Page 7 of Rumor Has It

“Rebecca, please? There are going to be like eight of us splitting a small bottle of vodka. I promise you won’t get drunk. I’ve also convinced them that we should have pizza delivered. So, you know, doubly sure you won’t get drunk. And you’ll get pizza.” Wren’s lips pulled up into a mischievous smile, the eyebrow with the cut through it lifted in corroboration. The effect was dazzling and devastating.

Becky was a hundred percent certain that Wren had heard all the other campers and coaches call her Becky by then. But because Becky had never personally corrected her, Wren had continued to call her Rebecca, and it had continued to disrupt Becky’s pulse. She agreed to Wren’s pizza and vodka party. Of course she agreed. She would have done pretty much anything Wren Eames asked her to do. So that night, she found herself in the one pair of jeans she brought, sitting on the dorm room floor of two girls whose names Becky could genuinely not remember if her life depended on it.

Like most teenaged encounters with alcohol, the party had quickly dissolved into a game of truth or dare. Becky picked truth. “Have you ever kissed a boy?” Of course she had–Robby Finley last year. The kiss had sucked, literally. She was pretty sure they hadn’t done it right, but she didn’t tell the other girls that.

Wren was seated next to her and was therefore up next. She shrugged and picked truth as well. “Have you ever kissed a girl?”

Becky’s mouth went dry. Wren just laughed and nodded. “Yep.” It was an easy answer for her, and it was an answer that had made Becky want to chug the entire bottle of vodka.

When Becky was back up, she picked truth again. “Have you ever had sex?” Oh, boy. No, she hadn’t. There was no one in her hometown who had ever made her even want to have sex. Well, except for maybe Christina Alvarez, but she had been two grades above her, and they had never even spoken, so that hardly counted.

Wren was the first to break the cycle of truths. “Dare,” she said, taking a swig of the vodka even though that’s not how the game worked.

“I dare you to kiss your roommate.”

Becky froze as a blush crept up her neck and dusted across her cheeks. She eyed Wren nervously.

“Up to you,” Wren said, her easy smile never fading from her lips. “I’ll drink if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

Becky could vaguely remember the sounds of the other girls whisper-chanting “kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.” She shrugged, knowing this would probably be her only chance to kiss a woman as beautiful as Wren, silently panicking and doing her best to act as nonchalant as possible. “It’s just a kiss.” She remembered rolling her eyes like this wasn’t the biggest moment of her life to date, like she couldn’t hear the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Becky could still remember how it felt, how soft Wren’s full lips felt against her own, the taste of vodka and pizza mixed together, the way her hand quickly moved to cup Wren’s face, how Wren’s hands immediately gripped the side of her shirt. She could also still remember how much she missed the feeling the second it was over. She knew the kiss only lasted a few seconds. The other girls just golf clapped for them. They didn’t yell “get a room” or anything like that. So, Becky knew it hadn’t even been risqué. It had just been a kiss. And it had flipped Becky’s life upside down.

At around midnight, Wren called it a night. They’d all have to be up at six the next morning, and while she was clearly the most rebellious girl in the group, she didn’t want the coaches to suspect anything. They still had half a bottle left, they could all hang out another night.

Becky and Wren walked back to their room in a heavy silence. Becky was worried she had imagined the tension, but the second the door shut, Wren started to apologize. “I’m sorry I kissed you. I should have just taken the shot.”

“Wait. Did you not want to?” Becky asked, her heart skipping for an entirely different reason.

Wren sighed and looked anywhere but at Becky’s face. “No, Rebecca,” she said softly. “I did want to kiss you—dare or no dare—and that’s why I shouldn’t have. That’s a pretty shitty way to use a situation.” Wren tried to step farther into their room, but Becky caught her wrist.

“I wanted you to kiss me.” She couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. “Dare or no dare, my answer would have been yes.”

Their first night of kisses turned into a second and then a third, each night escalating a little more and a little more, until on the fourth night, Becky found herself in Wren’s bed the second after they made it back to their room for the night, freshly showered and exhausted from a long day of training. They were both aware of the end of camp looming just three nights away, and Becky didn’t want to waste another second.

In every way that Becky was shaky and nervous and fumbly, Wren was confident and steady and sure. Becky always felt certain that no one on the planet had a more perfect first time than her. Of course, it had been filled with nervous laughs and had taken a minute to get everything situated, but it had also been filled with whispers of calling each other beautiful, the prettiest eyes she had ever seen, and a million kisses—one for each freckle, Wren said as she peppered Becky’s neck and chest with the gentlest of kisses. It was slow and explorative, and if Becky was honest with herself, she’d fallen in love with Wren Eames at that camp.

Which had broken her heart all the more, certainly more than she’d ever be willing to admit, because when she made it home and finally logged on to Facebook on her family’s desktop computer—her parents had never allowed her to have social media on her phone—to add Wren as a friend, her heart had been shattered into a million pieces. There, in damning photographic evidence was Wren’s charming smile, with some other girl kissing her cheek in her profile photo. Becky had never assumed that Wren had been a virgin, too. She had known what she was doing too well. She had seemed so confident the whole time, but Becky had never once suspected that Wren had a girlfriend back home waiting for her.

And to think, Becky had spent the entire flight home figuring out how she could navigate dating someone on the other side of the country. She’d practiced what to say and do to hide the fact that she was in love with a girl. She’d even practiced coming out to her best friend. Only to have it all come crashing down around her. Instead of confessing any of it, she’d buried it all.

Becky had allowed herself one hour to dig through Wren’s social media. In most of her posts, that other girl was there, sitting in Wren’s lap, standing with her arm around Wren’s shoulder, in Wren’s arms bridal style in matching soccer uniforms. Becky had been so excited to get home and send Wren a message. Wren had told her that her phone had limited texting, she and her dad were on a pay-as-you-go plan, and that Facebook messenger would always be the best way to reach her because she could access it from her school library or her dad’s desktop, but as Becky clicked through photos, she realized that Wren had only said that to keep her dirty little camp affair a secret.

Becky was nauseous about the fact that Wren’s dad had picked her up that morning. Wren had taken the time to introduce them, referring to ‘Rebecca’ as the coolest person she had ever met. Wren had hugged her bye like her life had depended on it. And then she had been driven home to Nevada and the waiting arms of her actual girlfriend. Becky did herself and her heart a favor and blocked Wren on everything. Out of sight, out of mind. She’d never have to see her or hear from her again.

Until two years later, when, damn the odds, Wren awkwardly walked up to her before a division one NCAA soccer game and gave her the world’s most nervous smile. “Hey, Rebecca,” she said, stuffing her hands in her warm ups. How dare Wren have the audacity to speak to her after using Becky at camp.

Before she could even respond, Becky saw a familiar face in the LAU crowd, right there behind the team bench. That same girl from Wren’s Facebook holding up a sign that said, “We Number 11.” And standing right there next to her was Wren’s dad. Becky’s heartbreak resurfaced with a vengeance.

“Okay, first of all, it’s Becky.” She knew her team was watching, she knew that there would be questions, but she didn’t care anymore. She lowered her voice to a cutting whisper, “Does she even know?” Becky shook her head and continued, “You fed me so much shit, and I ate it all up. Fuck you, Wren. In case you were wondering, you turned out exactly like your mom. Stay the fuck away from me.”

Wren’s whole demeanor had changed in a flash. Her nervous smile had been replaced with shocked rage and more than a dash of pain. She retreated without any further questions asked, and Becky felt vindicated. It was as if, at that moment, Wren must have known she had been caught. Four years of brutal, unnecessarily rough fouls and petty remarks from both sides followed. And in the end, Becky had more scars from Wren Eames on her heart and physically on her body than she had from any other person.

CHAPTER

FIVE

WREN