It’s not until first period when I realize that the conversation on the bus was the first time Patrick Toole has ever said my name.
I hope I’m not imagining it, but my face has improved slightly. Hardly perfect, but a little better. My rash looks less like iguana skin. The swelling around my nose has gone down to the point where I can almost see my cheekbones. And my pimple scar is healing, leaving … a scab.
A scab?
Eewwww.
“Scab” is one of those words that just sounds gross. Scab. Yuck.
I stare at the scab, trying to decide what to do. I touch it. It’s hard and crusty. (Are you totally disgusted yet? I know. Me, too.) I remember just twenty-four hours earlier, trying to decide what to do about something on my face. That time, I made the totally wrong call.
This time, I decide to do nothing. I don’t even put a bandage on it, because we all know how well that worked out.
I go downstairs and see my dad drinking coffee and my mom reading her phone. They both barely glance up at me.
“Hi, honey,” says my dad.
They’ve obviously decided not to bring it up. So I do.
“My face looks a little better today,” I tell them.
This gives my dad permission to peek. “Wow,” he says. “Looks great.”
“Don’t touch that scab, Calista,” says my mom. “I mean it.”
She looks at me but doesn’t say anything else. We’d decided last night that we wouldn’t talk about the soccer situation until after school. My mom wanted to give me a day to think about it.
Corey walks in, checks out my face, and scowls. “Move,” he says. “I’m trying to get the cereal.”
“Nice to see you, too,” I tell him, which he answers by sticking his tongue out at me.
I smile. If my brother is being his usual annoying self, I know things must be heading in the right direction.
I’m getting off the school bus when I see Calista.
“Hey, Laura,” she says, smiling. She’s trying to act as if nothing’s changed, which is funny, since everything has.
“Are you still thinking about quitting soccer?” I ask, not letting her off the hook. “What did your mom say? Was she fine with it?”
Calista’s smile fades, and I notice a thin red scab across the bridge of her nose. No bandage today. Her face is less swollen, and her rash looks a little better, too.
“I’m talking about it with my parents tonight,” she says.
I decide to let it go. “Well, I hope you change your mind.”
Ellie and Ella come bouncing down the hall, and I brace myself. But either they don’t see us, or they pretend not to see us, because they walk right on by.
“You guys!” Calista calls to them.
They turn back, and their eyes widen like they each just saw a ghost—and not the friendly kind.
“Oh, hey,” Ellie says.
“We didn’t see you guys,” Ella says.
Calista tries to stay cool. “Well, we’re standing right here.”
“Right!” Ellie laughs. “We must have been in our own heads!”
We all stand there for a few seconds, then Ellie says, “So, Calista, how’s your face and stuff?”
“Yeah,” Ella says, looking concerned. “Are you feeling better?” She narrows her eyes in examination. “It looks like it still really hurts.”
“Actually, it’s a little better,” Calista says. “Thanks for asking.”
“Okay, cool!” Ellie says. “Well, see you later.”
“Um, actually, can you guys wait a second?” Calista says. Ellie and Ella turn back. Part of me thinks I really shouldn’t be standing here listening to this, but most of me wouldn’t miss it for the world.
“Yesterday,” Calista says. “It was weird, right? I mean, the Patrick thing was weird, right?”
“What Patrick thing?” Ella says, blinking.
“At lunch,” Calista says. I can tell how difficult this conversation is for her by how hard she’s breathing. “I mean, is it really possible that he didn’t ask me to the dance because I got a pimple and a rash on my face? Did that really happen?”
Ellie fidgets from one foot to the other. “I guess so. Boys can be super superficial, don’t forget that.”
“But here’s the strange part,” Calista says, her eyes narrowing. “He said he heard that I didn’t want to go anyway. Do either of you guys know where he got that idea?”
Ellie and Ella look at each other.
“Um, no,” Ellie says.
“Not really,” Ella adds.
“I’m pretty sure one of you told him that,” Calista says. “You were talking to him before I got there, remember?”
“That’s crazy!” Ellie says.
“Totally insane!” Ella adds.
Calista isn’t about to give in. “It would be better if you just admitted it.”
Ellie’s eyes flash. “Fine! It’s possible I may have mentioned that I would never go to a dance if my face looked liked that. And he might have taken it the wrong way and assumed you weren’t going. I can’t help it if boys are dumb!”
“You guys are so lame, seriously,” Calista sneers. “Come on Laura, let’s go.”
Before we can go anywhere, though, Ellie grabs Calista’s shoulder and turns her back.
“Stop freaking out because for once in your life you didn’t get something you wanted!” blurts out Ellie. “Guess what? This morning Patrick texted and asked me to the dance! And guess what again? I said yes!”
And just like that, the whole hallway seems to stop moving.
I feel my rash start to tingle.
“That’s great,” I tell Ellie. “No, seriously, I really think that’s great.” For some reason, I feel more relaxed than I have all week. It all becomes incredibly clear.
“I don’t care,” I add, and I mean it. “I cannot believe I have been wasting the last three days of my life worrying about some stupid dance where we all stand around staring at each other and making snarky comments about what other people are wearing and who looks good and who looks bad.” I glance over at Laura. “I mean, that’s crazy, right?”
I’ve clearly caught Laura off guard. “Um…” she says. “I—I mean, I guess. I was kind of looking forward to the dance, though. I mean—yeah, okay, if you want.”
I suddenly lose patience with her. “Was that even English?”
“What is wrong with you?” Laura snaps back, wounded.
Ellie and Ella look at each other and giggle. As usual, my two “best friends” are bringing out the worst in me.
“Listen, Calista,” Ellie says, the way a mother might talk to a sulking child. “I get that it’s been a rough couple of days for you, I really do. Everyone does. Especially since you’re like, the most beautiful girl ever.”
“You’ve never had to worry about things like what to wear, how to do your hair, or what you could eat—” Ella chimes in.
“Or how popular you were,” continues Ellie.
“Right, or how popular you were,” echoes Ella.
“It’s not like that,” I protest, even though it’s exactly like that.
“We still totally want to be best friends, we really do,” Ellie says, sweetly. “It just seems like we should be more, like, equal best friends, instead of you being in charge all the time.”
I surprise myself by grabbing Laura’s arm. “Let’s go, Laura,” I say, but she doesn’t move. I start to panic. I think about all the lousy things I’ve said to her over the last twelve hours—including about twenty seconds ago—and for a panicky second I feel like she’s going to abandon me, too. But she nods.
“Okay, Callie,” she says, and we walk away.
I guess being friends for life counts for something.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” Calista says to me, once we’re safely down the hall. “I’m a jerk.”
I shrug. “Hey, I said a few jerky things myself at the mall yesterday. It happens. Are you okay?”
“
I’m great, actually,” she answers. “I’m so done with those guys. I always knew they were just using me anyway.”
“I always wondered why you became such good friends with them,” I say. I almost add “instead of me,” but don’t.
Calista shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says. “It just sort of happened. Like I didn’t even have a choice.”
“Well, girls like that tend to get what they want.” We stop at our lockers. “Don’t take what they say too seriously, though. Trust me—they’re still in awe of you.”
Calista shakes her head. “They were in awe of my looks, maybe. My hair. Not me. They couldn’t care less about me.”
I stare at my friend, shocked to hear these words coming out of her mouth. This was the most confident, together girl I’d ever met, two days ago. Now here she is, proving that she’s just as much of a mess as the rest of us.
“I still think you should go to the dance, though,” I tell her.
“Are you serious? Why?”
“Because it will mean that you can still have fun even if you’re not with the cutest guy. You can prove that you’re just like everybody else.”
Calista thinks about that for a second. “You’re right. I should go.”
I smile to myself, thinking I’ve really gotten through to my old friend. Then she touches her scab.
“As long as my face is back to normal,” she adds.
“Fish sticks! Gross!”
“No, I didn’t see it. Was it good?”
“That homework was a joke. It was, like, totally impossible.”
“I never said I didn’t like that top. I love that top.”
“So don’t get them! Who cares? Don’t make me feel bad for liking fried food! Stop talking about it.”
I’m standing in line at lunch, listening to kids chattering all around me. They’re talking about nothing. I want to be a part of it.
After I get a sandwich, I head out into the cafeteria. I feel like I’ve never seen it before, because in a way, I haven’t. Normally, I would head straight for my usual table. Today, I look everywhere except my usual table.
I hear someone calling my name. “Calista! Calista! Cal!” I think it’s Camille, but I don’t look.
Except I do look, a little.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Ellie and Ella, waving at me to come over. Just like yesterday, Ellie is at the head of the table, in my seat. Unlike yesterday, she doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving.
Eventually, I turn my head and wave. “Hey, you guys!” Very chipper, very friendly. I keep walking.
“Don’t be mad! Where are you going?” says Ellie.
“Calista, are you like serious right now?” asks Ella.
I shrug and smile, then look around for any empty seat at any table of girls. I spot one and plop down.
I look up and see three faces staring at me. One girl’s mouth is actually hanging open.
“Hey, you guys,” I offer.
No one says hey back.
“I’m Calista.”
“We know,” says one girl, with short hair and blue glasses. “Are you lost?” The other girls titter.
I laugh. “Ha! No, I’m not lost. In fact, I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“Okay,” says a different girl, who has three earrings in her left ear. “If you say so.”
As I start eating, the girls go back to their lunches and conversation. They’re talking about the new drama teacher, Mr. Cassano. From what I can gather, two of the girls think he’s adorable, and the other one thinks he’s full of himself.
After a few minutes, I decide to join in. “Any of you guys have Mr. Cody for English? He’s really funny. Kind of strict, but funny.”
The girl with the earrings stops talking and looks at me. “I’m in your class,” she says.
“I was in your English class last year,” says a girl with a purple streak in her hair.
“Oh yeah, totally,” I say, desperately trying to place her. “Jessica, right?”
“Beth.”
“Right! Beth. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Beth says, and they all resume their conversation. I notice that no one is even looking at me, much less including me. I decide to try again.
“Did you guys do the summer reading?”
A few of them half nod. After a few more minutes, I feel my skin start to get hot.
“Why are you guys all ignoring me?” I ask, pretty loudly. The girls all stop talking. A strange expression comes over some of their faces, which I eventually realize is pity.
“We’re not ignoring you,” says the girl with the earrings. She has friendly eyes. “We just didn’t think you were interested in anything we had to say.”
“That’s totally not true,” I insist. “I’m really interested.”
“What are you doing at our table?” says the blue glasses girl. “Are you in a fight with your friends?”
“It’s a long, boring story.”
“Does it have something to do with getting smacked in the nose?” asks Beth, pointing at my face.
“A little,” I say. “Okay, a lot.”
Beth smiles. “That sounds like the opposite of boring.”
“I’m Shelby,” says the girl with the blue glasses.
“And I’m Kara,” says the girl with the earrings.
“We want to hear how you got beat up,” says Beth.
“And don’t leave out any of the good parts,” adds Kara.
So I tell them everything.
And it feels good.
After lunch, I’m on my way to Science when I pass Laura and another girl.
“Damian!” she says. “How are you? This is my friend Rachel.”
“Hi, Damian, nice to meet you,” says Rachel, shaking my hand. Her face changes when she feels my wet palm. “Are you okay? You’re sweating.”
“I’m fine, thanks. Nice to meet you.”
Laura touches my hand. “Oh, you are sweating!”
I pull it away. “I sweat sometimes.”
“Can I ask you something?” Laura says.
“Okay.”
She points at my jacket. “Is it possible that you would sweat less if you didn’t wear that thing?”
I stare down at the jacket, which I’ve been wearing every day for three years. It’s too small now, and it’s more brown than red. I don’t think it smells all that great, either. But I don’t want to give it up. I can’t give it up.
“I like this jacket,” I say.
“I know what you mean,” Laura tells me. “I have this old sweatshirt that I still wear all the time, drives my parents crazy.”
“I love that sweatshirt!” cries her friend Rachel.
“I know, right?” says Laura. The bell rings, which means we need to be in class in two minutes. Laura turns to me. “Well, see you later, Damian.”
“Nice to meet you!” says Rachel.
They start to go, but for some reason I call after them. “I might get a new jacket soon, though.”
They turn back. “As long as it says RENEGADES on it,” Laura says. “I love renegades.”
They walk away, and I go into the Science classroom.
“Why are you in such a good mood?” asks the teacher, Ms. Hendrickson.
“Who says I’m in such a good mood?”
She laughs. “Well, you’re whistling,” she says. “That’s usually a telltale sign.”
“Huh,” I say. I had no idea I was whistling.
I had no idea I even knew how to whistle, to tell you the truth.
“Where’s Calista?” barks Coach Sweeney.
Everyone on the team stares at the grass.
“Where’s Getz?” she barks again, louder. “Anyone?”
Girls’ heads veer in my direction, as if I know the answer. Which I do.
“Uh, she had to stay after school today.”
Giggles all around.
Coach frowns. “Stay after school? For what? She get in trouble?”
> “Not exactly,” I say. “She just—she didn’t do her summer reading assignment. Everyone who didn’t do it has to go to after-school study hall until they finish the book.”
“I see.” Coach tries not to look worried. “So she’ll be here tomorrow?”
I’m not sure what to say, until I come up with, “I guess it depends on whether or not she finishes the book.”
“Well, she better be a darn fast reader.” Coach blows her whistle for what seems like twenty deafening seconds. “Okay! Everyone on the field for stretches! Double time, let’s go!”
We practice hard for ninety minutes. At one point, my teammate Danielle is flying down the left wing with the ball, and I think she’s about to sprint past me, but at the last minute I make a clean tackle and strip the ball away. Then I feed Brianna streaking down the right sideline, and she scores.
“Calista Getz who?” Rachel yells, as I run back on defense. “That was awesome!”
We high-five. “Yeah, who needs her?” I say, and we both laugh.
That’s the closest anyone comes to getting by me all day. I totally dominate the rest of the scrimmage.
It feels awesome.
And a tiny bit boring.
Mr. Cody welcomes me like a long lost friend. “Calista! So good to see you! Grab a seat anywhere, as long as it’s not right next to someone else. We’re not looking for any distractions.”
I look around the room. I see Will Hanson, slouched down, holding his book like it’s a dead rat. I recognize two other kids, Chris and Janelle, but there are four others whose names I don’t know. I remember lunch, and it slowly dawns on me that there are a lot of kids in school I don’t know by name, and have never even spoken to. I feel a weird sense of shame about that for a second, before Mr. Cody jolts me back to reality.
“Ms. Getz? A seat?”
“Oh, sorry … right.”
I find a seat in the back row and plop down.
“Let’s get cracking, shall we? No time like the present!” Mr. Cody takes out a book of his own and sits behind the desk. I open mine and start reading.
It turns out to be really good.
It’s interesting, and the story is intense, and I care about the characters, and I can’t wait to find out what happens next, and—
The Real Us Page 6
