Hannah’s lips curled with distaste as she watched the boy cross the parking lot. He emanated cruelty, arrogance, misogyny . . . he was a perfect fit for that bitch Lauren. If Adam had followed his girlfriend to some religious school, Hannah’s junior year might have been tolerable. But Adam had stayed at Hillcrest. He was always there to sneer when Hannah walked past, to whisper cruel comments to his friends, to remind her of the ugliness of last year. . . .
Everyone knew that Adam had started the cyberbullying campaign against Ronni. There were various rumors as to why he was never punished, the most plausible being that he’d convinced an eager-to-please Chinese exchange student to set up the social media pages and administer most of the assaults. The student had left the country and with him went the evidence. Adam got off scot-free. Of course, some elite cybercrime unit could have pulled proof off of a server somewhere, but apparently, elite cybercrime units had bigger fish to fry. And it wasn’t like the student body was going to point fingers at Adam; they’d all seen what he was capable of.
Adam was climbing into the passenger seat now, closing the door behind him. Through the windshield, Hannah could just see him leaning toward Lauren Ross. The girl’s hands wrapped around his neck and they kissed. And kissed. Adam’s eyes must have miraculously grown farther apart, because Lauren seemed really into him. The car windows were starting to fog up and Hannah turned away, mildly sickened. The two were a match made in hell.
The bell rang to end class, to end the week, and to end her stay with her dad. Every Friday, Hannah and her brother changed homes, shuttling between her dad’s spacious but virtually empty condo in Presidio Heights and her mom’s modest two-bedroom and den apartment in the Upper Haight. Hannah gathered her books and shuffled toward her locker. She felt tired, exhausted at the thought of relocating her life, yet again. Her mom said they’d get used to it, but they’d already had a couple months’ practice and the process still left Hannah feeling drained. She’d probably be off at college before she got comfortable with the arrangement.
At her locker, she collected her homework for the weekend. After her brief flirtation with popularity, Hannah was focused on school again. It wasn’t like she had a choice. Her social life had slowed to a trickle, and this was an important year if she wanted to get into a good college, which she did. Her backpack was nearly bursting with textbooks as she closed her locker door. Thankfully, her dad had offered to drop her and Aidan’s personal items off at her mom’s apartment that evening, as usual. He always texted them from his car and asked them to meet him out front. But last week, he’d helped Aidan carry his science project to Kim’s apartment. Her mom was surprised by Jeff’s presence, but her parents had been civil and polite. Hannah had left them to unpack her suitcase in her tiny room when she heard them chuckling about something. Hannah realized she hadn’t heard her parents laugh together since she was in eighth grade. What the hell was so funny now?
As she clicked her lock in place, her friends strolled up to her. “Are we going to work on our psychology project?” Marta asked.
“Sure,” Hannah said. “I’m going to my mom’s, so you can come over if you want. She’ll be at work till late.”
“Your mom’s like Sheryl Sandberg now,” Caitlin joked. “She’s, like, leaning in all over the place.”
“Yeah, except she’s writing websites, not running Facebook.”
“Too bad.”
“I’ll say it’s too bad,” Hannah said, hoisting her heavy load onto her back. “Then I’d have a driver instead of having to run to catch the stupid bus.”
“The loser cruiser,” Marta quipped, and Hannah rolled her eyes.
“I’ll bring snacks,” Caitlin said. “When should we come over?”
“Whenever,” Hannah said, her lack of enthusiasm evident. Her friends would assume her indifference was due to their homework project, but it was the thought of munching Doritos, discussing hot celebrities, and gossiping about which teacher was sleeping with which, that Hannah was really dreading. She should have been grateful that Marta and Caitlin had taken her back after everything that had happened. She was grateful. When things had gone off the rails with Hannah’s popular crew, she’d wanted nothing more than the familiar comfort of her old clique. But now, months later, the reality of their friendship was just so . . . mundane. Caitlin and Marta were nice; they were kind; they were good people. . . . Maybe that was the problem?
She had to muster some exuberance. “How’s four thirty?” Hannah asked. “I’ll heat up some delicious frozen taquitos.”
“Yum!” Caitlin said sincerely, as Hannah walked off.
THE BUS RIDE from school to her mom’s wasn’t long, but it was still pretty gross. Before they’d moved, Hannah was able to walk to and from school. Now, she had to rely on transit to get to both her parents’ homes. She stared out the window, taking in the gritty urbanity of the Haight, so different from the sunny sleepiness of Potrero Hill. She kind of liked the new neighborhood; it had edge, it had personality . . . it suited her: not the Hannah she was but the Hannah she’d become. Sure, she missed their old house, but a new family lived there now: a husband, a wife, and two cute, blond daughters. Were they as perfect as they looked from the outside? Or were they, like Hannah’s family before them, just putting on a show?
The bus stopped a block and a half from her mom’s apartment. It wasn’t far, but it was all uphill. With her burden of books, she trudged toward home. Ahead, she saw a man crouching near a shopping cart loaded with the leftovers of a life. He was fortyish, dirty, his hair matted, but he was smiling as she approached.
“Hey, Hannah.”
“Hey, Pete.”
“Wanna buy some crack?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
As she continued past him, he said, “Study hard, girl! Stay in school!”
“I will. . . .” A few months ago, Hannah could not have imagined being on a first-name basis with a homeless drug dealer. Her parents had always kept her sheltered from the rough side of her city. But things were different now. This was her new reality: two apartments, transit, friendly relations with drug addicts. . . . The fallout from the party had fucked up her life royally. But still, Hannah’s life wasn’t the most changed.
Ronni had recovered . . . well, she had lived; recovery was up for debate. Some people said she’d lost her voice completely. Others said she could talk but her larynx was so severely damaged that she croaked and wheezed like an old lady who’d smoked for forty years. Some said she had PTSD and had to be homeschooled, but no one knew for sure. As soon as Ronni had been sent home from the hospital, Lisa had whisked her away to New York State. Lisa had a sister there. And with three million dollars in the bank, the Monroes could set up a nice little home.