; I'm drowning in it. "You put so much pressure on me to be perfect, but I'm not. I never was, not even before the party and certainly not after. Do you want to know the reason I asked Blake to be my campaign captain? Because no one else would." My voice shakes on the last part, no matter how hard I fight to keep it steady. You'd think I'd be over it by now, but having to relive it hurts just as much.

Mom's mouth opens and closes before settling on a frown. "I'm sure that's not true, Rose. There are hundreds of students at your school–"

"It is true," I snap, and all I can think in my head is Prickly Rose. "People didn't want to know me after what Chase said about me. You can judge Blake all you want, but his support is why I even made it this far."

I see it in her face the moment the illusion shatters. The moment she realizes just how much impact that party had made. I guess she'd convinced herself I was still the same Rose, that my reputation was unblemished, but she sees now she was wrong.

Breath held, I continue to look at her. I should be terrified, but I'm not. There is a freedom that comes from telling the truth, and as she looks at my father, struggling to find the right words for the moment, this weight lifts right off my shoulders.

My mother shakes her head, lips pursed as she processes this. "I don't know what's going on with you, Rose, but I can't tell you how embarrassing it was to go on and on to Angela's mother about how kind it was of Angela to be your campaign captain, only to find out you'd made the whole thing up." She gets to her feet, straightening out her pantsuit as she leans across the table. "The lying stops now, Rose. After the campaign is over, I don't want you hanging around with that boy anymore. He's clearly a bad influence on you."

I think about sitting here and arguing how he's not. That, if anything, he's been the influence I needed to stop being so afraid. So perfect. But looking at my parents, who are as prim and as proper as they wished I could be, I know it won't make any difference.

The familiar burning in my throat reappears. I get to my feet, my cheeks flushed with heat as I fight back more tears. I figured there wouldn't be any left after the events of last night, but clearly, I was wrong.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore," I say, and I hate how pathetic I sound. "Can I be excused?"

Another shared look before Mom rubs her temples and sighs. "Yes, you can go."

"Great," I say and scrape my chair back before heading to my bedroom.

Time seems to crawl as I fall back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. There's still no word from Blake, which makes me wonder if maybe I was right, and everything between us was a lie. Why else would he stay radio silent? If he cared even the slightest, surely he'd be blowing up my phone with apologies, but that's not Blake, and I was kidding myself to think it ever would be.

At one point, when I'm busy wallowing in my misery, a message comes through from Liv asking me to meet her at a local coffee shop. It's the first time I'll have spent time with her outside the group, and I know it will have something to do with Blake. I contemplate whether or not to go before replying with okay.

By the time I get there, Liv is already waiting at a table. I walk toward her and slip into the chair opposite, peering at the coffee she's ordered me. "I didn't know what you liked to drink," she says, "so I got you a mocha. If you don't like it, I can–"

"No, it's fine," I say, meeting her gaze, and that's when it hits me how hard it's been not having someone to tell the big things to. Libby was the person I shared everything with, whether it was campaign ideas, venting about my parents, or talking about boys. In some ways, I've been so preoccupied with Blake and the campaign that I've forgotten how much I've lost.

There's an awkward silence for a few moments before Liv leans closer. "Look, I heard about what happened last night. Are you okay?"

My lip quivers. I'm on the verge of another breakdown, but I try to contain it. The truth is, I don't know whether I can trust Liv either. How much did she know? Was she part of the deal? If I can't trust Blake, the one person I'd come to count on more than anyone, who can I trust?

"Did Blake tell you to meet me?" I ask.

She frowns. "No, he told us what happened last night and then took off – I haven't heard from him since. I wanted to meet you and make sure you knew we had no idea about his deal with Chase. I mean, we knew you were paying him, but he kept everything else from us. Believe me when I tell you I ripped into him last night."

I look at my hands, unable to hide my disappointment. At least if Blake asked Liv to beg on his behalf, I could use it as some sign that he cared, but he didn't. Even though I shouldn't care, I say, "Did he say anything else?"

She sighs and picks her coffee up before holding it in her hands. "No, you know how Blake is – he keeps everything to himself."

"Yeah," I say with a trace of bitterness in my voice, "I do."

She bites her lip as though contemplating whether or not to respond. "Look," she says finally, "I'm not saying this to excuse what he did, but Blake has serious issues when it comes to relationships, so if you're waiting for him to make some grand gesture, it's not going to happen. Everyone he's ever loved left him; his way of coping is to pretend like he doesn't care. He would rather shut himself off than give himself the chance to be happy because, to him, happiness doesn't last."

I don't look at her as she speaks – I can't. Hearing her talk about Blake like this makes me start to feel sorry for him, and empathy is the last thing he deserves. "So, I'm supposed to just forgive him?"

"No, of course not," she says. "Hell, I'm the queen of holding grudges. I'm just saying that I've known him a long time, and I saw a different side to him around you, Rose. Even if you can't forgive him, believe me when I tell you he cared."

I don't say anything for a long time, I just sip my Mocha and try not to think about the events of the last twenty-four hours, but the harder I try not to, the more my brain longs for the things it can't have. Not just longs but dreams and hopes.

"I kind of wish I never found out," I say. "I wish I could have carried on thinking that everything was great. Does that make me sound really weak?"

"No," she says, "that makes you sound really human." I feel myself offer a ghost of a smile, and she offers one back. "Do you know what I think you should do?" she asks.

"What?"

"I think you should walk into school next week with your head held high and go get your presidency."

I look up slowly, realizing she's right. Campaigning started off as something for me, but somewhere along the way, it became about Chase and everyone else. Now is my chance to cut out the noise, the drama, the bullshit and put myself first for a change.

A/N

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