I whack her arm. “Cass, you can’t just ask people about their personal hygiene.”
“Says who?” Her eyebrows lift and her lips purse in mock propriety. The laugh I attempt to hold back comes out as a snort.
Marcos smiles uncertainly. He definitely thinks we’re ridiculous. “How’s it going?”
“Fine, thanks.” Cass elbows me–I told you so, that move says.
Marcos turns to me. His jaw flexes just a moment before he speaks. It’s almost hypnotizing. “How’s sixth period for you, Savannah? Meet in the library?”
“That’s when we have lunch,” Cassie says before I answer. Her tone has shifted from playful to cool.
“We could work in the cafeteria.” Marcos’s smile wavers a little.
“Work?” Cass turns to me, confused.
“I found out Savannah was tutoring you, and she offered to help me out.”
“Oh, right. Tutoring.” Never have three syllables held so much sarcasm. “Well, that sounds fun. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”
Marcos raises his eyebrows, but I have no explanation. I can’t focus on math, or Cassie, or the fact that his dimples have disappeared. I still have to finish that damn essay. “Sixth period sounds great.”
“Bye, Marcos.” Cassie nearly shuts the window in his face. I’d give him an apologetic look, except he’s already turned away. “What the hell is going on, Savannah? Library trysts?”
“He overheard our meeting.”
“Make sure you tell Mr. Riley. He’ll nominate you for sainthood.” Just mentioning the assistant principal’s name makes her eyes darken.
“What’s the real problem, Cass?”
The directness of my question makes Cassie drop her eyes to her shimmering silver scarf. It’s unseasonably warm today after the cold weekend, humid enough to bring back hints of early September, and all of that makes me sweat more.
“Juliana invited me to a party in El Pueblo over the summer. It was at this guy Nelson’s house–he graduated a couple of years ago.” She tucks in her right index finger and cracks it. Middle finger. Ring finger. “They have, like, twenty people in one house there. Lots of poverty. Lots of crime. Juliana lives there, and she says it’s a shithole. Not a place for a girl like you, Savs. You wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
What’s that supposed to mean? “Marcos, well, let’s just say that that night, he wasn’t exactly–” The rest of her words are buried by the first bell.
Shit. My essay isn’t close to done, my battery’s about to die…
Cassie shuts the laptop before I can start typing again. In contrast to the panic that consumes me, she seems perfectly calm. Maybe she’s relieved to have gotten her feelings toward El Pueblo off of her chest. “Tell Mr. Raia your computer crashed. I’m sure he thinks you’re a little shining star, just like Mr. Riley.”
“But–”
“It’s fine, Savs. I do it all the time.” She tucks the laptop into my backpack before I can protest.
And look how well that’s going for you. I swallow back the thought.
As I approach the entrance, trying not to run while Cassie saunters, her words about El Pueblo echo in my mind. Not a place for a girl like you. She said it so certainly. To her, Juliana is one kind of girl and I’m the other–the can-handle and the can’t.
Well, not anymore.
THROUGH THE REMNANTS of caffeine and “working on my lab report” in AP Chem, I manage to finish a semi-coherent essay where I may or may not have referred to Hamlet as a fishmongering rapscallion for his treatment of Ophelia. It’s complete, I’ll give it that.
Going to the art room. Try not to make out in the stacks, Cass texts me when the bell rings for sixth period. That’s her version of giving me her blessing.
I arrive at the library first and open my laptop. When I click on my math folder, my fingers slip on the track pad and open a photo file instead.
Emery and I stand with our arms around each other at the end of practice. Four inches taller than me, her biceps ripple even while at rest around my shoulders. Her green eyes are half-closed as she laughs at something I’ve said. Both of our cheeks are smeared with chalk and our hair falls loose from our ponytails. We’ve just finished the final practice before Regionals, and my smile in the photo says it all. Confident. Focused. Determined.
My heart swells with both fondness and pain.
All of it for nothing.
Get over it already.
If Cassie saw me like this, my lips pressed together so hard they may turn permanently white, she’d delete the photo before I could protest. “There,” she’d say. “You’re free.”
Hovering the arrow over the trash bin icon feels–
“What are you looking at?” says a deep voice from behind me.
I jump. “Good afternoon to you, too.”
My heart slows from a gallop to a steady thump as Marcos’s gaze drops to the laptop. He inclines his head ever so slightly as I shut it.
“Who’s that girl?”
“My friend, Emery.” Is “friend” the right word when you haven’t texted since a cursory Happy birthday! Miss you! text in July?
He blinks as though he’s running through a mental index of names. “She go here?”
I roll my eyes. Tall, athletic, elegant–covered in chalk and dressed in polka-dot Spandex shorts, Emery was still all of those things. “Galway Beach, and she has a boyfriend.” Last time we texted, at least.
“Hey, hey.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Not going there. Just curious. I’ve never seen you with anyone besides Cassie.”
Right. The way he’s always curious.
“What’s Cassie’s deal?” he adds. “She looked like she was going to eat me alive.”
“Not up her alley. She’s vegetarian.” It’s a stupid answer (albeit true), but it makes Marcos chuckle. I can’t exactly say, “She was in the middle of warning me to stay away from your part of town,” now, can I?
“Emery was one of your teammates?”