“I heard what you told Warren. He broke up with me.”
“This is insane. I haven’t talked to Warren—I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
The girls behind her were all shaking their heads and rolling their eyes. I heard one of them whisper, “What a lying cow.”
“I know you called him last night and told him I cheated on him at Christmas with Nathan.” Amy looked around, saw how many people were watching. “Which is a total lie.”
Amy had fooled around with Nathan, but I’d never said a word to anyone. Not many people knew, just Nathan and a few of his friends. One of them was Cameron, the guy Shauna was getting cozy with at the party. I had a feeling he’d told Shauna—and Shauna must have called Warren, pretending to be me. I remembered how good she was at mimicking people when we were younger, how she could copy the exact tone and pitch of their voice, how she even called home for me once and fooled my own mother.
“I never called Warren, Amy. It had to be Shauna—she was pissed that she didn’t break me and Ryan up. Why would I do something like that?”
“Warren swore it was you.” Amy’s voice rose. Now kids were stopping in the hallway to listen.
I was too stunned to defend myself. I could only stand there and take it, my heart beating fast. But Amy was still going strong.
“Warren told me the other stuff you said, about how my parents were poor and he could do better than me. That I dressed like a homeless person.”
“I would never say that.” Amy bought all her clothes at the thrift store and tried to pretend it was cool, but I knew she’d rather have new stuff.
“God, you can’t stop lying.”
My shock and confusion were wearing off and now I was also pissed.
“You’re nuts if you believe any of this crap. Think about it, Amy.”
But Amy wasn’t thinking anymore, didn’t want to hear the truth. “You think your relationship with Ryan is soooo perfect, like no one else can have a boyfriend. He’s the only thing you even talk about anymore.”
Was that what this was really about? Amy was jealous?
“That’s not true,” I said. “I still call you to hang out.”
“Yeah.” She snorted. “When Ryan’s busy. You’re totally lame now.”
“Screw you, Amy. You’re the one who was always canceling our plans so you could follow Warren around—no wonder he broke up with you.”
Amy’s face was red, tears filling her eyes. “I hate you.”
She spun around and walked off. Some kids followed, others stood around, waiting to see what I would do. I could barely move, still clutching my binder. My face was burning hot. Ryan, I have to get to Ryan.
I ran down the hall, away from everyone, and skipped my first class, hiding out by Ryan’s truck, waiting for him to come out for a cigarette break.
“Toni, what happened?” he said as soon as he saw me. “Are you okay?”
“I hate this school and everyone in it.” I wiped away angry tears.
He pulled me in for a hug. I hung on tight, my heart finally slowing as I felt his solid warmth, the strength in his body.
He murmured against my hair, “We’re almost out of here.”
I tried to focus on his words, but I kept hearing Amy say “I hate you.” I’d never had anyone say that to me before. Had never felt like someone meant it.
*
The next few weeks at school, all through the rest of January and the first week of February, were brutal. Ryan and a few of his friends were the only people who would talk to me. Even the guys’ girlfriends would give me the cold shoulder if the boys weren’t around. I was doing terrible in my classes. My mom and I had a big fight one night, after she said, again, that I was spending too much time with Ryan, and she used my grades as proof. I told her she didn’t know what she was talking about. She tried for the reasonable thing, sat on my bed and said, “Then talk to me and tell me what’s going on. None of your friends call, your teachers say you’re surly and difficult, you hide out in your room for hours…”
I was so embarrassed, hearing what my life had become, that I flipped out completely. “Maybe you’re the problem. Did you ever think about that?” Then I stormed out of the house and walked down to the river. My dad came and got me an hour later.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he said, “but I hope you know you can always talk to us—no matter what. If it’s drugs—”
“Jesus Christ, Dad. You’re as bad as Mom.”
“We’re worried about you.”