Em’s eyes wandered over to the far left bench, where the junior footballers sat. She tried to look away quickly, before her gaze could linger on the empty spot at the end of the bench—the one where Chase used to sit, the one that had remained empty since his death, as if people feared it was haunted. And even though she wanted to think that was silly, she had to admit she was glad they were sitting several tables away.
“. . . What do you think, Em?” Gabby nudged her.
“About what? Sorry, I was zoning for a second.” Em pulled her hair into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck and tried to focus. All of a sudden sitting there in the cafeteria and gossiping didn’t feel right. In fact, it felt distinctly jarring.
“That’s a surprise.” Gabby rolled her eyes. “I asked what we should do after the Spring Fling. Whether or not there’ll be an after-party.”
While Em tried to think of something to say—what would the old Em have said?—she watched Gabby’s eyes drift over to the same table, the football table, and linger there for a second before snapping back to attention. Em knew she was probably thinking of Zach, who used to preside over that zone—over all the athletes in the school, in fact. Zach had gone off to boarding school last month, supposedly. But then last week Andy Barton had told them that he’d heard Zach had been involved in a nasty accident and was in some fancy physical therapy facility in Florida. Now there were rumors that he’d never be able to play sports again.
Em wondered whether Gabby felt bad for Zach . . . or if she felt the same sense of relief that he was gone, that his presence wasn’t a constant reminder of how easy it was to make mistakes.
She watched as Pierce Travers, a sophomore and Zach’s likely replacement as quarterback, caught Gabby’s eye and smiled. He really was adorable. For a moment Em found herself back in social butterfly mode, hopeful that something might happen between Pierce and Gabby. At least that would prove that Gabby was really over that asshole. That Em hadn’t broken up Ascension’s best It Couple or something.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Em admitted. But she knew she had to do better than that. Post-dance parties were a big deal. “Will Ian’s parents be out of town? They’re always away, right?”
“I heard that they’re going to be around,” Lauren said.
“Plus we were just there last weekend,” Gabby said. “I mean, I love Ian’s house, but I’d also love a change of venue.” She paused. “What about your new goth friends, Em? Do they ever have parties?”
She didn’t say it meanly, but Gabby’s message was clear: She’d noticed who Em had been spending more time with, and she didn’t like it.
Em didn’t have time to think of a response. Just then the whole table of girls was distracted by a french fry hitting their table, followed by some general hubbub. The boys had gotten into a shoving match and french fries were being used as weapons. For the second time in one lunch period Em was glad she and her friends sat on the other side of the cafeteria from the Sports Section.
They watched as the boys got rowdier.
“Can you believe we’re the same age as those primitives?” Fiona asked.
They watched as a short, cute girl with dirty-blond hair—someone Em had never seen before—got blasted with a tray of spaghetti. They cringed, issuing a chorus of sympathy: “Ooooooh. Oh no!”
Em ducked her head. She hated watching other people get embarrassed. It was almost worse than being humiliated herself.
“Oh god, I know that girl,” Gabby said, wincing. “She’s new—I helped her find her bio class today. . . . I wonder—should I go, like, help her?”
Lauren pointed. “I think she’s okay. Pierce gave her his sweatshirt!” They watched the new girl make a mad dash from the cafeteria.
“What a terrible way to start at a new school,” Gabby said, turning back to the table.
“Hey, Laur, you want the rest of this?” Em shoved her tray toward Lauren, who could never turn down pizza—it was one of their shared vices. “I guess I’m not too hungry today.”
“You should eat, Em. You’re looking borderline rexy,” Gabby said, grabbing Em’s arm and holding it up as evidence. “Not to mention you’re an icicle. Are you getting sick? Do you want to borrow my sweater?”
You’re an icicle. The expression called to mind the dagger-sharp icicles that pitched down around her last night as though they’d been aimed by dark angels.
Just as she was about to make some snarky retort, she looked out the cafeteria window and saw JD and his friend Ned jogging across the parking lot, ducking their heads against the cold air. They were probably going to get a burrito from Chalupa’s, where they went at least weekly to gorge on guacamole and talk computer programming. He told her once, It’s safer to talk about computer programming around people who don’t speak English than around Ascension jocks.