It wasn’t unusual for girls to copy Julie’s style. If Julie wore blue glitter nail polish on a Friday, by Monday half the school would be wearing it, too. Usually it made her feel special, powerful, but with Ashley, Julie just felt Single-White-Femaled. The girl tried so hard. It was embarrassing. If she told her therapist, Elliot Fielder, about it, he’d probably say Ashley was what Julie feared she would become if her secret ever got out: mocked, lame, desperate.
She wondered if Parker had ever looked at Julie like that. When Julie moved to Beacon Heights in sixth grade, she realized immediately that Parker—blond, clear-skinned, and fearless—was the friend she needed to have. It took a few weeks, but Julie nosed her way into Parker’s posse, and pretty soon she was Parker’s best friend. They were both equally beautiful and outgoing, natural partners in crime at the top of the popularity pyramid. And though they talked after school daily, and though Julie had spent many nights at Parker’s house, Parker had never come to hers. Julie had said it was because her mom was super strict. Thankfully, Parker hadn’t questioned it.
But then that night happened with Parker. The night when keeping her secret nearly cost Parker her life. After that, they started being honest with each other.
Ashley was still staring at Julie eagerly. “Uh, so crazy,” Julie finally said flatly, pretending to look at something on her phone. It was just about the unfriendliest she could be.
“Red alert,” whispered Nyssa Frankel, who grabbed her arm and yanked her to the left. “Let’s get you out of here before that psycho cuts off your hair and pastes it on her head, okay?”
Julie giggled and let Nyssa pull her away. She glanced at Ashley over her shoulder; she was standing there, frowning, clearly aware she’d been dissed.
“I wish she’d find someone else to copy,” Julie murmured into Nyssa’s ear as they sauntered back outside.
Nyssa lit a cigarette, and the scent of tobacco wafted through the air. “Oh, style stealing is the highest form of flattery,” she said as she exhaled, shaking out her brown curls. She offered Julie a drag, but Julie shook her head. “Anyway, everyone knows she’s a loser.” Nyssa squeezed Julie’s arm. “Want me to put an ugly picture of her on Instagram? Or start a rumor about her?”
“That’s okay,” Julie said, but she appreciated Nyssa’s standing up for her. Ever since Parker had stopped being Parker, Nyssa had become Julie’s second in command.
Nyssa looked around, hands on her hips. “This place is bananas, huh?”
“Seriously,” Julie answered. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see a cluster of kids dancing wildly in the den, jumping up and down in rhythm to the music. A boy in a Seahawks jersey had another guy in a headlock, both of them laughing. A potted lily lay broken on the covered patio, and people had obviously walked through the spilled soil, tracking it into the house. James Wong, Zev Schaeffer, and Karen Little were playing quarters on a foldout table in the backyard.
“Everyone made it out tonight,” Nyssa murmured, elbowing her way through a cluster of kids.
Julie glanced around, spotting Ava, looking model-perfect, holding tight to Alex’s hand. Caitlin was here, wearing a no-nonsense striped dress and her shiny black hair pulled into a ponytail, laughing with some girls on her soccer team. Even Mackenzie was here with her friend Claire and Claire’s boyfriend, Blake. But not everyone was here. Nolan wasn’t. And neither was Parker.
Julie hadn’t actually thought Parker would come. It was awesome that she’d shown up at Nolan’s bash—but then, that wasn’t because she’d wanted to socialize. She felt a pang. Parker had been through so much—of course she’d changed, and of course she was having a hard time adjusting. And after the Nolan thing, Parker seemed more tormented than ever.
Jessa Cooper and Will Mika, two of the newspaper editors, stood next to Julie and Nyssa, speaking in hushed tones. “You can still find them online if you look hard enough,” Will whispered.
“So you’ve actually looked at the photos?” Jessa’s eyes were wide. “Of Nolan dead?”
Julie’s stomach swooped. She knew what photos they were talking about.
Will shrugged. “A lot of people did.”
Julie cleared her throat. “How do you know he was actually dead when those photos were taken?”
Both kids turned to her. Their expressions grew reverent and respectful—she was Julie Redding, after all, and they were juniors. “Uh, I guess I don’t know for sure,” Will admitted. “But, I mean, why else would the school demand they be taken down?”
“Maybe because Nolan had mean shit written on him?” Jessa piped up. “I wonder who wrote those things on his face.”
Nyssa snorted. “My money’s on Mark Brody,” she said, referring to Nolan’s friend on the lacrosse team. “Don’t guys always pull stupid pranks like that on each other?”