That was the high point in my relationship with Gwen. From there, it went downhill.
“She still a bitch?” I ask.
“Worse.” Lacy’s tone drops. “Yet everyone believes she’s a saint.”
“And I thought third grade sucked.”
Lacy snorts. “Imagine what middle school
and training bras were like with her. I swear the girl blossomed into a C-cup between fifth and sixth grade. Thank God Ryan finally broke up with her last spring. I couldn’t stand being HC TITLE-AUTHOR
150
within a foot of her a moment longer.”
Of course Ryan dated Gwen. I’m sure the
break-up is temporary and they’ll marry soon and create tons of other little perfect spawns of Satan in order to torture further generations of people like me.
We lapse into an awkward silence. It’s
strange talking to Lacy. It used to be the two of us against the world. Then I left. I assumed, in my absence, she’d become one of them—the girls who were perfect. She had the potential to be one. Her parents had money. Her mom would have bought her the clothes. Lacy was pretty and fun. For some insane reason, she stuck with me—the girl who had two outfits and lived in the trailer park.
I scratch off the remaining paint. Yesterday Allison bought me nail polish in the annoying shade of mauve. How can anyone look at me and think mauve? “What did your dad tell you?”
Lacy’s pinkie taps the table repeatedly.
“That he was called to your home and that you later moved to another city.”
Surprised, I glance up to catch sincerity in her dark eyes. “That’s it?”
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
151
“Everyone thinks Scott swooped in and
saved you. Daddy and the other guys that
responded that night let that rumor stand.” Her forehead crinkles. “It’s what happened, right?
You’ve been living with Scott?”
I scratch my cheek, trying to hide whatever reaction she might see. I could lie and tell her yes, but that would be like I’m embarrassed about Mom. And I’m not embarrassed. I love her. I owe her. Yet there are times…
“I cried for three months when you left,”
Lacy continues. “You were my best friend.”
I cried too. A lot. Thanks to me and my
stupid decisions, I cost my mom everything and I lost my best friend. Typical me—a hurricane that leaves nothing but destruction.
“Go sit with your friends, Lacy. I’m bad
news.”
“In this classroom, those two guys sitting over there are the only real friends I have.”
Lacy drums her fingers once more. “And you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your life must suck
then.”
She laughs. “Not really. It’s a good life.”
The teacher calls the class to order and I inch my seat away from Lacy’s. An unseen, HC TITLE-AUTHOR
152
uncomfortable vise tightens my chest.
Normal people don’t like me. They don’t want to be my friend, and here is someone offering friendship willingly.
As the teacher calls attendance, Ryan’s name is read and he answers with a deep, soothing, “Here.”
Taking a chance, I peek in his direction and find him staring at me again. No smile. No anger. No cockiness. Just a thoughtful expression mixed with confusion. He scratches the back of his head and I’m drawn to his biceps. My traitorous stomach flutters. God, the boy may be an ass, but he sure is built.
And guys like him don’t go for girls like me.
They only use me.
I force my eyes to the front of class, pull my knees to my chest, and wrap my arms around them. Lacy invades my space and whispers to me, “I’m glad you’re back, Beth.”
A sliver of hope sneaks past my walls and I slam every opening shut. Emotion is evil.
People who make me feel are worse. I take comfort in the stone inside of me. If I don’t feel, I don’t hurt.
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
153
Ryan
WAITING ON SUNDAY DINNER, I can observe a lot from my seat on the couch in the living room of the mayor’s house. For instance, the serious set of Dad’s mouth and the angle of his body toward Mr. Crane suggests that Dad’s talking business. Serious business. Mom, on the other hand, is laughter and giggles as she stands next to the mayor’s wife and the pastor’s wife, but the way she fingers her pearls tells me she’s anxious. That means someone asked a question about Mark.
Mom misses him. So do I.
The power of observation. It’s a skill I need to play ball. Is the runner on base going to chance a steal? Is the batter going to hit the ball out of the park or is he going to hit a sacrifice fly in order to score the runner on third? Is Skater Girl the hard-nosed chick I HC TITLE-AUTHOR
154
believe her to be?
For the last two weeks, I’ve watched Beth roam the school. She’s interesting. Nothing like the girls I know. She sits by herself at lunch and eats a full meal. Not salad. Not an apple. A full meal. Like an entrée, two sides, and a dessert. Even Lacy doesn’t do that.