登陆注册
10442100000011

第11章 Claire Lombardi

BETWEEN SIXTH AND SEVENTH PERIOD, I PASS BY ONE of the student-government lists I taped between rows of lockers. A flash of red catches my eye, and I glance up at it. Somebody has taken a pen to Olivia's name. Now it reads: OLIVIA SCOTT SUCKS DICKKKK!!

I roll my eyes and keep walking.

Halfway down the hall, I realize I should have taken that list down, or at least scratched out the graffiti. Why didn't it occur to me to do that? God, I'm the worst friend.

I stop at my locker, loosing a sigh. The way Olivia bounces from guy to guy these days, I can't get away from references to her sex life. It's wearing on me—the graffiti, all the talk in the halls, the muttered conversations I overhear in class.

This stuff doesn't happen in a vacuum—if you sleep around, people think about you differently. Maybe it's shitty, but that's the way things work, and Olivia knows it as well as I do. I've never spoken up. It's not like I condone her sleeping around, and insults have always seemed to roll off her back, so why should I bother interfering?

Still, I have a sneaking feeling that it makes me a terrible person not to stick up for her. A lot of the time, I worry that I am a terrible person and just haven't had it confirmed yet. After all, how are you supposed to know for sure? Who's going to tell you? Who's going to be the one to break the news?

I scoop up my Young Environmentalists brochures and continue down the hall. Why are all my friends going off the rails lately? Juniper has the alcohol tolerance of a five-year-old, but last Saturday she shotgunned three beers in a row for no apparent reason and ended up wasted. Olivia guessed it was because Thomas Fallon kept hitting on her and she was getting annoyed, but I think if Juni wanted some guy to leave her alone, she'd tell him.

She'd tell us if something was wrong, right?

Maybe it's good that she's loosening up, making mistakes. That's how you learn, isn't it, through mistakes? Maybe Juni's tired of doing everything right.

Heading back down the hall, I pass Andrea Silverstein. A couple of guys beside me wait until she's gone and then start snickering about the streak of green dye at the front of her hair.

As always, I feel like I should tell them to stop. But—as always—the idea of speaking up paralyzes me, like, if I say a word, their laughter might turn on me. One time, back in sixth grade, I got caught texting in class, and Ms. Rollins read it aloud. Zomg Eddie is so cute, I'd texted to Olivia. I want us to exchange numbers and it'll be super romantic and perfect XD

People lost their minds laughing. I thought I was going to pop from shame, but Juniper stood up for me. I remember that day like quartz, hard and clear: November, five years ago now. "Grow up," Juniper had said to the other kids. "Would you want her to laugh at you?"

I'd never spoken to Juniper in my life, but she found me after class and asked me to sit with her and Olivia at lunch. I was hideously grateful, feeling so lucky to be with the two of them. They weren't just smart—they were pretty, too, with their straight, perfect hair, their clear skin. I was the kid with headgear for my braces and medication for my acne. I remember how surprised I was that they laughed at my jokes, that they would even look at me, let alone talk to me. I remember adopting their mannerisms, terrified that they'd let me go as quickly as they'd picked me up. I remember easing in, finding my niche with them, sleepovers and movie nights.

I picture a twelve-year-old Juniper swinging a tennis racket around in figure eights one summer afternoon, her hair whirling out in a blond pinwheel. She lost her grip, and the racket spun over our heads and into the lake with a miserable splash. We laughed until our stomachs ached. It was easy back then.

I hurry into the stairwell and leap up the steps two by two. My mind wanders back to the words scribbled beside Olivia's name, and I can't help but think, At least people want to sleep with Liv. I bet nobody would give me the attention she gets even if I hung a neon OPEN FOR BUSINESS sign on my back. Or on other regions.

It's not like I'm jealous. I went out with the hottest guy at Paloma High for thirteen months. So what if he dumped me and hardly even gave me a reason?

Okay. I am maybe a tad jealous.

He started to tell me why, the day we broke up. He said, "You can't compare …" before cutting himself off, falling back on some empty-sounding apology. I didn't push it—I was busy crying—but now I wish I'd demanded that he finish the sentence. You can't compare—you can't compare—you can't compare, you can't, you can't— Lucas's words play on a loop in my mind. I can't compare to what?

There's only so much you can discuss a topic before everyone hates you a little when you bring it up. For two months, I haven't said a word, but God, it still hurts to see his face. Tall, burly, impeccably dressed Lucas. I remember the warmth of his bear-hug arms, the mint taste of his kisses—everything, down to the texture of his curly hair. I remember the first time he showed me his most personal possession, the journal filled with lists. To-do lists. Bucket lists. Lists of things he's grateful for, people he loves, and people he wants to get to know. I wonder if I'm still on any of those pages. I used to have my own page: Reasons Claire Amazes Me.

Now I'm just another face in the halls to check off the Vague Acquaintances list. Lucas could find some rando off the street and be their new best friend within five minutes; he is the people person to end all people persons. He collects people like some people collect coins, indiscriminately and greedily. Now I'm lost deep in his catalog, undeserving of any distinction.

I exit the stairwell on the third floor, my teeth buried in my bottom lip. Some guy calls over my head. His friend, leaning on the lockers, unleashes a braying laugh right in my ear, and I let out a measured breath. Ignoring the boys in this school is impossible. They clumsily hit on my friends every hour of the day, and they're so loud in class, making dumb jokes everyone laughs at anyway. Also, of course, the football team, which has never done close to as well as the girls' tennis team, gets everybody's attention just because. Part of me feels like, hello, of course I'm fixated on a boy. Everything is.

I stride into calculus class. Taking my seat in the front row, I wonder: is it like this for all girls, or am I just pathetic?

I don't understand. I still need to know why it ended and what it is I can't compare to.

"ALL RIGHT," MR. ANDREWS SAYS ONCE THE BELL rings. He sweeps down the aisles, dealing out bright green papers. "Questionnaires. Don't put your names on them." He stops back at the front of the room and folds his arms. His eyes glint behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

"We've been asked to give these to our fifth-period classes. I know they're anonymous, but take them seriously," he says. "They're about the, you know, Monday's assembly." He clears his throat, his cheeks coloring.

I can't help wondering if it's Andrews. He's only a couple of years out of college, and single, and way too intense. I bet lots of people think it's him. Since the assembly, I keep looking at teachers with critical eyes, wondering. Could they be interested in someone our age? Is this one hiding anything? How about that one?

Yesterday, the letter Turner promised arrived at my house. My parents were horrified. They even brought up the possibility of withdrawing me from school until they catch whoever it is. As if that were an option. Without me, tennis would collapse. And student government. And Young Environmentalists.

Sighing, I look down the question sheet. Three questions and lots of blank space.

Have you ever been romantically approached or sexually propositioned by any teacher or staff member at Paloma High School? Explain.

Have you ever experienced sexual harassment or unprofessional behavior (hugs, unwanted shoulder touching, etc.) by any teacher or staff member at Paloma High School? Explain.

Do you have any information about the identity of any party who may be involved in an illicit relationship?

I scribble no under every question and flip the page over. I bet at least one person at this school will write down some stupid joke as an answer.

When the last bell rings at 3:30, the hall echoes with end-of-day noise. Kids in the halls jostle one another, giving exaggerated hugs and pointedly touching shoulders, laughing about "unprofessional behavior." I barely keep myself from rolling my eyes. It might be a joke to them, but there's some teacher whose career might get ruined over this, and some kid who's probably being manipulated. What if the kid needs years of therapy or something? Yeah, hilarious.

I follow the crowd receding down the sun-drenched hall. The light glares off the walls plastered with neon flyers and posters: advertisements for clubs, maybe fifty percent of them mine. I stop off at my locker to stow my chemistry textbook, and as the lock clicks back into place, a cheery voice says, "Claire, hey!"

Sweat springs to my palms. I don't need to look to know it's him.

I turn to find him standing selfishly close. Doesn't he know I can't breathe in this sort of proximity? His closeness fills my head with sickly sweet yearning.

He looks better than ever these days, his loose, curly hair bouncing over his high forehead, his left ear pierced. The sweater stretching across his square shoulders has some fancy-looking logo, and a white collared shirt peeks up above its neck, framing the inside tips of his prominent collarbones.

Looking up into his eyes, I catch a brief camera flash of memory—the look he used to give me before he kissed me. That look rang with warmth, so filled with contentment that every frantic thought in my head stilled. I could lose every shred of anxious energy in the knowledge that we were each other's.

Does Lucas remember anything like that? Does he miss anything about me?

"Hi," I say, with one thought on loop: Act normal. I've gotten better at it—I measure my progress against my mental state last summer. Sometimes I think it's another girl's memories I'm peeking into, some miserable stranger with wild eyes and a surfeit of tears.

I try a smile as the current shuffles us toward the door. "What's up?"

"I got in a car accident earlier!" he says with so much enthusiasm, he might as well have said he adopted a kitten.

"What? Are you okay? What happened?"

"It was great. I value life so much more now."

I laugh, but it sounds weak. I watch his hands as he pushes his hair back from his forehead. I ache to trace the chunky silver ring on his pinky finger. He still wears half the money he makes, trading it in for appearance. He buys leather shoes and designer jeans, rich felt coats and flashy sunglasses, T-shirts that used to feel like tissue between my fingers. At home, his room is littered with treasures, too: the newest MacBook Pro and bulky, noise-canceling headphones. In his small, shabby house, Lucas's acquisitions glare like diamonds.

As we clank through the doors, someone calls, "McCallum!" I flinch back just in time—good to see I still have my bro-dodging reflexes. Lucas's teammates swoop down on him from the green. One wiry kid jumps onto Lucas's back, hollering something about weight lifting. Another buries both his hands in Lucas's hair, ruffling it until it resembles a tumbleweed. I swear, the swim team has the gayest straight boys in the world.

"Whoa, whoa, unprofessional behavior," says Herman, the one with the long hair. He wrestles off the guy on Lucas's back. "Careful, or they're gonna call another assembly."

"I'll see you around," I say to Lucas, but his only response is a hasty wave as he disentangles himself from his friends. The wordless dismissal stings like a nettle, and I hold my head higher as I stalk down the green.

When I reach my car, I stow my backpack and pull out my gym bag, trying to shake off the sight of him. It clings stubbornly. When I blink, I see him printed in the dark.

Every couple of weeks, Lucas springs himself on me like this, and for the rest of the day, sometimes longer, he's all I can think about. When he dumped me, he asked, "Can we still be friends?" and like an idiot, I said, "Sure." So now I have to grin and bear it every time he treats me with this impersonal brand of friendliness.

As I head back toward the green for the Young Environmentalists meeting, my eyes fix on Juni's car, which sits in a far corner of the junior lot. Behind the windshield, Olivia props up her feet on the dashboard. Juni's eyebrows are drawn together. Is she explaining why she blew up at lunch earlier?

I can't remember seeing Juniper so stressed so often. Usually, nothing fazes her, gets through her seemingly impervious layer of levelheadedness. But I could swear, she looks an inch from tears.

For a moment, I consider veering their way, to figure out what's wrong once and for all. But then I remember Juni's voice echoing through the bathroom door—"I need some time."

Did she need time? Or did she simply want a pair of ears that wasn't mine?

I force myself not to be curious. If she wanted to, she'd tell me what's wrong.

I duck my head, my cheeks aflame. I hurry away from the car and down the green.

同类推荐
  • Before he Sees (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 2)

    Before he Sees (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 2)

    From Blake Pierce, bestselling author of ONCE GONE (a #1 bestseller with over 600 five star reviews), comes book #2 in a heart-pounding new mystery series.In BEFORE HE SEES (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 2), FBI agent-in-training Mackenzie White struggles to make her mark in the FBI Academy in Quantico, trying to prove herself as a woman and as a transplant from Nebraska. Hoping she has what it takes to become an FBI agent and leave her life in the Midwest behind for good, Mackenzie just wants to keep a low profile and impress her superiors.But all that changes when the body of a woman is found in a garbage dump. The murder bears shocking similarities to the Scarecrow Killer—the case that made Mackenzie famous in Nebraska—and in the frantic race against time to stop a new serial killer, the FBI decides to break protocol and give Mackenzie a chance on the case.
  • Kinetic Golf

    Kinetic Golf

    In Kinetic Golf, Nick Bradley uses 115 extraordinary photographs, accompanied by clear, direct text, to raise the bar on golf instruction and give golfers—amateur or professional—a unique way of actually feeling their way to mastering the game. Offering insights that words alone cannot convey, the book provides a vastly improved golf game as the reward. Drawing upon his deep knowledge of trade and Tour secrets, Bradley shows how to build a powerful and consistent game while also debunking many of the myths that cloud the confidence and hinder the performance of the novice and developing golfer. Throughout Kinetic Golf, Bradley boils down the very essence of swing motion and technique, blends it with a feeling, and then creates an image that says it all. Take one look, and you'll get the picture.
  • Bananas
  • Worlds of Ink and Shadow

    Worlds of Ink and Shadow

    Charlotte, Branwell, Emily, and Anne. The Bront? siblings find escape from their constrained lives via their rich imaginations. The glittering world of Verdopolis and the romantic and melancholy world of Gondal literally come to life under their pens, offering the sort of romance and intrigue missing from their isolated parsonage home. But at what price? As Branwell begins to slip into madness and the sisters feel their real lives slipping away, they must weigh the cost of their powerful imaginations, even as the characters they have created—the brooding Rogue and dashing Duke of Zamorna—refuse to let them go. Gorgeously written and based on the Bront?s'juvenilia, Worlds of Ink and Shadow brings to life one of history's most celebrated literary families in a thrilling, suspenseful fantasy.
热门推荐
  • 高考志愿填报诀窍:考生和家长必须知道的100个真相

    高考志愿填报诀窍:考生和家长必须知道的100个真相

    身为高校教师,这些年我一直在做高考志愿填报的研究工作,接受过全国各地无数考生和家长的咨询。每年9月,当高考尘埃落定,我的邮箱和手机里会存满考生和家长的问候。我从中分享过他们的欢愉,也分担过他们的懊悔。而这一切,几乎都和当初选填志愿有关。那张小小的“志愿表”上,承载了太多的冒险和侥幸,也承载了太多的幸福和痛苦。你轻轻一点,就可能成功,成功得令人羡慕;也可能失败,失败得一塌糊涂。有的人迷信“平行志愿”,录取时才发现里面有陷阱;有的人对专业的理解望名生义,入校后才发现是南辕北辙;有的人被“专业大类录取”。
  • 喜劫良缘,摄政王的小娇妃

    喜劫良缘,摄政王的小娇妃

    穿越三好,吃好喝好睡好。穿越三早,早嫁人早生子早死。有此秘笈,回现代有望。想她傅家小姐谨记上面几条人生格言,正职看书绣花聊家常,偶尔兼职当公主太傅,已然小心翼翼,自求多福,没空招惹变态。娶妻三能,能下饭能陪喝能暖床。娶妻三有,有胆识有心计有他。得此女子,娶妻有望。想他当朝摄政王爷心有标尺碍于无人,正职养虎为猖陷害忠良,偶尔兼职扰乱民生,无敌是他最大的痛,若是有人引了他的兴致,自然是没理由放弃啊。某女受虐多次狂怒,“你是不是有病,遛狗一样一收一放!”某男依然不动声色,“姑娘如此自贬,本王自然不敢反驳,其实,都是玩物,可本王是把你当风筝!”【情节虚构,请勿模仿】
  • 嫡女惊华:王牌宦妃

    嫡女惊华:王牌宦妃

    成亲之日,盖头揭起,顿时她凌乱了,这不是那恶贯满盈的大太监吗?当现代异能者穿越为惨命嫡女小姐,步步为营,惊心算计,抢人夫君,可是谁能告诉她揭了她盖头的九千岁是怎么回事?百年王朝,一代佞臣,祸国容姿,血染朝堂。当阴谋与爱情丛生,她该何去何从?【情节虚构,请勿模仿】
  • 国民爱豆和冷刀俏警少女

    国民爱豆和冷刀俏警少女

    某个一杯倒酒吧热血邂逅未来国民爱豆,一场凶杀让阳光少年想走进这个刑侦少女的心里,三年背井离乡,携手国际法医凯旋归来,相遇,相识,相知,相弃?
  • 废柴小姐逆袭妃

    废柴小姐逆袭妃

    穿越异世,却是不能修炼的废柴之人。家族三小姐,只是因为不能修炼,被处处欺侮。意外得到神龙的认同,签订契约。有高深师父带路,开启逆天修炼之路,废柴逆袭,谁说只有男人可以?--情节虚构,请勿模仿
  • 我和端端

    我和端端

    冰心图书奖、金麻雀图书奖得主,儿童文学作家于德北讲述了一个真实动人的父爱故事。这是一本叫人动情的书。一个年轻父亲与儿子一同成长的真实记录。与众多的亲子书完全不同的是,它没有一点点说教,通篇都溢满了一个字——爱:初为人父的亲情与柔情、责任与担忧、养家糊口柴米油盐之上的爱情与拳拳真情,普通而又热烈,开卷就扑面而来。
  • 排毒美容养颜百科(现代生活知识百科)

    排毒美容养颜百科(现代生活知识百科)

    现代社会,人们不但关注自己的财富收入,更关心自己的身体健康。如何才能拥有健康的身体和美丽的容颜,是每个女性朋友都关注的话题。最新的健康美丽理念告诉我们:排毒。疾病的发生发展与“毒”在体内存在与否有直接关系。毒存体内对人体的危害,就是打破人体的健康状态,使之向着疾病状态转变。而毒存体内原因主要是由于食疗系统的功能紊乱所致。
  • 谁撬动了银川经济

    谁撬动了银川经济

    九尺之台,起于垒土,任何一段辉煌的背后,都有血汗、泪水、艰辛和失败。本书是一部着眼经济、落笔人生、弘扬创业、宣传励志的书籍,它可以见证企业家们从一个专业的经济工作者向宣传思想工作者转变的心路转折,但更为重要的,是它同时“撬动”了企业家们对宣传思想工作为经济发展服务的初衷和工作理念。
  • 汇于溪流

    汇于溪流

    大海汪洋,汇于溪流,人心所向,皆如战场。
  • 全北齐文

    全北齐文

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。汇聚授权电子版权。