Sometimes Never, Sometimes Always by Elissa Janine Hoole Page B

a lonely poem, you know?”
    “Cassie, come heeeeere!” It’s Annika, of course, standing by the door of the math room beckoning to me, an insistent look on her face.
    I glance at Drew. “I have to … ” I gesture in Annika’s direction.
    “Great! Introduce me?” And Drew steps closer to me. For a second I think she’s going to take my arm like we’re best friends, but at the last second her hand jumps up to fiddle with the end of her ponytail. She’s so eager it makes me queasy.
    “Um.” I don’t move. I’m such a coward.
    “Cassie, I’ve been looking for you everywhere ,” Annika says, and she does take my arm, steering me deliberately away from Drew. “We have to talk.”
    I’m totally confused. Of course she wasn’t really looking for me everywhere. She talked to me like two minutes ago. I follow her lead and step away from the now crestfallen Drew. “About what?”
    Annika turns, looks over her shoulder at Drew. “Aw, honey, don’t look so sad. Top secret newspaper business, you know. And I’m sure your skin will clear up when you start washing your face more regularly.” Her winning smile is so solicitous that I don’t even know if Drew realizes how cruel she is.
    To me, she hisses a low warning. “Cassie, OMG, we do not associate with greasy cows like that girl. What were you thinking? Surely you’re not actually friends?”
    I know I should stick up for Drew. Annika’s being needlessly mean. The girl has eczema , not leprosy. Okay, so I don’t really like Drew the Shrew either, and I’ve made fun of her greasy hair and her acne and the lumbering way she walks. But privately, not to her face. And not with that awful pretend-
niceness.
    “Oh, she’s this girl from my church.” My voice is hollow, a duplicitous Judas-voice. “She’s always hanging on me.”
    Annika wrinkles her nose. “She smells bad.”
    “Were you really looking for me?”
    “Looking out for you, that’s all. We like you, Cassie.” She smiles, her bright green eyes with their perfectly curled lashes crinkling up a little at their perfect corners. “I mean, I know you’re thinking that this job on the newspaper is only temporary until Jenny gets back, but like, this is your chance. You play your cards right, and who knows what could happen.”
    She squeezes my arm again and spins toward the math room, her high blond ponytail wagging behind her. “See you at lunch tomorrow, Cassie.”
    If I play my cards right. I think of the cards buried in the back of my closet. This is my chance —so maybe I should take it. What if I used the tarot cards and wrote a column for the newspaper? It could be an anonymous advice column, except it gives advice about the future, based on readings I’d do for people. It would be something to write on that stupid survey, and in the Song of Myself, too. Something risky. Something all mine.

12. Your parents
wish that you …
    Mom corners me as soon as I walk in the door, which isn’t really her style. Normally she’s more of a strike-fast-and-retreat type, like a shark with a distaste for messy carnage.
    “Cassandra, we need to talk.” She holds out her hands to take my backpack from me while I remove my coat, but I hesitate before handing it over, doing a panicky mental rundown of its contents before surrendering it to her. Mom says that teenagers have no rights to privacy, that until I’m an adult with my own space, my property belongs to her and is subject to search and seizure at any time, with or without cause.
    “What?” Stalling. I skim through possible sources of contention. Did I forget to clear my browsing history on the computer? Reveal confidential data while talking in my sleep? Oh god. Not the tarot cards. My stomach drops through the floor and then rapidly resurfaces somewhere in the vicinity of my throat. I can’t breathe.
    “I was hoping you’d pray with me, Cass.” Her mouth is a thin line, moving around her crooked teeth. She notices my stricken face