Plus . . . J, they avoid me. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t talk to any of them after what happened or even at your funeral. I went to Pinewood this summer, not parties. I was there when you died.
I’m the reason you’re gone.
44
So no old friends. And no new ones among my dumb-ass honors classmates either, which, frankly, is fi ne with me, as I’m not interested in hanging out with people who have poles shoved up their butts. However—and I know you’ll find this amusing—Corn Syrup Caro has actually spoken to me! We were sitting in our groups in English class when someone across the room mentioned your name, and I just . . . I zoned out or something.
Freaked out, I guess. My brain just kinda went pzzzt, and my face got all hot, and it was like I couldn’t hear or think or anything. I was dimly aware of Mel glancing at me and then at Patrick (who, as always, was staring at his desk, though I think he might have looked at me). But Caro actually said something. She said, “Amy, are you okay? Do you need some water or—” but then Beth Emory sneered at me and Corn Syrup shut up. She hasn’t spoken to me since.
You remember Beth Emory, right? Another middle school nightmare. She’s still exactly the same. Gorgeous, mean, and able to say things that make her friends act like frightened little sheep. Baaaaa. Of course Caro still hangs out with her.
There is actually one person who does talk to me. It’s that guy, Mel. In English class, when we’re stuck in that 45
stupid group, he’s always asking me questions. “What’s your favorite color?” or “How come you dropped psychology to take environmental science?” Stuff like that.
It’s weird, because while he seems to know an awful lot about me—like my schedule, for instance—and is always asking stuff, he doesn’t seem all that interested in the answers. I can’t figure him out, but since I don’t care it works out fi ne.
You know what my biggest problem with school is?
Lunch. I didn’t expect that. In Pinewood we had to do a lot of role-playing (I know!), and I was always fi ne with
“learning to be by myself.” But at school it’s different.
Who sits where, with whom, and why, matters. It matters a lot, and the fact that I don’t have anyone to sit with—
well, you know what that makes me.
There’s a couple of other kids who eat by themselves, but I’m in no mood for a very special episode moment, and even if I was it still wouldn’t be enough to make me sit with the girl who needs to be told to bleach her mustache or the guy who always wears a suit and tie. I suppose he’s making a real fashion statement, but this is high school. You’re not supposed to be real. You’re supposed to be enough like everyone else to get through and out into the waiting world.
46
F I V E
SCHOOL STARTED OFF normally enough; annoying classes, annoying people. The usual. And then came lunch.
It was the same as always at first. I bought fries and a soda, and then grabbed a seat at the far end of the freshman reject table. The rejects—all pimples and desperation—gawked at me. I heard one of them whisper “Julia,” and thought of her sitting outside my house waiting for me in the morning, drinking coffee from the convenience store and picking the foam cup apart. She always made it “snow” when I got in the car, and for a second it was just like it used to be, me buckling my seat belt, yawning, and her laughing as little pieces of foam fell down on us. I felt my eyes get all prickly hot and stared at my fries.
47
Then someone sat down across from me. I was sure it was that fat girl with the mustache, and I know I’m supposed to be kind to my fellow losers, but screw that.
I know they look at me and see exactly what I see when I look at them. They see someone who can’t fi nd one person to eat lunch with. They see a loser. That’s what I am. That’s what mustache girl is too, and well, if there’s a reason no one wants to hang out with me . . . it’s not that hard to figure out why she’s alone too, is it?
It wasn’t her, though. It was freaking Corn Syrup Caro with a tray full of diet soda and lettuce and her cute little purse. I dropped the fry I was holding.
“I thought maybe you might want to go over the physics notes from yesterday,” she said. Her face was bright red, and her hands were shaking. I looked around the cafeteria. It took me a second to find her table—it’s on the other side, where the people who have some social standing are allowed to sit. Her friends were giggling, and Beth was eating salad and looking smug. I knew what was going on right away.
Before Julia, Beth and her dopey band of losers were my “friends,” which meant Beth was always getting mad at me and making me do stuff to prove I was sorry or worse, doing stuff to make me sorry for whatever it was I’d done wrong. In fourth grade she made me sit by myself on the 48
way home from a field trip to the aquarium while she and Caro and Anne Alice put crap in my hair. I still remember feeling Caro rub cupcake into my scalp.
Today I got to be the crap in Caro’s hair.
“How long do you have to stay before Beth forgives you?” I asked. Caro’s face got even redder.
“I’m not—” she said, and looked over at her table.
Beth gave her a tight smile and then turned away just enough for me and Caro to see her say something. “I just thought you might want some help catching up.” Over at Beth’s table, everyone laughed again.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” She tried a smile, failed, and twisted her fork around in her salad really hard, spraying wilted lettuce and carrot into the air. Her face got even redder. I almost felt sorry for her, but then remembered she chose to hang out with someone who treated her like dirt.
So I said, “Did you have a choice? Like was it me or the nose picker or mustache girl, or am I the ultimate punishment? Talk to the girl whose best friend is dead and—”
“No one thinks it’s your fault,” Caro said quickly, too quickly.
I choked even though there was nothing in my mouth, my throat closing up tight around her words. The room 49
went blurry around me, my vision tunneling, and I pushed away from the table.
The thing is, I know people know what happened. I do. I know everyone looks at me and sees death scrawled across my skin. It was just weird to have someone fi nally say it. It hurt a lot more than I thought it would, this weird grinding twist in my chest, like my heart wanted to stop beating but couldn’t. Wouldn’t. I looked over at the mustache girl. She was staring but quickly looked away as our eyes met. Clearly I’d overestimated my social standing.
“I’m sorry,” Caro said even more quickly. “Don’t go.
Please. I have to talk to you for fi ve minutes.”
I know what Julia would have done. She would have dumped her fries on Caro’s head and walked off. But I looked at her, so miserable and so clearly desperate to make her friend (admittedly, a friend who is pure evil, but still) talk to her again, and I could get that. I mean, I always hated it when Julia was mad at me. So I sat back down.
She actually talked about physics. I thought we’d sit in silence but I guess Beth told her to talk and Caro fi gured physics would be easiest or something. The funny thing is, she was happy talking about it. Like, her face lit up, and she was smiling, and when I asked her questions 50
she really started talking. Caro’s a lot smarter—at least about physics—than she lets on because she started talking about stuff we’ve barely touched on in class. Halfway through her explanation of measuring the speed of light we got into a conversation about time travel (I know how it sounds, but it really is kind of interesting) and before I knew it lunch was over. Surprised the hell out of me.