I had this image of a Lizzie who wouldn’t tell me I was crazy if I suspected Mr. Kaminski had bombed that bridge. She wouldn’t even flinch if I said I didn’t actually think he was a terrorist, that it just popped into my head and almost made sense, so I said it out loud. That even as I was calling Amy’s mom, I knew I was doing something stupid, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I could tell her how disconnected I felt since starting high school. How suddenly life was all about dances and football games and who was hooking up with who, and I didn’t know how to be a part of that world and just wanted things to go back to the way they used to be. I wanted friends who talked about characters from books like they were real people, friends who would make up elaborate games with me because anything we imagined was better than something that already existed. I wanted friends who loved me even if I didn’t wear the right clothes or know the lyrics to the right songs or have crushes on the right celebrities.
Maybe I could even tell Lizzie it seemed as if everyone else wanted a completely different life than the one I dreamed about and how lonely that made me feel. I wanted more than high school, then college, then some stupid job I didn’t care about. I wanted to be swept away on a magical adventure. But so far, I was still waiting for that to happen, and I was starting to suspect I’d be waiting forever. And maybe Lizzie would look me in the eyes and say, “Little Creely, I know exactly what you mean.”
Lizzie could teach me how to ignore all the people who thought I was broken and strange. She’d teach me how to fit in, how to be likable. How to be like her. She’d take me under her wing so it wouldn’t matter what I said or did, because if I had her approval, I’d have everyone’s. Even if no one else understood me, she would. We could dream together.
Even at the time, I knew it was stupid to imagine Lizzie as some kindred-spirit/mentor person. But I couldn’t stop my train of thought. That’s why, when I went to the locker room during lunch the next day, I was kind of hoping Lizzie would be waiting there for me.
She wasn’t, but Emily was.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she said.
“You’re speaking to me again?”
“I never stopped speaking to you.”
Technically, this was true. She might have tried calling, but I’d turned off my cell phone and told my mom I was never talking to anyone from school ever again. I said it was because I didn’t want everyone telling me how much they hated me and threatening my life. But really, I was most afraid of turning my phone back on and finding out no one had tried to get ahold of me at all.
I sat down on the bench next to Emily.
“Do you want to talk?” she asked.
“There’s not much to talk about. I really messed up.”
“No, Mr. Kaminski messed up.”
“Then why is everyone so mad at me?”
“Amy is mad at you,” Emily said. “Everyone else just likes to gossip.”
That didn’t change the fact that I could feel people staring at me when I walked down the hall and hear them whispering behind my back. It didn’t change the fact that I’d pretty much ruined my chances of having a normal high school experience. I would always be the girl who couldn’t keep a secret.
“What about the terrorist thing?” I asked Emily.
“Well. That part was stupid.”
“I just wanted something interesting to happen.”
“You got your wish,” Emily said, laughing a little.
“No. Not like this. I mean I wanted to uncover a terrorist plot and save the school seconds before we were all blown to pieces or something.”
“I know. That’s not how the world works though.”
“The world sucks.”
“Come on,” said Emily, standing up.
“I can’t go back to the cafeteria.”
“We’ll find somewhere else to eat.”
“Won’t you miss everyone?”
“Believe me, Hawthorn, I don’t fit in with them any more than you do.”
So we left the locker room, and though I was happy to have Emily on my side, I couldn’t stop thinking of Lizzie. I pictured her going to the locker room, expecting to find me but being disappointed when I wasn’t there. I wondered what would happen when we ran into each other again.
I didn’t see Lizzie for nearly a week, which gave me plenty of time to build up our connection in my head. I was running down the hall, late for the bus, when I passed Lizzie at her locker with some of the other cheerleaders.
I didn’t want to approach while she was with her friends, but it didn’t seem like a better opportunity was going to present itself. Pushing aside my fear of the bus leaving without me, I walked up to Lizzie.
“Hi,” I said.
I could immediately tell it was a mistake, because Lizzie gave me a blank look, as if she’d never seen me before.
“Who are you?” asked one of the other cheerleaders.
“I, um…”
Who was I? The girl from the locker room? The girl who snitched on a creepy teacher? The awkward girl with no friends? I couldn’t think of a single way to describe myself without sounding like a complete loser.
“Oh, right, Little Creely,” Lizzie said after a moment. “This is Rush’s sister.”
I guess that was my answer. I was a footnote in the book of Rush.
One of the girls nudged Lizzie. “Are you using Creely’s sister to get close to him?”
Everyone giggled. Except me.