Dead Little Mean Girl

They shared a look that I couldn’t quite read. Before anything else could be said, our teacher, Mr. Riddell, walked in. He always looked like he smelled something foul—his brow was knitted with worry lines, his nostrils were pinched, his mouth was flat and wide like a guppy’s. Even his smiles looked pained. But the better I got to know him, the more I understood that this wasn’t an indicator of bad disposition. Nature had given Mr. Riddell a resting sad face.

“Welcome, everybody,” he said. “I’m looking forward to a creative year!”

We didn’t do any art that day, just got a tour of the classroom to see where all our supplies were kept. Mr. Riddell talked about his syllabus and asked us what we’d like to focus on for the year. It was the standard first-day stuff. By the time the bell rang, I was eager to get started but that’d have to wait another day. I stooped over to grab my book bag, and when I stood, there was Quinn, a grin on her face.

“Mind if I invite Nikki to lunch?”

“We’re having lunch together?” I blinked stupidly.

Quinn smirked. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we?”

I nodded despite the because you hated me two days ago rattling around inside my brain. “I don’t mind. She’s pretty cool.”

“Nice. I’ll ask.”

And I watched as Quinn dazzled her way into Nikki’s charms. She made it look so easy, like people were puzzles she had no problem solving. I should have realized then that this was indicative of a lot of experience. I should have realized that only a person who cycled through friends would know how to ingratiate herself so well so quickly.

Live and learn.

* * *

Not only did Nikki eat with us that day, she ate with us every day that week. I’d taken up my usual seat between my two best friends at the time, Laney Rosenberg and Tommy Naughters. Quinn sat across from me with Nikki to her side. They kept to themselves, giggling and whispering, so it was no big surprise when Quinn informed me that Nikki would be coming home with us after school that day. I thought it was neat that Quinn had already made a friend. Nikki clearly thought it was neat, too.

I had no idea exactly how neat things had gotten.

At the house, the two of them disappeared into Quinn’s room. I was disappointed at being relegated to third wheel, but I settled in at the kitchen table and let my mountain of homework keep me busy instead of brooding about being ignored. Every so often a peal of laughter would ripple downstairs, but that stopped fairly quickly. They were so silent, I almost forgot they were there until Karen called at half past four sounding out of breath.

“Hi, Emma. Quinn about?” she asked.

“She’s in her room.”

“Can you get her for me? I need to ask her a question so I can schedule her allergist appointment.”

I mumbled a yes and trod upstairs, wary of a Versace attack as I rapped my knuckles on Quinn’s door. She hadn’t quite latched it so it swung open with barely any pressure on my part. The Chihuahua immediately started doing his angry Chihuahua thing from his bed in the corner, and I glanced at it, but then Quinn let out a squeal. My eyes flew to her double bed with its white canopy. I blinked. I blinked twice. It took a moment to register what I was seeing, but when I did, I couldn’t unsee it.

There was Quinn, naked as the day she was born, with Nikki doing stuff to her.

Quinn grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest to cover her boobs, Nikki lifted her head in a panic, the dog scrambled to his feet and ran at me like he’d maul me from the knees down. Something clicked on in my brain telling me I should extricate from the situation before a Chihuahua devoured me, so I closed the door, my hand resting on the knob, the flat pane of white wood a blur before my face. All the while, the phone in my grasp called my name over and over again.

Finally, Karen’s voice penetrated the yeah, I totally saw that stupor, and I lifted the phone to my ear again.

“She’s uhh...indisposed,” I said.

Lame, yes, but I was pretty sure telling Karen her kid was having sex in the other room would do no one any favors—least of all me. I already wanted to remove my brain from my skull and give it a solid bleaching.

Karen sounded alarmed. “Everything all right? I heard her shout.”

“Yeah. She’s—” I struggled for the right words as Quinn and Nikki hissed furiously to one another on the other side of the bedroom door “—she’s fine. She was getting changed. I surprised her.”

“Oh! Yikes. Okay. Right. Well, tell her to call my cell. I have a dinner appointment at five so I won’t be available after that, but—thanks, Emma.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. I went back downstairs, my face burning fire. What was I supposed to say to either of them when they emerged? “Sorry I interrupted your sex?” or maybe “Gee, Quinn, maybe being a lesbian is contagious after all?” We’d had peace around the house since school started, but that was probably out the window. Quinn was undoubtedly going to hate me for...

“Hey, Emma?”

Her voice wasn’t angry.

My spine stiffened all the same. “Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry ab—you know. That.” I glanced up to see her leaning over the railing of the stairs in a T-shirt and pair of shorts. She was flushed, though whether that was embarrassment or sex glow, I didn’t know. Nikki appeared behind her, her anarchy bag slung over her shoulder, her colorful hair disheveled. She was red in the face, and she barely looked at me as she darted outside, muttering a goodbye before the door slammed in her wake.

Being caught inside my stepsister embarrassed her. I couldn’t say I blamed her for that.

“Crap. I can follow her if you want,” I said, feeling guilty Nikki was so weirded out.

“No, it’s—I’ll call her later. It’s cool. But don’t say anything to anyone, okay? It’s nothing serious. I’m just messing around.” Quinn jostled her weight back and forth, her hands fluffing out her hair. “It’s not like I’m gay. I was getting off. But you don’t want that kind of stuff getting around school.”

I nodded dumbly at her, and then kept nodding when she returned to her room. I had no intention of saying anything to anyone, especially not our moms who weren’t going to take that last comment all that well. No, I’d keep my mouth shut and hope that it’d all go away.

Except it didn’t. It really, really didn’t.

Quinn lay low all that night through the next morning. When I came down for breakfast, she was quiet, tossing me a half smile but offering none of the friendly-ish chatter of the last few days. The wait for the bus was silent. Walking into school was silent. It put me on edge, but I tried chalking it up to a bad day or late-breaking awkwardness that I’d seen her being intimate with someone.

No, it wasn’t at all a sign that the dark times returneth.

I passed Nikki in the hall once and she met my eyes for a brief second before jerking her gaze away. She scampered into her classroom, head down. And when art class came I sat down at my station beside Quinn only to watch Nikki park herself at another table across the room, as far away from the two of us as possible.

“What’s that all about?” I asked under my breath.

“She’s mad,” Quinn said matter-of-factly.

“Why? What’d you do?”

“Nothing! She’s mad I won’t be her girlfriend. I’m about the pole, not the hole. Silly dyke.”

There were multiple problems with the answer. The first was her tone—it was grade A snark, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since before school started. It was enough to put my body into fight-or-flight mode: my palms went clammy, my stomach clenched. I wanted to dive under a rock to get away from such concentrated meanness.

The second was the context. Nikki had definitely not been holding Quinn down. In fact, one of Quinn’s legs had been firmly propped on Nikki’s shoulder, which was not an indicator that Quinn had been forced into anything. Nikki might have instigated it, but it was hypocritical to call someone a “silly dyke” when you were a willing participant in your very queer sex.

The last problem—and by far the biggest problem—was her volume. I’d whispered my question but Quinn had responded loudly. Loudly enough that everyone looked at her, then over to Nikki, and back again, knowing exactly who Quinn was talking about. The color drained from Nikki’s face as she looked at the class, her eyes enormous.

She’d been outed. Publicly. In a conservative high school with a whopping No One out of the closet. Westvale was gossipy, and very, very white, and very, very privileged. The fact that no one had burned rainbow crosses on my front lawn when Karen moved in was nigh miraculous.

“Stop looking at me,” Nikki snarled, her hand fisting in the straps of her bag before she ran for the door. She collided with Mr. Riddell as he walked in; he oomphed and called her name, but Nikki kept running, not to be seen again for four days.

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