THE NEXT WEEK AT school we walk down the hall, Mara alongside me with her nose ring and freshly dyed cranberry hair. It seems like she’s grown ten inches taller. Something radiates from inside of her. I don’t know what, or how. But I wish some of whatever she’s got would rub off on me.
After school on Thursday I wait for Mara at her locker so we can ride home together. But she’s late. I pace up and down the hall, checking my phone. I’m not paying attention when suddenly I feel someone ram into my shoulder like a linebacker, spinning me around. I look up quickly. My mouth opens to apologize, but I stop short. Because it’s Amanda glaring back at me.
“Watch it,” she snarls, her eyes cutting through me.
I open my mouth again, searching for the words to put her in her place, but she’s gone before I can think of anything. “Fuck you,” I mouth at her back.
I go sit down on the floor by Mara’s locker and watch as everyone filters out. Watch as the guys—jocks and geeks alike—watch me, wondering what the truth is, if I really am all the things they’ve heard. And the girls, they watch me too, like I’m contagious, not really caring about the truth.
I text Mara: where r u?
She writes back right away: on my way . . . 5 mins.
But just as I’m about to text her back I get another text. It’s from a number I don’t recognize: Eden, still wanna party tomorrow?
Who is this?
Really???
I stand up and pace the hall, looking into the classrooms, making sure no one’s lurking around watching me, fucking with me.
Yes, really. Who is this?
Troy
How did you get my number?
You gave it to me! LOL
???
You told me to let you know about the party at my house tomorrow night. You don’t remember??
I don’t remember giving that guy my number. I don’t remember anything about a party. I barely even remember that guy.
“Edy, sorry!” Mara calls from down the hall. “I was talking to Cameron after class.”
“That’s okay, come here. Look at this,” I tell her, holding my phone out. “It’s that guy, Troy, from the playground. Apparently I gave him my number. And apparently there’s some kind of party tomorrow. I don’t know, I don’t remember any of this. Ringing any bells?”
Mara takes the phone from me and writes: Hmmm . . . don’t remember, LOL. But tell me about this party . . . ?
Cool. I’ll text you the address. Make sure you bring your friend 🙂
OK
“There,” she says, handing me my phone back with a grin. “I kissed that guy, Alex, you know.”
“You tramp!” I gasp. “I have no idea what I did with the other one, I guess.”
“You didn’t do anything,” she says with a laugh, smacking me in the arm. “I honestly think you two just passed out on each other,” she says quietly, even though there’s no one else in the hall. She would never say it, but I know it still weirds her out that I’ve had sex. Or maybe it’s just knowing that people think I’m a total slut, that people talk about me like I’m a total slut. Especially when she’s standing there next to me, not one.
“So, what’s the deal with Cameron, exactly?” I ask her as we walk out to her car.
She throws her arms up in the air. “No fucking idea, Edy. I swear to God! He’s driving me crazy. Sometimes I think he likes me just as a friend. Other times I feel like he’s about to kiss me! I don’t know, I don’t know, I just don’t know!” she yells.
“Yeah, it kind of seemed like he liked you—the way he was talking to you and looking at you at the piercing place. And how he’s had to come and find you every single day just to ask how your nose is doing. But then he doesn’t ask you out or anything?”
“Exactly!” she shouts, swinging her car door open. “Well, I’m done waiting for him. He’s had almost two years to figure it out—two years!” she tells me, looking across the hood of the car at me, this fire in her eyes.
“Okay,” I tell her carefully. “That’s good, Mara. You don’t have to wait for anyone.”
“Exactly!” she says again, except this time with conviction as she slams her door shut.
“Are you okay to be driving?” I ask her, confused by this sudden anger.
“Oh, I’m more than okay—I’m great!” She laughs, shifting the car into drive.
I’m not sure if I should be laughing or concerned, so I just quietly say, “Okay.”
“Maybe I want to go out with this Alex person. See what he thinks of that!” She looks at me when I don’t respond. “Right?”
“Right. I guess. But—” I begin.
“But what?” she interrupts.
“But it just seems like those guys are, I don’t know, probably fun to hang out with or whatever, but I mean, they’re big-time stoners. Obviously not boyfriend material. For you.” She looks at me like I’m crushing all her dreams. “Probably. I mean, I don’t know them. Maybe not.”
“But we’ll go to the party, right?”
“Sure.”
“Good.”
She smiles and turns on the radio.
