But “not that bad”? What good was that, when you were going up against someone who had It? Someone who could mold minds, bend wills, make the world into exactly what she wanted it to be. Harper had It, and Beth didn’t. Neither did Miranda.
Together, they made one big, fat nothing, and Miranda was beginning to wonder if she might have been better off alone.
Spin control only took a small portion of Harper’s attention, and she devoted the rest of it to watching Miranda, pathetically slumped over a table on the other side of the cafeteria. They’d fought before; their friendship was built on fights. But this was different.
Miranda could never hold a grudge-and so Harper had never had to worry that, eventually, all would be forgiven. She’d learned that lesson in sixth grade, when the two of them had their first huge fight while rehearsing their sixth-grade performance of Macbeth (suitably abridged for attention-deficit-disordered twelve-year-olds). It had started smalclass="underline" an argument over who got to use the “real” (plastic) sword and who would be stuck wielding a wrapping-paper tube covered with aluminum foil.
Harper won, of course, bringing up the unassailable point that the whole show was named after her character. It seemed only logical that she, as the star, get the best of everything-lines, costumes, makeup, and, of course, swords. But Miranda had given in grudgingly, and only after hours of endless argument; by the time Harper finally took the stage, plastic sword in hand, she and Miranda hadn’t spoken for a week.
When the climactic scene arrived, Miranda had the first good line. “Turn, hellhound, turn!” she cried as Macduff, the one man destined to take down Macbeth.
Harper spun to face her challenger. They stared at each other across the stage, readying themselves for the sword fight, gritting their teeth and narrowing their eyes as if the fate of the kingdom truly lay on their shoulders. Their teacher had been very specific: Cross “swords” three times, and then Miranda would slice off Harper’s head. In a manner of speaking, of course.
Miranda swung, Harper parried, jumped back, sliced her sword toward Miranda, who blocked the blow with her wrapping-paper tube and danced around the stage, taunting Harper under her breath.
And Harper, who’d been planning to lie down and deliver the greatest death scene Grace Elementary had ever seen, couldn’t bring herself to lose the fight-and, by definition, her dignity-in front of all those people. She swung wildly, and Miranda’s flimsy sword bent in two-at which point Miranda screeched in frustration and launched herself at Harper. The two of them stumbled to the ground, writhing and rolling across the stage, pinching and poking, tickling and tugging hair… until their eyes met and, simultaneously, they burst into uncontrollable giggles.
Harper and Miranda had spent that weekend in an intense, forty-eight-hour catch-up session, sharing every detail of the painful hours they’d spent not speaking to each other.
“I was sooooo bored,” Miranda had complained.
“You were bored? I fell asleep standing up,” Harper countered.
“I had to play Jeopardy Home Edition all night with my parents.”
“I spelled out the names of everyone I know in alphabet soup.”
“I missed you,” Miranda had confessed, laughing.
Even then, Harper had known better than to confess that she’d missed Miranda more.They’d laughed about it for years, and sometimes even now when Harper was being particularly bitchy, Miranda would call her a “hellhound”; Harper always replied with her own favorite line: ‘Lay on, Macduff, and damn’d be he that first cries, “Hold, enough!’” It was the code of their friendship, and its meaning was simple. They would never turn into their characters; they would fight-but never to the death. They would always stop in time, just before landing the final blow.
But here she was, watching Miranda pick at her food, scared to go over to her, scared not to. If Harper stood over her pleading, “Lay on, Macduff”-meaning, Yell at me, hit me, hate me, and then, please, forgive me-would it fix anything?
Not likely, Harper decided-not if Miranda had been behind the gossip flyer. That was a death blow. Harper may not have seen it coming, but she knew when it was time to lay down her sword and leave the stage.
Chapter 4
“Okay girls, time for a vote: 13 Going On 30 or The Princess Bride?”
As 13 Going On 30 won by general acclamation, Beth tried to will herself to care. A few days ago, she would have said this was all she wanted-to be accepted back into the fold, to regress to the good ol’ days of sleepover parties and road trips to the mall, popcorn and girl talk.
“Beth, can you grab us another bag of Hershey’s Kisses?” Claire asked, and Beth traipsed upstairs, fighting against the suspicion that they’d start talking about her as soon as she was gone. They’d invited her, which was a step in the right direction-but no one seemed to particularly want her around.
“Have no fear, the chocolate’s here,” she said gamely, returning downstairs and pouring the Hershey’s Kisses into a bowl.
“Great, let’s stick in the movie,” Claire suggested. Beth couldn’t wait. As soon as the lights went out, she could drop the fake smile and stop trying to force perky conversation. She could let her mind wander and try to figure out exactly how she was going to make it through to graduation.
“Before we watch, I want to ask Beth something,” one of the girls said eagerly. It was Leslie, the one Beth had come to think of as her replacement. Though had she ever been that timid and sallow? Claire rolled her eyes, but plopped down on the couch, defeated. “So…,” the girl continued. “What was it like?”
“What was what like?”
“You know,” Abbie said. “It.”
“You and Kane,” Leslie pressed, “what was it like when you…”
“What was it like to have a boyfriend?” Beth asked incredulously. Yes, when she’d been part of this group, they’d all been single-but almost two years had passed. Since then, surely at least one of them had-
“Sex,” Claire said harshly. “They want to know what it was like to have sex.” She scowled at Beth, as if daring her to respond.
“But I-” Beth had been embarrassed by her virginal status for so long that she’d almost forgotten what it could be like, to be part of a group where there was no pressure to be someone you weren’t or go somewhere you weren’t ready to go. For the first time all night, she smiled a real smile. “I haven’t,” she explained, feeling a surge of relief that she could say the words without worrying that anyone would judge her. She’d forgotten what it was like to have girl friends-real friends. “I mean, Kane and I never-and neither did Adam and I, so I’m still a…”
“Virgin?” Claire snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“I am,” Beth insisted, trying to ignore her.
“But,Beth,” Abbie began hesitantly, “we’ve all heard… Kane said…”
“Kane’s lying,” Beth protested hotly. “Whatever he said, we never-”
“And I heard that you were the one who talked him into it,” Leslie said. “That he wanted to take it slow, but-not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added hastily, catching sight of Beth’s expression.
“Leave her alone,” Claire decreed, and Beth felt a brief stab of gratitude. Very brief, as Claire continued, “Obviously, she doesn’t want to talk about it, not with us. No need to lie anymore, Beth. We’ll just stop asking.”
Beth kept the smile frozen on her face as Claire popped in the movie and the lights went out. It was only then, under the cover of laughter and music and inane dialogue, that Beth was able to move. She crept over their sprawled bodies, and up the stairs to the guest bathroom. Once inside, the door shut and locked behind her, she sat down on the toilet seat, put her head in her hands, and let the tears leak out.