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“Are you saying—”
“I’m saying it’s personal,” I spat.
“Not professional. Not academic. Per-son-al.”
Mr. Ransic finally looked like he didn’t know what to say. Thank God. It was about time he pulled his nose out of my business. Whether it was imaginary business or not.
At last, looking as if he had a speculative grasp on the situation and the fact that Mr. Ezhno and Meredith had something personal against me and that I needed help, not punishment, he said something about his busy day and stood up to open the door for me. I walked out, finally free from being judged.
Two HOURS LATER, I WAS in the locker room with Michelle, one of my best friends. Our gym lockers were next to one another, which was convenient for my venting.
“I was seriously only thirty seconds late. And it wasn’t even my fault! It was his beloved Meredith’s fault.”
“Yeah, that sucks.” Michelle pulled on her shorts. She’d had them since freshman year, and they didn’t really fit her anymore.
“You know, you should really buy new shorts this year. Those are getting a little tight on your hips. I think they’ll order some for you if they don’t have your size.”
I pulled on mine, which I’d been forced to buy two sizes too big because I got stuck with one of the last pairs before I knew they could just order them, and my father had told me to deal with them (his go-to response whenever I complained—it really sucks that he’s not a pushover). Meredith had said, in that irritatingly sweet way of hers, that maybe I’d grow into them. Yeah, right, like I’d ever let myself go up two sizes.
They were constantly slipping down, putting me an inch away from embarrassment every time.
“Mine, on the other hand, are huge.” I pulled on the waistband, and looked down at my sneakers through the pant legs.
“Okay, so what happened when you came in late?” Michelle asked sharply.
“Basically, he sent me to the office with this totally stupid note talking about how I’m some kind of menace. Ugh, and he said something about me distracting other students who were trying to pay attention.”
I watched Michelle for an aghast reaction, and was disappointed to see her fiddling with the cord on her shorts.
I kept talking.
“It was so stupid. So then I had to wait for like, ever, with three of Winchester Prep’s Least Wanted.” I looked expectantly at Michelle again.
She was tugging violently on her waistband now.
“Are you even listening, Michelle? Or are you just going to rip your pants trying to make them fit?”
She looked up, like she’d forgotten I was there.
“Oh, sorry, go on, I was listening.”
I sighed.
“So, finally I go in, right, and then I’m about to be super-nice and just say something about how I promised not to be late anymore, and how homework’s been hard lately, possibly start crying, and then …” I paused for emphasis “… Mr. Ezhno actually called the office to tell him that not only was I late but that I was disruptive or whatever.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. So then I knew I was going to have to think fast, and really all I wanted to do was to get out of there, right? So I start talking about how Meredith’s always got this ‘male guest’ over.”
Michelle didn’t see my finger quotes, or my self-impressed smile, because she was back to messing with her shorts.
My smile faded and I decided to finish my story, because obviously she was incapable of paying attention.
“I just complained about how she and Mr. Ezhno were always meeting and stuff, and how he was like in love with her, and how everything he does is because of that.” I looked at her. Was nothing I said going to get her attention? “And how they’re totally doing it,” I added, just to get a reaction.
“Wait, what?” She looked up.
I glared at her, and a whistle blew to indicate the beginning of gym. Oblivious to the ball I’d just set rolling, I flounced off to class.
CHAPTER TWO
The next day, I showed up to Mr. Ezhno’s class on time. Frankly, it wasn’t in reaction to his threat of suspension, but more just needing to escape my house and Meredith’s sobbing. If I didn’t hate her so much, I might have asked her what was wrong. I couldn’t stand it when other people cried around me. I always felt guilty, even when I hadn’t done anything wrong.
But seriously, who wakes up at seven o’clock in the morning to cry?
As soon as I sat down, Jillian, my other, more gossip-appreciating best friend, passed me a neatly folded note (she’d been the first one in fourth grade to be able to make origami and paper footballs).
I looked up at her.
“You can’t just say it? We have to pass notes?”
It sounded kind of mean, but come on, everyone was talking and class hadn’t even started yet.
Jillian made a face and mouthed, “Just read it.”
I opened the note and started to read the rounded, funky handwriting I’d never been able to copy. Instead, I had total boy handwriting.
Michelle told me about everything that you told her about Mr. Ezhno. Is it true?
I nodded and made a gagging face. Her eyes widened, along with her mouth. Finally someone appreciated how irritating the situation was. I felt a wave of fondness for Jillian, as I saw how commiserative she was.
As class started, I wrote back, asking her what else had been going on in school. She had some decent gossip, as usual. It was really the main reason I kept her around. Jillian had an amazing ability to remember just about everything. She didn’t use her memory to score high on tests and do well in Spanish class—obviously, if she was talking to me all through class, she couldn’t hear that information to memorize it. She used her memory exclusively to collect and archive everything about everyone we went to school with.
Jillian was going on about the colleges everyone was interested in applying to, and the boy who’d just gotten kicked off the soccer team for having a 1.9 GPA. I had just been about to say something about “getting to the good stuff” when she mentioned that there was a new girl.
“… 1.9 GPA, which is so sad, because it’s only like point-one away from being acceptable. Oh! And that new girl is in my gym class, speaking of soccer. She was actually really good.”
I thought of Liam and the girl I hadn’t recognized the day before.
“So, wait, did you talk to her?”
“Oh, yeah, she’s so nice. Her name is Anna Judge, and she moved here from Maine. It’s actually kind of funny, I kept running into her and Liam yesterday. Seriously, like, all day.”
My opportunity.
“Liam?”
I spoke too quickly. Super casual. But thankfully, Jillian never noticed that kind of thing and simply answered my question.
“Oh, right, he was showing her around yesterday. You know how the office, like, assigns you a buddy or whatever on your first day when you’re new?”
“Yeah, go on.”
SPIT. IT. OUT.
“Well, Liam was her buddy. I mean, he was assigned to do it, but I heard he volunteered. He was apparently in the office picking up some form for football when she came in. He dropped her off at each class, picked her up, ate lunch with her, all that normal stuff that the buddy guides do—”
Or all that stuff that he used to do with me every single day.
“—except he drove her home, too, which they don’t always do.”
No, they didn’t.
They never did that.
I spent the rest of the period prodding her for information about Liam and Anna. She spoke delicately, in accordance to my sensitivity on the subject of him. My best friends knew it was a hot button for me. But once she told me she didn’t know anything else, I knew she was telling the truth. Jillian was honest, always. Which was the reason she was the wrong person to tell a secret to, but an excellent person to leak them from.
She did keep talking about how super-nice Anna had been.
Not so delicate.
When the bell finally rang, I was more than ready to leave. I was the first one out the door, tossing an “Oh, bye!” back to Jillian. I had thought that getting out of the classroom and away from Jillian would be enough to relieve me of having to think about the new girl and her friendship (or whatever it might become) with Liam. But as I walked down the hallway, it seemed like her name was on everyone’s lips. Maybe it was all in my head, but even if it was, it was pissing me off.
I ducked into the bathroom, hoping to renew my self-confidence with the reapplication of lipgloss. And there she was.
Miss Anna Judge, the Super-Nice, Surprisingly-Good-Soccer-Player from Maine. Washing what looked like ink from her fingers.
What could be more awkward for me than to stand elbow to elbow with the girl who I had only seen from a hundred yards away but had already devoted so much thought to? Not awkward for her, of course; she didn’t even know who I was.
Oh, my God, she didn’t even know who I was.
I felt the petty, obsessive, desperate-to-be-liked feeling that had been living in my stomach since I was in elementary school. That was always ready to jump out and whine, But what about me? Whenever I felt it, I’d usually try to say or do something to draw the attention to myself.
And keep it there.
I walked to the other sink, next to her, and started to dig through my bag for my NARS lipgloss.
There was no one at the school who didn’t know who I was. I’d worked hard to make it that way. At this point, half the guys were trying to get with me, and half the girls were jealous of that fact or trying just as hard to be part of my inner circle.
I had parties all the time, and everyone knew I only invited the people I wanted to. It didn’t hurt that I had the best pool in Potomac Falls.
Though my dad and Meredith were strictly against alcohol at the parties, we usually managed to spike the punch. Then we’d just claim it was a slumber party, and that’s why no one drove home ‘til morning. Meredith would spend days planning the decorations, themed music, (temporarily) virgin drinks and anything else she or I could think of. It was pretty cool of her—not that I could ever get over my issues with her enough to tell her so.
It was even cooler that she would then spend the whole time in her room or out with my father, out of our way.
I redirected my thoughts back to figuring why Anna simply must know whom she was standing next to. Surely she’d heard someone talk about me, or something. Maybe someone had pointed me out to her while I was too busy to notice. I pulled out the lipgloss and started applying it, still considering other probable reasons why she simply must know who I was. She was just pretending not to.
I risked a glance at her reflection.
She had short, silvery-blond hair, which seemed to me like an obvious effort to look spunky and fun. She had long eyelashes, and the smooth skin I had always assured myself was just airbrushing in magazines and pictures of celebrities. Her arms were thin, just like the rest of her. She was wearing a dress that was bound to be “in” soon. She was still scrubbing her hands.
Then she spoke, taking me off guard. It was like I’d forgotten she could see me, too.
“Pen exploded. I didn’t kill a squid or anything.” She smiled, exposing straight, white teeth.
“I’m Anna, by the way.”
I nodded curtly and smiled back.
“Hi, Anna.”
I didn’t tell her who I was. I had to see if she already knew. Had to.
“And you are … Bridget Duke?”
My mind eased. What had I been worried about?
“Yes, I am.” I waited a moment before deciding that, yes, I needed validation.
“How did you know that?”
“Oh, sorry, that must seem creepy. I saw the name on the corner of the paper sticking out of your bag. I’m new here.”
I paused as the disappointment set in.
“Okay, then.” I turned back to my mirror and started fussing over my eye makeup.
I tried desperately to think of something cool to say while she nonchalantly applied ChapStick to her lips (which didn’t seem to need it).
“Actually,” Anna started, still not looking at me, “I think Liam mentioned your name. Do you know Liam?”
I mused over the simplicity of the question, and the understatement that would be my answer.
“Yes, I know him.”
“Hmm. He told me to look out for you.” She glanced at me, smiled again and waved goodbye.
My face was frozen in shock as I stared at the doorway until she was gone and her footsteps faded. It felt like she’d just pulled the pin out of a grenade, and I had no idea how to stop it from exploding.
I LEFT THE BATHROOM—the scene of the crime—in a daze.
I was analyzing, picking at and utterly disassembling what Anna had told me Liam had said. I’d done this many times with things he’d said to me, each time shredding his words so thoroughly that I worked myself into a fit. Sure, this was she-said he-said, but it didn’t matter. Liam said a lot of cryptic things, seemingly not on purpose.
I’d particularly agonized over what he’d said when he broke up with me. He’d said that of course it wasn’t what he wanted, and that maybe sometime in the future.
Oh, he’d given me plenty to mull over that night.
So, there I was, putting on the familiar thinking cap specifically designed for figuring out what the hell Liam meant by what he said.
