“It’s un-fucking-believable.”
“It was some hospital infection,” Hannah said, her throat clogging with emotion. “If they didn’t take her eye, she could have died.”
Lauren placed her polished fingers on Hannah’s arm. “Don’t feel bad. This isn’t your fault.”
Hannah nodded her thanks, but she did feel bad, very bad. Ronni had come to her birthday party and lost her freaking eyeball. How could she feel anything but terrible? But Hannah also knew it wasn’t her fault. She’d felt pressured by Lauren and Ronni to raise the bar on the party, to turn it from a simple sleepover into some debauched rave. But, obviously, Hannah could never say that.
“It’s so fucked-up,” Lauren said. “How do you live without your eye?”
“Lots of people do.”
“Not kids our age, though. Do you know a single kid with one eye?”
“No . . . but my mom says Ronni will be able to do everything she did before. And glass eyes look a lot more real now.”
A burst of laughter escaped from Lauren’s shiny mouth. “Oh my god! I can’t even think about a glass eye. It makes me want to hurl.”
Hannah giggled, too, but it was a nervous, almost hysterical sound. “It’s super gross. But we have to be there for her. We have to support her.”
“Totally.” Lauren ran her fingers through her long hair and Hannah caught a whiff of expensive shampoo. “Did the police talk to your parents?”
“Yeah. They got the all clear. Have they talked to you?”
“Not yet.” The girl fiddled with her gold, double-heart pendant: PLEASE RETURN TO TIFFANY & CO. It was a gift from Lauren’s dad . . . for her half birthday or getting a C+ or something. “They’ve called my dad’s place a few times, but he doesn’t want me to speak to them.”
“Why not?”
“He wants me to talk to his lawyer first.”
Hannah’s stomach plunged. “Why would you need to talk to a lawyer?”
Lauren shrugged. “I don’t know. He doesn’t want me to get into any trouble or whatever.”
“Why would you get in trouble?” Hannah’s voice was strained.
“I don’t know. . . .” Lauren shrugged again. “You know how dads are.”
“Yeah.”
“Except your dad—he seems pretty chill.”
Hannah thought about her dad and the champagne he had given them. I was trying to be nice, he’d said. Trying to be cool was more like it. She recalled the night of the party, her dad’s silly jokes and snide comments behind her mom’s back. . . . At the time, she’d felt an affinity with him. But now, after all that had happened, his behavior was just plain weird.
Lauren was peering past her. “Here come Noah and Adam.”
Hannah turned to watch the boys approaching. They were both tall, good-looking, and walked with the confident gait of the popular. Noah smiled directly at Hannah, and she felt her stomach flutter on command. When he reached her, he draped a proprietary arm over her shoulders. Hannah stiffened. Shit. She wanted this to feel natural and comfortable, but Noah’s proximity made her so tense. His arm was so heavy. And she could smell the Axe coming from his armpits.
“What’s up, ladies?” Adam said.
“We were just talking about Ronni’s eye,” Lauren said. “Or lack thereof . . .”
Adam laughed and gave Lauren a playful shove. “You’re bad.”
Noah chuckled, too, then became somber. “Sucks.”
“Totally sucks,” Adam added.
There was a pause where no one spoke; they just stared at the floor feeling the suckiness of it all. Noah coughed into his free hand. “So . . . no one knows what really happened that night, right?”
Hannah’s head jerked up. “Of course not. I mean, I definitely haven’t told anyone.”
“Me neither. And I won’t,” Lauren said.
“Good,” Adam said. “But what about those other girls?”
“Those fucking nerds won’t say anything,” Lauren answered quickly. “And Caitlin brought her mom’s Xanax, so she’s just as guilty.”
“They won’t tell,” Hannah said, but her voice was weak. Marta and Caitlin were good people. They didn’t lie. They didn’t keep secrets. . . .
“Trust me,” Lauren said, “If they rat us out, I’ll make them wish they were never born.”
A frisson of anxiety ran through Hannah at the threat, but she couldn’t blow it, not now. “Me, too,” she said.
“What about Ronni?” Noah asked.
“Apparently, she doesn’t remember anything,” Lauren said.
“Not surprised,” Adam snorted.
“Wait . . . How do you know she doesn’t remember?” Hannah asked Lauren. “Have you talked to her?”
“My stepmonster talked to her mom. She was trying to be supportive.” She did air quotes.
Hannah tried to sound casual when she asked, “How’s Ronni doing? What did Lisa say about her?”
“Not much,” Lauren said, playing with her pendant again. “Just that Ronni’s super depressed and shit . . . and she doesn’t remember what happened.”
“Thank fuck,” Adam said.
Noah gave Adam a teasing punch in the shoulder. “Are you going to visit her? You know she wants you to. . . .”
“Right,” Adam said, “I’ll be her naughty nurse.” He did a couple of pelvic thrusts and they all laughed.
“Ronni would be up for it,” Noah said. “I saw the Snapchat she sent you before the party.”
Adam crossed his arms across his chest, feigning trauma. “She cybermolested me. I feel violated.”
“There are some pamphlets about that in Mrs. Pittwell’s office,” Hannah quipped. Everyone laughed, and Hannah’s chest swelled with a feeling of inclusion.
The bell rang to signal their next class. Noah pulled Hannah closer with that heavy arm and planted a good-bye kiss on her cheek. It was a sweet gesture, but his presence made her feel panicky and claustrophobic . . . and she was pretty sure she was allergic to the chemical, woodsy scent of his deodorant.
That’s when she saw them: two ninth-grade girls, pretty and popular in their own cohort, but virtually invisible to their elders. Their eyes drifted over Noah covetously, then landed on Hannah. She could see their envy and admiration. They wanted what she had, they wanted to be her . . . and Hannah knew she could never go back to being bland, square, overparented Hannah. She would push away her awkwardness, her cedar-fragrance allergy, and her misplaced sense of responsibility for Ronni’s accident, and she would embrace who she had become.
“Later, babe,” she said as Noah strolled off down the hall.
Lauren and Hannah moved in the opposite direction toward their classes. “Let’s hang later,” Lauren said.
“I wish,” Hannah said, “but I’m so grounded.”
“We can skip last class,” Lauren suggested. “What have you got?”
“English. With Morrel.”
“Tell him you’re too upset about Ronni. He’ll totally fall for it.”
Fall for it? But they were upset about Ronni, right? Though Lauren didn’t seem remotely troubled by her best friend’s accident or her abrupt absence from their lives. Hannah suddenly grasped the tremulous state of A-list friendships. Ronni was out: Hannah was in. It was what she had wanted all along. . . . She pushed the sick feeling from her stomach and smiled. “Good idea.”
kim
ELEVEN DAYS AFTER