The Creeping

“Well,” she snaps, “say something.”


“Why’d you do it?” I watch her profile change as she puzzles out what I mean. “Why did you make me choose, and why would you tell him? My mom had just left and you thought that was a good time to make me pick between my best friends?” I fight to keep control; all the sticky resentment finally gushing out.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says sarcastically, flipping her hair from her eyes. “Did you want high school to blow? Did you want to be stepped on by girls less pretty but more popular than you? Did you want to beg for a dribble of attention from some guy who stank of BO and couldn’t remember your name? I didn’t realize that Stella Cambren wanted to be a desperate freak. Because let’s be honest, people think you’re a freak for surviving what you did. And without me, without being popular”—she checks to see that I’m looking at her before she smiles wickedly—“people wouldn’t be too afraid to tell you so.”

Bleary-eyed, I stare at my best friend, the urge to punch her bitchy upturned nose so strong I form a fist. I’ve never heard Zoey say anything half as mean to one of her so-called peasants. I take a shaky breath, fighting the vomit washing up my throat. “What you did was shitty, Zoey. It was fucked up. To me. To Sam. We were his best friends.”

She runs her tongue over her shimmery bottom lip. “Whatever, Stella. Tell yourself what you need to. But I made you choose because you were too much of a coward to do it on your own. You needed me to make you.” She presses her finger to my forehead right between my eyes. “Just like you need me to be the pusher. If I’m the pusher, then you can do whatever you want without feeling bad about it. Without ever taking responsibility for what you are. Ohhh, poor me”—her lip juts out and she whines in a baby voice—“Zoey makes me treat people like crap to be more popular. Now I have the hottest guys wanting me. Every girl wants to be me. Poor Stella.” She spits my name out.

Zoey’s words resonate in me. They bounce around in all the dark corners. I try to resist them; I don’t want them to stick; once they stick, I won’t be able to ignore them. “Being popular was never important to me,” I whisper.

“Sure, Stella.” She laughs cruelly. “Who would you be if I hadn’t pushed you? Who the hell do you think you’d be without me? You’d finally have to accept that you’re not a nice girl.” We come to a stop sign in front of the massive white building that Savage’s city hall and courthouse share. We’re a block away from Drew’s cousin. Vaguely, I’m aware of a large crowd on the courthouse steps and the faint roar of them chanting. Men and women, shoulder to shoulder, pumping their fists in the air.

Zoey leans across the emergency brake so she’s a few inches from me. Her face softens, and she takes my hand like she’s breaking really horrible news. “I made you choose once. But you chose over and over again. Every time Sam came around with some sappy bullshit corsage, or valentine, or playlist, or pathetic excuse to be near you, you chose all on your own.” She catches my wrist as I pull away. Her skin is porcelain and flawless this close; her voice becomes full-throated and velvety. “And if it wasn’t for me, you’d have to face it. You’re a fucking monster, Stella. You’re just like me.”

At that moment I make sense of what the mob is chanting, a single word decipherable from their bloodthirsty howls.

“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!” they chant. I tear my eyes away from Zoey to see Mr. Talcott, in shackles, escorted by a dozen cops up the courthouse steps.

“What the . . . ?” I mutter. Before I think better of it, I swing the SUV’s door open.

When I look back to Zoey, her expression has changed, its control melted away, her head wagging at what she knows I’m about to do. She grabs hold of my seat belt just as I’m unbuckling it. “No, no, no.” Her voice goes shrill, losing the venom that laced it a moment ago. “It’s a shit-show out there!” She tries to shove the buckle fastened, but I slip out from under it.

“I have to help him,” I shout, jumping out onto the sidewalk.

“Stella Cambren, you get back in this car,” she cries after me.