The Art of Getting Stared At by Laura Langston Page B

scholarship.”
    The fog is starting to roll in. The air is cold; I feel the chill to my bones. “That’s bullshit. Fisher has contacts there. He could have sent it in.”
    Matt ignores me. “If Breanne could get on-camera this time, instead of just her feet, it would mean a lot. She needs another credit for her acting portfolio.”
    â€œSo why didn’t she say yes when Fisher asked if she wanted to help out?”
    He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. “It didn’t occur to her until later.”
    Until she heard Isaac was involved. “I thought you guys had hooked up. Aren’t you worried about her and Isaac hanging out? Him being a player?” I taunt.
    His flush deepens. “I figured she could, you know, help you keep an eye on him.”
    Fury dances through me. “Like she kept an eye on you?”
    â€œThat’s different.”
    â€œRight. And here I thought you were going to apologize.” I turn to go.
    Matt frowns. “For what?”
    For what? Is he really this dumb? I turn back. “Maybe for cheating on me?”
    â€œThat was unfortunate.”
    I am so angry I can barely form words. “ Unfortunate? ”
    â€œYeah, but things happen.” He spreads his hands. “I like you, Sloane. I hope we can still be friends. But you’re kinda intense with the whole ‘film is my life’ thing. Breanne, she’s—”
    â€œEasy?”
    His eyes narrow. “Not easy, easy. Easy as in easygoing.”
    My throat is tighter than a closed fist. “Easygoing enough to do it in the library where everybody could see? You’re just lucky the librarian didn’t catch you.” One of the science nerds had caught them instead, taking a picture on his cell and uploading it to Facebook while Matt and Breanne were still groping each other.
    â€œWe weren’t doing it but I guess we could’ve been more discreet.”
    â€œYou’re an asshole, Matthew. You and Breanne deserve each other.”
    I turn on my heel, head for the corner. When I reach the light, Matt shouts, “FYI. That hat makes you look like a freak.”

    Matt’s comments leave me feeling unhinged. I text Harper to see if she wants to hang out. I need the distraction, plus I want to see if I can stay with her when Mom is away. When she doesn’t answer, I head up the hill on Columbus past the San Francisco Art Institute, in the general direction of home. My thighs burn with the effort but it gives me something else to focus on. As I walk, the fog starts to lift and eventually my mood does too. I walk through North Beach, San Francisco’s answer to Little Italy, with its funky mix of apartments, cafés, and Victorian homes. When I reach Jackson Street, I decide to keep going. I head past the shops near Portsmouth Square, skirting the edges of Chinatown where the smell of shrimp dumplings and pork buns makes my mouth water, to Anthropologie downtown where Lexi works.
    Since it’s Saturday, the store is packed. It’s no surprise, but it’s not exactly conducive to a long talk. I find Lexi, grab a royal blue criss-cross T-shirt, and pretend I want to try it on. While Lexi escorts me to a change room, I tell her about Matt.
    â€œForget him.” She knocks on one of the doors. “You’ve got more important things to think about.” When no one answers, she opens the door and we slip inside.
    Like change rooms everywhere, the place is a wall ofmirrors. I won’t look; I won’t. “He called me a freak.” Tears prickle behind my eyes. I thought the walk had helped, but obviously not enough. Matt’s words were harsh and they still sting.
    Lexi hangs the T-shirt, crosses her arms, and comes to my defence. “Matt is an asshole. He’s just pissed because you wouldn’t sleep with him.” Lexi’s loyalty, which is always there when I need it, is comforting. “You’re a