“Maybe there’s a reason for that.” His hand’s on the knob and it’s turning, turning. This is slow-motion torture but I can’t stop him. I feel like I’m trapped in a dream.
“Just listen to me!” The strength of my voice surprises both of us. I slump onto the bed, head in my hands. “Fuck.”
“Angie,” he says, whisper-soft and sweet.
Tears seep through my fingers. I’m utterly humiliated. “Just go.”
“Come on.” He sits next to me. “Angelina.”
“Go.” I squeeze my eyes shut so that nothing can escape. “You wanted to go so badly. Get out of here.”
“What about the cookies?”
I seriously cannot believe it. I lift my gaze to find him grinning.
“Goddamn it,” I say.
“They’re probably done by now, don’t you think?”
“Don’t make me laugh,” I say, but a chuckle breaks through my hand.
“I mean, I don’t want to be a dick, but if those suckers burn, I’m going to be pissed.”
“Stop it.” I’m laughing more than I’m crying now.
He scoots in close. “Can I hug you?”
“Yeah. Yes.” I can’t even explain how good that sounds.
His arms go around me, slow like wings. I bury my head in his neck. He’s so warm, and I feel frozen from the inside.
“The last person who hugged me was Drake,” I say into his skin. “And it’s just, really . . . It’s not the same.”
“I bet.” He cradles my head with his hand.
I close my eyes. I’m not crying anymore. Enough time has passed that I can almost pretend I never did. My mother isn’t the easiest person to cry in front of. I sort of have this guilt associated with it.
Stop analyzing.
I take in a shaky breath. “Sorry.”
“Stop it.”
“I feel stupid.”
“Well, don’t. You got to let this go, baby,” he murmurs in my ear. Slowly, he untangles himself from me. I realize I was sort of clinging.
Baby.
The word hovers in my brain. It’s probably something he says to everyone. To Kennedy. To Shelby. But it makes me feel like I’m still in his arms.
“I can’t let go,” I tell him.
“You have to.”
Heat rises. I want to cry again. But I won’t. “I just keep thinking of Lizzie,” I say before my throat can close.
“I know.”
“I don’t just mean her. I mean what they did.”
He just looks at me.
“I think of Gordy too, and all the people whose lives are just shit. I think of how we destroy them.”
“Bullies suck.”
I shake my head. “That sounds like some big kid kicking a little kid on a playground. It sounds like a cartoon.”
“Easier for people to ignore.”
“But it’s more than that. It’s ripping someone to shreds for our own fucking amusement.” Or to distract from our own insecurities, I think. “Until they have nothing left.”
“Angie . . .”
“Until the only possible relief comes from dying. You know how messed up that is?”
“You’re preaching to the choir here.”
“Then you understand why we have to do something.”
“We can’t do what they did,” he says. “We’d become them.”
My heart skips. Feeling reckless, I reach up and brush the sugar from his cheek. His eyes follow the movement. “What else can we do?”
“Live above it. Be better than that.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Angie.”
Call me baby again.
God, that thought just fucks with me.
“I mean I can’t,” I tell him. “I’m angry all the time. I just want to hurt everyone who hurt her.”
He sighs. “You know I can’t help you do that.”
“I know, but . . .” My sigh puts his to shame. “I need your help. I need it.”
“I will not willingly help you attack people. I’m sorry.”
“I won’t ask you to do that. I just . . .” I pause, glancing at my alarm clock for effect. “Let’s go check the cookies.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?” I wait for him to grin.
He doesn’t. “You honestly think you can ply me with delicious baked goods?”
No. Unless you let me.
I laugh but it’s forced. “Yeah, right, come on. You really think I would do that?”
“I think you’re doing it.”
“I— Oh God.” I drop my head into my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You lost your best friend. It’s making you crazy.” He lifts my chin with his hand. “And it is making you crazy. I’m not afraid to tell you, girl.”
I smile, a little. “I’m not trying to manipulate you.”
Yes, I am.
“I mean, I’m not trying to hurt you.” I hold his gaze so he can see that I’m being sincere. Those dark eyes stare back at me. “I just need to understand.”
“Can you promise me you won’t use the information against her?”
A pause. “Is that the only way you’ll help me?”
“Yes.” He answers without hesitation. It must be nice to have that kind of integrity.
But I’m the one who’s going to get things done. “You have my word. I just need to know if she’s guilty.”
“Guilty of what, exactly?”
“Writing SLUT all over Lizzie’s car.”
He takes in a breath. “Really?”
“She was spotted at the scene of the crime. On her hands and knees, no less. The whole shebang.”
“Who told you this?”
“I can’t reveal my sources. I have it on good authority, though.” Well, I have it on an authority. “But what I really want to know is why. Did she really hate Lizzie that badly?”
He squirms. “I’ll be lucky to get her alone for two minutes.”
“She likes you. You told me that.”
“To fess up to this, she’d better love me.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
I’m teasing. I totally am.
“I meant what I said before.” He touches my hand. “You have to let this go.”
“You have to let this go, Princess,” I correct, though it’s not the word I’m wanting. Too many games I’m playing. My head starts to spin.
“As you wish,” he says, bowing his head.
“Get up.” I stand to hide my burning cheeks. “Your cookies are going to be black.”
“They better not be!” He skips past me to the stairs. “Cookies, cookies, cookies,” he sings.
I’m laughing as I follow him down.
And I’m thinking of how I never felt this comfortable with my ex.
twelve
BY THE TIME we were in high school, Lizzie and Drake were both gorgeous in their own way. Superficially speaking, they were made for each other. But there were other factors to consider. Like, for example, Drake’s parents were separating just as mine were finalizing their divorce. Who, in all of Verity, could comfort him better than me?
I just needed to get his attention. I needed, at least, to keep these beautiful people from leaving me behind.
So I decided to give myself a new look. I spent a decent chunk of my savings on tools to straighten my hair. Then came the contacts, the form-fitting clothes. I even practiced my walk. And when I swaggered into Verity High, with a carefully perfected look of disinterest, I pretty much expected someone to hurl fruit at me.
But you know what? They kind of bought it. The girls didn’t sneer at me, at least not to my face. And the guys actually noticed I existed. Sure, I lived in fear of someone discovering my inner freak, but I’d felt that way for years.
This way, I got to have a little fun.
So there I was, the first week of school, lounging by my locker with my BFF, when who should appear bu
t Boy Crush No. 1, dark-haired, blue-eyed Drake. He’d grown even taller over the past few years, and his wavy hair crept past his ears. He looked like a god. No, he looked like a model, and I was willing to buy whatever he was selling.
Too bad he wasn’t selling to me.
“Hey, Lizzie.” He smiled sweetly at my beautiful best friend.
“Hi, Drake,” said our resident flower child. She was wearing brown boots and a white lace dress. Homemade. Suddenly I felt incredibly generic in my low-rise jeans and department store T-shirt. Like a copy of a copy. “You know Angie?” she asked, nodding at me. Bless her, she remembered me. I wasn’t invisible.
“Of course I know Angie.” Drake’s hypnotic eyes shifted to me. He actually smiled.
“Hey,” I said, all ease and grace. Of course, any minute I’d forget how to use my legs. Never mind that I was propped up against the lockers.
I’d like to prop him up against the lockers.
Now my face was burning. My entire being was burning, filled with embarrassment and yearning at the same time. With Drake’s eyes on me, I felt mature, powerful, and wild. I didn’t want the moment to end.
Of course, it did.
“Hey, can I talk to you a minute?” he said.
The “yes” was already out of my mouth when I realized he’d returned his attention to Lizzie. “I mean, you guys talk,” I said quickly. “I’ll see you in class.” Really, it was a miracle those words made it past my lips. I could feel the tears forming in my eyes, stinging and reminding me of my place.
“Hold on,” Lizzie called after me. “Drake, we were talking.”
“This’ll just take a second,” he promised.
“That’s not the point.” It was amazing how cool she was being, when she should’ve been basking in the joy of Drake’s affections. She was so nice. Too nice.
She deserved him.
I twisted my grimace into a grin. “We’ll talk later. We have all day to talk.”
I hurried to the bathroom. I thought I was going to erupt but the tears never came. I just stood there staring in the mirror, wondering how I ever thought Drake could love me.
Just then, a stall opened and the first of two crazy things happened. This tall, leggy blonde with boobs out to there stopped dead in her tracks, eyeing me up and down.
“You’re hot. Are you a freshman?”
“Um. Yeah.”
“You should try out for the squad.”
The Geek Squad? Ha-ha, very funny.
I just looked at her, afraid to open my mouth.
“Trust me, it’s not as dumb as it sounds,” she said, adjusting her sweater to accentuate her chest. Her nails were painted to match. Everything red. “The cheering is just a cover for the real fun.”
“Meaning?”
“You know, the parties, the pranks.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “The prestige.”
“You want me?”
“Oh, please. Insecurity is so boring.” She smirked at my reflection, fluffing up her hair. “So your hips are a little wide. Wear skirts.”
I gasped. “Are you my fairy godmother?”
“Good, you’ve got a sense of humor. You’ll need that, cheering for guys who can’t play.”
“And my gigantic hips won’t be a problem?” Sure, I knew they were big. But hearing it still sucked.
“Oh, don’t twist your panties.” She pinched my cheek, but it wasn’t motherly. It was a warning. Those sharp nails could draw blood at any time. “I already said you were hot.”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it.
“Besides,” she said, turning back to her reflection, “if big hips were a deal-breaker, I wouldn’t have invited my little sissy to try out. Maybe you know her? Name’s Kennedy.”
“I’ve heard of her,” I said casually. Of course, who hadn’t? Kennedy McLaughlin was the girl who got a real live pony on her seventh birthday. What kind of person would forget that?
“You’ll hear more,” Big Sissy said. “Three o’clock, okay?”
She didn’t wait for my reply. She sashayed out of the room just as the bell rang. But I was frozen in place. A part of me suspected this bathroom was a portal to another dimension, a dimension where dorks were sexy and popular. I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave yet.
Good thing too. Just seconds after Cheer Girl’s exit, Lizzie swept into the room, looking frazzled and a bit out of breath. And then the second totally crazy thing happened:
“He’s going to ask you out,” she said.
“What?”
Alternate dimension, remember? Just go with it.
“Drake is going to ask you out.” She started reglossing her lips.
“Are you okay?” I teased. “You look pale. Do you have a fever?” I held my hand to her forehead.
“I’m not hallucinating!” She jerked away from me. Her reply was a bit snappish. Was she mad? Or disappointed? I reminded myself that she liked Drake too.
“I’ll just tell him no,” I said. It was the last thing in the world I wanted to say. But Lizzie was clearly upset.
Smoothing down her hair, she turned to look at me. “Why would you do that?”
Any other time, in any other bathroom, I would have just lied. But there, that day, I couldn’t.
“Because I know you like him.”
“I what?” She scoffed way too loudly. “I do not like him.”
And she started listing off her reasons. He was ordinary. He was boring. Too tall. Kind of clumsy. At first, I thought she was trying to convince herself. But by the end of the list I started to believe her. After all, it was possible that I’d misread her all this time. Lizzie was so protective of her feelings. She could’ve liked any number of brown-haired, blue-eyed boys.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Why would I lie?”
I looked at her then, really looked at her. I think I was trying to see into the depths of her soul. It struck me, in that moment, that I had blabbed so many of my secrets, yet I knew so few of hers. Who did she like? What did she really think of me?
She hadn’t said a word about my transformation.
“You have to tell me,” I said. “You have to tell me who you like. It’s the only way I’ll believe you.”
“Do you want to go out with him?”
“Yes.” Again, I couldn’t lie.
Stupid bathroom.
“Do you?” I asked gingerly.
Lizzie lowered her head. Why was it so hard for her to open up to me? What was she afraid of?
“I don’t,” she said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You’re not telling me the whole truth.”
“I will.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.” She lifted her head. Her voice was shaking, and her green eyes glittered in the fluorescent light. “Just not today.”
Any other time, in any other bathroom, I wouldn’t have chosen to believe her. But there, that day, I did.
thirteen
PARTY TIME!”
Okay, that’s what I would be saying if I could go back in time. If I could just return to the beginning of spring I would be fun-loving Angie, joined with Drake at the hip and up for a grand old time. Preparing for a bash after Lizzie’s death is a bit like returning to the Alternate Dimension Bathroom.
The motions are all the same, but they feel different.
“You look different,” my mother says as I examine my reflection in the glass of the front door. It’s eight thirty-five. Jesse is late.
I shiver before I realize Mom’s talking about my outfit. She’s not so good at the whole mind-reading thing. “I look sexy,” I say. “Don’t you think?” I’m wearing this skintight suit over a satin corset that pushes my boobs up to my chin. Everything black. I look dangerous and feminine and masculine at the same time.
Jesse better love it.
Mother doesn’t. “I think you need some color,” says the collector of the cement-gray pants
uit.
“I want to complement my date.”
“No shit,” she says.
I follow her gaze through the glass. There’s Jesse skipping up the walkway, wearing his raspberry froufrou skirt over dark pants.
“He’s going to outdress me at every turn,” I say. “This could be a problem.”
Mom can’t read sarcasm. “Do we need to have a talk?”
“About how happy you are that I’ve made a friend?”
“Angelina.”
“Yes, he’s gay, Mother. So you don’t have to worry about me sleeping with him.”
She frowns into her Syrah. “Your father did talk to you about sex. He did,” she insists to herself.
Oh my God. This is not happening.
“Um. I’m seventeen years old,” I say.
“Answer the question.”
“Yes, he did. Totally.”
Is she kidding?
“Honey?” she says.
“Pills. Bitchiness. Bloating. No baby.” I can see Jesse poised to ring the bell. “We done here?”
She kisses my forehead rigidly. “Have fun, sweetie.”
I’m out the door faster than she can say “condom.” Jesse waves to her as I close it in her face. “Wow-y, mama,” he croons, looking me over. “You look like sex on wheels.”
“On heels.” I lift my foot. My shoes are chunky with a strap. None of that stiletto crap for me.
“Retro.”
“You look great,” I say. His hair is slicked back, kind of. Some of the strands are trying to rebel. He’s got on this black collared shirt. I can’t tell if it’s a women’s top or one of those really tight tailored ones for men. And then I wonder why that should matter.
“You ready for this?” I take his arm.
He hesitates. “I’ve never been invited to a fancy-people party. You think they’ll throw things at me?”
“Only if they want to invoke my wrath.”
He lays his head on my shoulder. “You scare me, honey.”
“You love it.”
The drive to Cara’s is short. The “fancy-people” houses are all within a five-mile radius of each other. Elevated on a hill, looking down on the town.
Looking down.
The night is dark, but Cara’s house blazes from within. She’s got these red lights on in the living room like it’s a brothel. Maybe it is, in a way. I don’t think very highly of these people.
The S-Word Page 10
