conversation to a minimum. When he calls, I mostly send his calls to voice mail, but it’s pretty hard to avoid all contact if your locker is right next to his, and your friends are his friends. It takes timing and coordination, like being a thief.
He catches up to me as I’m walking to the snack bar. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. It feels like one.
Brady glares at me. “What’s your problem?”
“What do you mean?” I shrug, playing as innocent as possible, even though I feel as guilty as possible.
“You throw a bitch fit in front of everyone at Derek’s amonth ago, and you’ve been acting all hot and cold since then…. What the hell? Why are you being a freak?”
I can’t help but laugh. I sometimes laugh when I get nervous. I guess it’s a bad sign when your boyfriend makes you nervous.
“And now you’re laughing at me?!” He looks furious.
“No!” I say, but then another little laugh comes out. I’m sure I sound like a person on the brink of hysteria. Brady steps closer and grabs my arm, pinching it. Hard.
“Ow!” I cry, yanking away. I wince and look down. A little red mark flowers on my triceps.
“Whatever,” he says. Then turns and walks away.
I watch him go, and wonder if a normal girl would have pinched him back. Or screamed. But what’s the point of that? Then I’d be making yet another scene.
I stand there a second, before turning and robotically walking toward the snack bar as the spot on my arm blossoms into something less than beautiful.
FUN
Even after I buy my veggie dip and crackers, I still can’t stop shaking. I head for the library so I can eat my lunch somewhere away from everyone. I keep telling myself,
This is what happens in relationships—people accidentally hurt each other. It’s a common occurrence.
I walk past Keith Savage and Zoe Amato leaning against the lockers. Zoe wipes her eyes, and I can tell she’s been crying but she’s pretending she’s hasn’t. At first I think it’s just another fighting couple and it makes me sick, until I see how Keith is staring at her, and he reaches up to touch her shoulder. It’s gentle, like he’s going to apologize for saying or doing something wrong—proving, I guess, that even if people fight, they’re still capable of loving each other and being kind to each other. That kind of love makes me want to cry, so I keep walking.
I pass all the Spring Fling signs that promise FUN FUN FUN !!! and they only stress me out more. The last time I kissed Brady by the lockers and actually enjoyed it was over a month ago, and he’d asked me what color dress I was wearing to the Fling. But there’s no reason to think of that now, because giving it airspace in my head just makes the pit in my stomach bigger.
I throw my veggie dip and crackers in the trash and decide to go to Ms. Hoberman’s class early. As I’m heading into her room, I pass Moe walking out. She must have fourth period with her or something. She’s with a few burnouts who are being kind of loud.
“What the hell’s a villanelle?” a pimply guy with a faux-hawk says. “Is that some kind of zombie pill?”
The other girl with bleach-blond hair and a nose ring laughs. “Bring on the zombie pills, yo.” I think her name is Alex. I remember because last year she got accused of setting Taryn’s backpack on fire. Not like a full blaze or anything, but enough to cause the principal to ban all lighters and matches on school grounds.
As Moe passes we meet eyes for a second, and then she gives me a wink. None of her friends seem to notice. She keeps walking as I head into the classroom. And, weirdly, it’s the only thing that gets me a little bit closer to feeling better.
Gossip
On the bus ride downtown,
I sit next to Rachelle, who’s gossiping
about what girl blew which guy
and which football player’s dick is bigger
and who’s hooking up and breaking up,
because she says it’s her job as an
He catches up to me as I’m walking to the snack bar. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. It feels like one.
Brady glares at me. “What’s your problem?”
“What do you mean?” I shrug, playing as innocent as possible, even though I feel as guilty as possible.
“You throw a bitch fit in front of everyone at Derek’s amonth ago, and you’ve been acting all hot and cold since then…. What the hell? Why are you being a freak?”
I can’t help but laugh. I sometimes laugh when I get nervous. I guess it’s a bad sign when your boyfriend makes you nervous.
“And now you’re laughing at me?!” He looks furious.
“No!” I say, but then another little laugh comes out. I’m sure I sound like a person on the brink of hysteria. Brady steps closer and grabs my arm, pinching it. Hard.
“Ow!” I cry, yanking away. I wince and look down. A little red mark flowers on my triceps.
“Whatever,” he says. Then turns and walks away.
I watch him go, and wonder if a normal girl would have pinched him back. Or screamed. But what’s the point of that? Then I’d be making yet another scene.
I stand there a second, before turning and robotically walking toward the snack bar as the spot on my arm blossoms into something less than beautiful.
FUN
Even after I buy my veggie dip and crackers, I still can’t stop shaking. I head for the library so I can eat my lunch somewhere away from everyone. I keep telling myself,
This is what happens in relationships—people accidentally hurt each other. It’s a common occurrence.
I walk past Keith Savage and Zoe Amato leaning against the lockers. Zoe wipes her eyes, and I can tell she’s been crying but she’s pretending she’s hasn’t. At first I think it’s just another fighting couple and it makes me sick, until I see how Keith is staring at her, and he reaches up to touch her shoulder. It’s gentle, like he’s going to apologize for saying or doing something wrong—proving, I guess, that even if people fight, they’re still capable of loving each other and being kind to each other. That kind of love makes me want to cry, so I keep walking.
I pass all the Spring Fling signs that promise FUN FUN FUN !!! and they only stress me out more. The last time I kissed Brady by the lockers and actually enjoyed it was over a month ago, and he’d asked me what color dress I was wearing to the Fling. But there’s no reason to think of that now, because giving it airspace in my head just makes the pit in my stomach bigger.
I throw my veggie dip and crackers in the trash and decide to go to Ms. Hoberman’s class early. As I’m heading into her room, I pass Moe walking out. She must have fourth period with her or something. She’s with a few burnouts who are being kind of loud.
“What the hell’s a villanelle?” a pimply guy with a faux-hawk says. “Is that some kind of zombie pill?”
The other girl with bleach-blond hair and a nose ring laughs. “Bring on the zombie pills, yo.” I think her name is Alex. I remember because last year she got accused of setting Taryn’s backpack on fire. Not like a full blaze or anything, but enough to cause the principal to ban all lighters and matches on school grounds.
As Moe passes we meet eyes for a second, and then she gives me a wink. None of her friends seem to notice. She keeps walking as I head into the classroom. And, weirdly, it’s the only thing that gets me a little bit closer to feeling better.
Gossip
On the bus ride downtown,
I sit next to Rachelle, who’s gossiping
about what girl blew which guy
and which football player’s dick is bigger
and who’s hooking up and breaking up,
because she says it’s her job as an
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