distance. The detention crew is massed on the track. I step into them, and they part for me, barely. Someone smacks his lips. I flinch. The kid laughs, and the rest take it up.
Kiss-kiss
all around, from lips I’d never touch. I push through. From the field, a catcall—
oww
—and then another. The sound goes on, stretching like taffy, pulled from many mouths. The coach’s whistle doesn’t dent it.
Steve stands between the groups. Our eyes meet. He turns his back. Hands raised, he makes like he’s conducting.
I pass him and all of them, my arm raised, a finger to the sky.
Against the sunbaked gym, I am seeing, hearing, and feeling it again.
Lunch is still on. Kids eat at picnic tables under the awning. The breezeway swarms with people all the way up to the street.
The girls come charging around the corner.
“The coach made us leave too.” Charity’s voice is high and breathy.
Jacey asks if I’m all right.
I peel myself from the wall. “Now do you believe me?”
“Believe what?” she says.
“Steve
really
wants you back,” Charity says.
“Oh yeah.” My throat catches. “Did you see what just happened?”
“I saw you guys talking.”
“Talking. Yeah. Steve sold me out.”
“Don’t get dramatic,” Jacey says.
“Angelyn is all about the drama,” Charity says.
I point toward the field. “I did not make that up.”
They look at me like the problem is mine.
“And what is this
crap
about listening to
my side
? If we’re friends, there is no side. You’re with me.”
Jacey scratches her arm. Charity says, “You don’t deserve him.”
I look at her closely. “Oh my God. You think you have a chance.”
She flushes pink. “No, it’s just that Steve’s a friend, and you’re not being fair.”
“Steve’s a friend?” I say. “Then why’d he call you
skank
?”
“He did not!” Charity says.
I nod. “He did. Don’t know
why.
”
Her face shades to red. “Yeah, everyone knows you’re the skank.”
“Because I’ve actually done stuff with a guy.”
Charity’s mouth twists. “One guy? Try twenty. I hear anybody’ll do.”
I look at Jacey. “She can’t say that to me.”
“Charity, shut up,” Jacey says. “Angelyn, forget it.”
“I can’t forget everything!”
Things get quiet around us.
“Girl fight,” someone says.
“Walk away,” Jacey says.
I nod. “I’ve got no reason to stay.”
A hard look at Charity and I weave off through the watchers.
“Trash!” she calls after me. “Welfare witch!”
I swing around. Kids arc out of the way, clearing a path.
Charity’s chest heaves. I look her over, head to toe.
“All that money and nothing to spend it on.”
“You never should have been our friend.” Her voice snaps like a loose wire.
“Who’s
your
friend?” I ask. “Jacey’s busy and Steve don’t go for fugly.”
Charity runs at me.
I throw my backpack down. She rumbles around it, banging into my chest, pinning my arms as I stagger backward.
A ring forms around us, kids yelling.
I piston my shoulders but Charity holds me like iron. We circle in a crazy dance.
“Stupid,” I say, and she growls something back.
I lift a boot and bring it down on her sandal. She yowls and hops, and I work an arm free and smack her shoulder. Charity spins off.
“Enough?” I ask, shaking out my hand.
She runs at me again. I sidestep, grabbing a fistful of product-heavy hair. I yank it. Charity kicks at me, missing by inches as I work to stay behind.
“Stop now?” I ask, close to her ear.
She elbows my gut. I jerk back and my feet tangle with hers. We fall, landing hard, Charity on top. I stare at the circle above. Laughing faces—most of them. Yelling. Happy. Jacey, silent. Pale as milk.
Charity shifts and straddles me, and I shut my eyes, taking her sissy slaps like I deserve them. She’s crying. I’m not. I hear her sobs and the roar above. It rises and falls, and rises and falls again.
Charity’s weight lifts off. I breathe in, opening
Kiss-kiss
all around, from lips I’d never touch. I push through. From the field, a catcall—
oww
—and then another. The sound goes on, stretching like taffy, pulled from many mouths. The coach’s whistle doesn’t dent it.
Steve stands between the groups. Our eyes meet. He turns his back. Hands raised, he makes like he’s conducting.
I pass him and all of them, my arm raised, a finger to the sky.
Against the sunbaked gym, I am seeing, hearing, and feeling it again.
Lunch is still on. Kids eat at picnic tables under the awning. The breezeway swarms with people all the way up to the street.
The girls come charging around the corner.
“The coach made us leave too.” Charity’s voice is high and breathy.
Jacey asks if I’m all right.
I peel myself from the wall. “Now do you believe me?”
“Believe what?” she says.
“Steve
really
wants you back,” Charity says.
“Oh yeah.” My throat catches. “Did you see what just happened?”
“I saw you guys talking.”
“Talking. Yeah. Steve sold me out.”
“Don’t get dramatic,” Jacey says.
“Angelyn is all about the drama,” Charity says.
I point toward the field. “I did not make that up.”
They look at me like the problem is mine.
“And what is this
crap
about listening to
my side
? If we’re friends, there is no side. You’re with me.”
Jacey scratches her arm. Charity says, “You don’t deserve him.”
I look at her closely. “Oh my God. You think you have a chance.”
She flushes pink. “No, it’s just that Steve’s a friend, and you’re not being fair.”
“Steve’s a friend?” I say. “Then why’d he call you
skank
?”
“He did not!” Charity says.
I nod. “He did. Don’t know
why.
”
Her face shades to red. “Yeah, everyone knows you’re the skank.”
“Because I’ve actually done stuff with a guy.”
Charity’s mouth twists. “One guy? Try twenty. I hear anybody’ll do.”
I look at Jacey. “She can’t say that to me.”
“Charity, shut up,” Jacey says. “Angelyn, forget it.”
“I can’t forget everything!”
Things get quiet around us.
“Girl fight,” someone says.
“Walk away,” Jacey says.
I nod. “I’ve got no reason to stay.”
A hard look at Charity and I weave off through the watchers.
“Trash!” she calls after me. “Welfare witch!”
I swing around. Kids arc out of the way, clearing a path.
Charity’s chest heaves. I look her over, head to toe.
“All that money and nothing to spend it on.”
“You never should have been our friend.” Her voice snaps like a loose wire.
“Who’s
your
friend?” I ask. “Jacey’s busy and Steve don’t go for fugly.”
Charity runs at me.
I throw my backpack down. She rumbles around it, banging into my chest, pinning my arms as I stagger backward.
A ring forms around us, kids yelling.
I piston my shoulders but Charity holds me like iron. We circle in a crazy dance.
“Stupid,” I say, and she growls something back.
I lift a boot and bring it down on her sandal. She yowls and hops, and I work an arm free and smack her shoulder. Charity spins off.
“Enough?” I ask, shaking out my hand.
She runs at me again. I sidestep, grabbing a fistful of product-heavy hair. I yank it. Charity kicks at me, missing by inches as I work to stay behind.
“Stop now?” I ask, close to her ear.
She elbows my gut. I jerk back and my feet tangle with hers. We fall, landing hard, Charity on top. I stare at the circle above. Laughing faces—most of them. Yelling. Happy. Jacey, silent. Pale as milk.
Charity shifts and straddles me, and I shut my eyes, taking her sissy slaps like I deserve them. She’s crying. I’m not. I hear her sobs and the roar above. It rises and falls, and rises and falls again.
Charity’s weight lifts off. I breathe in, opening
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