The plans are done. Perfect. Lists made. Strategy set. All she needs to do is print off the maps to SeaWorld and convince Q to go along with it – but that won't take long. Q won't say no. She knows he won't.
Margo can't help but smirk at the thought of tonight. Jase and Becca are in for one hell of a surprise. No one cheats on Margo Roth Spiegelman and gets away with it. But she'll be gone by tomorrow, and they deserve each other. And catfish. Smelly, slimy catfish. That's why you don't want to make an enemy of Margo. "I bring the goddamn rain down," she mutters as she opens her locker. There's nothing to get. She's not coming back. She just wants to look. Look at all the pictures. Her and Lacey, and Becca. Laughing. Her and Jase.
Suddenly it hurts – the betrayal. Margo clenches her jaw and slams the locker shut, satisfied with the bang that echoes down the mostly empty hall. A scrawny freshman jumps a foot and scurries away, afraid of being caught in the wrath of a senior. Margo grabs her bag and storms down the hall towards the parking lot, but slows as she passes the band room. There's Q, translating Latin or something while saxophones and trumpets make the door beside him shake. He doesn't look up, doesn't see her. He's too wrapped up in school. Grades. College (she hears he's going to Duke). The future. Such a paper boy, in this flimsy, 2-D paper town. What did ten-year-old Margo ever see in ten-year-old him? Well, maybe tonight will show him some things.
They're in the SunTrust building, looking out over mostly-dark Orlando. Streetlights blink red and green, and the occasional pair of headlights winds its way through the streets. "It's beautiful," he says, and she sets him straight. It's not beautiful, it's paper thin and paper frail, just like the people.
Maybe if she says it with enough conviction, it will become true – that the town is paper, not her.
But as she stands against the smooth, cool glass, the back of her hand touching the back of his, she knows it's not. She's the paper, thin and frail and flammable, and liable to cut anyone who gets too close. No one sees the real Margo, if there even is a real Margo anymore. Q certainly doesn't, she can tell by the way he looks at her.
But it's not their fault, is it? Margo has always thrived on being a paper girl, glossy and beautiful, unattainable like a model in a magazine. It's her fault. She encouraged it, never let anyone see inside, and maybe that's why she feels so empty now.
She's brought the rain down on her enemies tonight. But now what? What do you do when your worst enemy is you?