A Snitch in the Snob Squad by Julie Anne Peters Page B

called Lydia and told her. She just kept saying, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” In
     the background, Lydia’s mother exhorted, “Lydia, please stop saying that. What’s going on?”
    “I better go,” I said.
    Lydia got in one last “Oh, my God” before hanging up.
    Behind me Mom, Dad, and Vanessa were all standing in a row. Drooling for details. Suddenly it struck me—the reason our family
     togetherness was getting to me. No one had any privacy. Everyone knew everything about everybody. Not buying Vanessa and me
     our own phones to speak to our own friends in the privacy of our own rooms was borderline child abuse. Ask anyone.
    “What’s going on?” Dad asked.
    “Nothing.” My jaw clamped. “Geez, can’t anyone have a private conversation around here?”
    The phone rang. I yanked it off the wall. “Hello!”
    “Can I speak to Jenny?” Kevin coughed in my ear.
    “Uh, speaking.” My heart crashed against my ribs.
    “What’s up?” he asked.
    Clutching my chest to keep my heart from heaving right out of the rib cage, I lied, “Not much.” The leeches behind me were
     sucking up every word. Directly into the little receiver holes, I said secretly, “You still coming over?”
    “Naw, I can’t,” he said. “My mom wants me to help my aunt Rachel move some stuff into storage.” He hacked again.
    My body sagged. “So, what did you want to give me?” I said.
    “I can’t tell you. Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” A surprise. Oh, boy.
    “Kevin, I’m leaving right now!” his mom bellowed behind him.
    “I gotta go,” Kevin said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tomorrow I might be at the jail, visiting an inmate. After we disconnected,
     I turned around. Mom, Dad, and Vanessa all had the same sappy smile on their faces. “Not only do I want my own phone,” I seethed
     aloud. “I want my own house, my own car, and
my own life!”

Chapter 11
    L ydia and I both attacked Prairie on the playground. “I d-don’t know anything.” She fended us off with a stiff-arm.
    “Oh, my God.” Lydia hyperventilated. “What if she’s living on the street? What if she becomes a homeless person? What if she
     ends up standing on the street corner with a sign that says, ‘Will work for food’?”
    I curled a lip at Lydia. But the possibilities worried me, too.
    Prairie said, “She’s not living on the street.”
    “Where is she?” Lydia and I asked in unison.
    Prairie hung her head. Her cheeks turned pink. “I can’t tell you. It’s a secret.”
    Lydia was jerking around, whimpering and shaking her hands as if they were on fire. “Get a grip, Lyd.” I pulled her hands
     down. “At least Max is in touch with Prairie and she’s okay. Right, Prayer?” I looked at her.
    “Right.”
    “And if Max wants us to know what’s going down, she’ll tell us. Right?”
    “Right. Only—”
    Lydia and I stopped and stared at her.
    Prairie bit her lip, which had started to quiver. Her eyes welled with tears. “It’s not f-fair,” she said. “She didn’t
do
anything.” In a hurry, she hobbled off toward the temp.
    “Oh… my… God.” Lydia deflated visibly. My spirits sank, too. With a thud.
    By Friday word had gotten out about Max splitting. You can’t keep that kind of stuff quiet. On our way to lunch, Ashley bustled
     by, purse protuberant, and said, “Busted.” She sneered over her shoulder.
    I wanted to beat her up so bad. Lydia tried to kick her, but only got air, then fell on her rear. It made everyone around
     us laugh at Lydia. So what else is new?
    After lunch Lydia said, “Look, you guys. We need to talk.” Just then Hugh called to Prairie from the bleachers, while Kevin
     dribbled a basketball over from the blacktop. “Jen, can I talk to you?” he asked.
    I looked at Lydia. Made a sorry face.
    Lydia exhaled exasperation and stomped off. Kevin looped an arm around the ball at his side.
    “What’s with Max? I heard she’s on the run. Living with homeless people down at the bus