“Okay,” I say, and we don’t make eye contact for a while.
“Hey, if you did do anything . . . You know I’d still effing love you, right?” she says when the scone is mostly a pile of crumbs.
I didn’t really know that, and it’s so like Elise to tell me what I need to hear, the second I need to hear it, and surprise the hell out of me.
“I effing love you too,” I say. But I still can’t tell her the truth.
I excuse myself to go get one more scone, and check LBC while I’m alone in the back kitchen area. I am not all alone with my secrets. There are people in towns with cactuses and lighthouses and palm trees and wheat fields who know something important about me. And are watching me, from afar.
It sounds weird, but I think this is how people feel about God. Like he’s watching and is in everything and is everywhere, giving purpose to the parts of your life that have started to feel stale or strange or too sad.
There’s an encouraging comment from Agnes and another from @sshole, reminding me that sometimes doing the wrong thing is actually the right thing.
ROXIE: We aren’t here to judge. We’re here to get you to the next level.
I picture a video game where your bikini-wearing avatar moves from a dungeon scene to a poisonous flower scene, where the move to the next level brings a new soundtrack, new dangers, bigger prizes, surprising terrains.
I guess I am a little tired of my current scenery. I guess I am ready to take a flying leap to the next level.
BRENDA: We’ll be right there with you.
Right before eight Elise drives us to school from Tea Cozy, and I try to remember to breathe and talk like a normal person. Of course we run into Sasha and Joe right after assembly. Sasha’s sitting in Joe’s lap on the bench outside the auditorium, and she’s whispering into his ear and he’s blushing. No teachers are around, or the cuddling would have to stop. The teachers manage to ignore the sexual harassment, but not the cuddling. Vermont values, at their best.
I try not to look. The combination of jealousy and white-hot pain is basically unbearable.
Joe isn’t looking either. He never responded to my email, and he’s looking everywhere but my direction.
Instead of obsessively watching them, I check LBC once again. There’s that little red exclamation point that means something is happening. There’s a countdown on my page. A countdown from Zed.
Twenty-four hours from the time the Assignment is given, the message reads. You’re on hour seven.
My heart’s going batshit crazy in my chest. I think of Joe’s lips and the conversation I just had with Elise and wonder how both things can exist in one world.
“What if you dated, like, Greg Granger?” Elise says while she hangs her coat up in her locker. “I’ve seen him check you out. And he’s smart. He’s in my English class.”
“His name is Greg Granger,” I say. I’d laugh, but there’s too much tightness in my chest to get out even a grunt. “Are you matchmaking now?”
“Oh! Adam Furlan!” Elise says. I glance up from my phone and raise my eyebrows.
“I’m not, like, desperate for a boyfriend,” I say. Elise looks disappointed and tries to sneak a glance at my phone. I’m sure she thinks it’s Joe. I’m sure she doesn’t believe me.
“I guess I’m trying to say there are seriously a million guys you could go for, you know? And I want school to suck less for you. And I want everyone to lay off your shit. . . .”
Jemma walks by with Alison, and Elise cringes. Jumps in front of me, like she needs to shield them from my sluttiness. Alison’s got on some outfit her mother picked out for her, and Jemma’s in her purple hoodie today and jeans that go all the way up to her waist instead of hanging on her hips. It’s not the height of fashion or anything, but she looks good to me. Safe. Familiar. Expected. But they look at my beige dress and hot-pink scarf with masterful, practiced hatred. I guess there’s no hiding my C cups anymore. But come on, I want to say.
“How bad is this rumor, seriously?” I whisper in Elise’s ear. She’s acting like I’m about to get scarlet-lettered or something.
“I mean, people trust Jemma. She’s not exactly a rampant rumor spreader. So. When she says something’s shady . . .” Elise looks at her feet.
“Has Sasha heard anything?” I don’t know what I want the answer to be. Both answers suck. And are great.