“A solo?” she asked breathlessly. “Oh my God, that’s awesome! It just sucks that—” Chloe avoided Sawyer’s eyes, looked at her own hands folded in her lap. “It just sucks that Kevin couldn’t be here to hear you.”
Sawyer tried to form a response or a cohesive sentence, but nothing came out.
Mr. Rose took his spot behind the piano, and the Honeybees did their warm-ups. At the last note, he beckoned to Sawyer. She made her way to the front of the class, feeling the heat of all eyes on her. When she turned, it was just Maggie, her eyes narrowed, challenging. Sawyer offered a small noncombative smile that Maggie ignored.
We used to be friends, Sawyer heard herself plead silently.
Maggie’s hate rolled off her in waves.
When the bell rang, Sawyer and Chloe gathered up their backpacks and new uniforms, and headed toward the door. Maggie, arms crossed in front of her chest, stopped Sawyer dead in her tracks.
“A solo?” she said. Her eyes raked over Sawyer, the distaste evident.
“Can you move, please? I need to get to my locker before fourth.” She was too tired to deal with one of Maggie’s jealous rages.
But Maggie remained in Sawyer’s way.
“Do you think I’m going to fall for you and your stupid little ‘woe is me’ act? Doubtful. You don’t deserve this solo, and you didn’t deserve Kevin. A real girlfriend wouldn’t be able to pull herself together, let alone do a solo.”
Sawyer wanted to fight back, but she was exhausted and emotionless. Maybe Maggie was right—she didn’t deserve to be Kevin’s girlfriend—didn’t deserve to be at the blunt end of his anger, a small voice inside her head nagged. Sawyer shook it off and shoved Maggie aside with more force than she meant.
“Lay off, Maggie.”
“Get over yourself,” Sawyer heard Chloe growl. “Sawyer doesn’t need to play the chick who can’t get herself together—you do it too well. It’s just too bad you’ve been doing it ever since Kevin dumped you. When was that exactly? Nine, ten months ago now? Little long to be carrying a flame, don’t you think?” Chloe flicked a lock of Maggie’s long hair, then wrinkled her nose. “It’s probably time to drag your obsessively depressed ass into the shower. It’ll make us all feel better.”
Chloe shoved past Maggie and linked arms with Sawyer, steering her down the hall.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Sawyer said, hiking her backpack over one shoulder. “I can handle Maggie.”
Chloe’s blue eyes went wide and baby-doll innocent. “Oh, honey. I didn’t do it for you.” She blinked, a wry smile spreading across her passion-pink lips. “I did it for me.”
“Hola, se?oras.” Mr. Hanson was the school’s sole Spanish teacher, but at barely thirty years old, he looked more like a student than a faculty member. He edged his way between Sawyer and Chloe and grinned, while a hallway full of girls drooled. “Perdón, perdón. Ah, Sawyer! Has estudiado para la prueba?” he said, looking expectantly at her.
Sawyer felt the redness bloom in her cheeks and shifted her weight. “Um, si, se?or.”
“Bueno! ” A wide smile spread across Mr. Hanson’s face, his eyes crinkling with the effort.
“Ohmigod, what did he just say to you?”
Sawyer shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. My stock answers are si, no, or the often used ‘how do you say menstrual cramps in Spanish’?”
Chloe wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”
“They never ask you to translate that sombrero thing if they think you’ve got cramps.”
Chloe watched the back of Mr. Hanson’s head as he disappeared into Principal Chappie’s office. “Screw French. I’m transferring into Spanish.”
“You were bound to waste it on some French Canadian anyway.”
“Don’t you love him?”
Sawyer glanced over her shoulder, caught the last of Mr. Hanson’s dark hair as he disappeared into the office. “Don’t you think he’s a little overeager?”
“Please. Half my teachers don’t even know my first name. Hanson’s like, fresh out of teacher school, or whatever, and still hopeful. He still believes in us.” Chloe batted her eyelashes sweetly.
“Whatever.”
“Besides, I heard he gave Libby a ride home the other day.”
Sawyer unzipped her backpack. “And I’m sure she thanked him appropriately.”
Chloe crossed her arms in front of her chest, bored now. “Are we still on for tomorrow night?”
“You mean our convocation?”
“Ooh, convocation. SAT word?”
Sawyer laughed. “My ticket out of suburban hell. Let me call you about tomorrow, though. Dad and wife number two are finding out the sex-slash-species of The Spawn. I’m sure they’ll want to do something educational and emotionally satisfying out of their Blended Families/Blended Lives book.”
“Ah, another evening rubbing placenta on each other and worshipping the moon?”