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“Well, leave my sister alone. Come on, Kase,” I said. All poor Kasey needed was to be endlessly ridiculed by a revolving door of jerks.
“Or, Kasey,” Lydia said, “you could come hang with me and my friends.”
Kasey’s mouth did its open-and-shut thing. She didn’t know what to say.
Lydia changed tactics, looking at my table by the window. “Did it really take you this long to find her?” she asked me. “Or did you wait until Mimi attacked to take pity and condescend to let her sit with you?”
Kasey’s cheeks were fiery red. After a long pause, her chin lifted in slow motion. “I might go with Lydia.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
Lydia’s head jerked up like I’d hit her. “Oh, please. We’re not good enough for your sister? We were good enough for you once upon a time, Alexis.”
“Thanks anyway, Lexi,” Kasey mumbled, slipping her lunch sack back into her book bag.
I watched in silence. Lydia gave her a glittery grin, the kind the wolf wore when he opened the door for Little Red Riding Hood.
“Excuse me.” The voice behind me was soft and hesitant. “Is this table available?”
I looked up to see the awkward girl with the cane standing near us, holding her tray crookedly in one hand.
“Yeah,” Kasey said. “I’m leaving.”
Lydia put on her best poison-strawberry smile and, keeping one eye on me, said, “You know what? Don’t eat alone. Come sit with my friends. What’s your name?”
The girl looked up disbelievingly from under a curtain of slightly greasy bangs. “Adrie
Lydia gave a brisk head-bob. “Come with us, Adrie
I stood watching them until they disappeared into the sunlight. Then I made my way back to my table, feeling stiff and self-conscious.
I’d failed at something, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
“Is Kasey all right?” Carter asked.
“Mm-hm,” I chirped, opening my plastic pudding container. I started shoving food in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to speak.
Inside my head, the thoughts were buzzing fast and furious. And the loudest of them was—when did I turn into that girl? The girl who’s too busy with her pack of friends and boyfriend to be nice to unpopular kids? The girl who treats Lydia and her group like they’re a bunch of freaks-by-default?
In other words…when did I turn into the kind of person I claimed to hate?
After the final bell, I texted Kasey: MEET @ MEGAN’S CAR.
Megan was at her locker, next to mine. “Hey,” she said.
Then Pepper showed up, red hair on skin so pale it was almost blue. At some point she’d been wise enough to give up the idea of ever getting a smidge of a tan. She looked at me and sighed. “So, Alexis,” she said. “I hear my sister lost it during lunch.”
“Yeah,” I said, making a very concerted effort to keep my feelings about Mimi separate from my feelings about Pepper, which had been carefully cultivated over a year of mutually wary good behavior.
Pepper managed to look apologetic. “The timing’s just bad. She had her first drill team practice this morning, and apparently the team’s a joke this year.”
Megan closed her locker. “I’m surprised she even signed up.”
Pepper shrugged. “Well, she couldn’t get a doctor’s note for cheerleading. Because of her arm.” What she didn’t say was: Because of Kasey.
Megan nodded. She understood. She’d been cocaptain of the cheerleading squad before she’d been tossed into a wall (also Because of Kasey). Doctors had told her grandmother that so much as landing a cartwheel wrong would cause Megan’s left knee to explode like a fireworks display. Now she was called a student coach, and she helped with choreography and scheduling. But I knew she missed being part of the action.
“Drill team, cheerleading,” I said, stacking my books. “Same difference, right?”
Silence.
“Um, no, Lex,” Megan said, eyebrow raised. “I mean, maybe at some schools, but here…? Not even close.”
I shut my locker. “I get why she’s upset. Just ask her to leave Kasey alone, okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to her,” Pepper said.
“Speaking of Kasey,” I said, “I wonder where her locker is? I’m not even sure if she can find her way out to the parking lot.”
My phone vibrated, and a text message popped onscreen.
WALKG HOME W ADRIEOMF
“Oh, never mind,” I said. “She’s walking home with Adrieomf.”
LIKE CLOCKWORK, when Dad got home from work, he parked in the garage, hung his keys on the hook by the door, put away his jacket in the coat closet, and changed into his favorite sweats, which were still an offensively bright shade of orange even after a year of being washed twice a week.
Mom, on the other hand, never changed out of her work clothes before 10 p.m. It was a habit leftover from the time when she ran back to the office at all hours of the night. Since her promotion to VP, she left the ru
Her, dressed for the boardroom. Him, dressed like a highlighter. It gave our daily family di
“How was school?” Dad asked. The question was addressed to both of us, but everyone looked at Kasey.
“Okay,” I said, taking a bite of lasagna.
“Fine,” Kasey said. Mom and Dad were still staring at her, so she froze, fork in the air. “What am I supposed to say?”
I could practically hear the gears turning in Mom’s head, trying to figure out how to coax some information out of her. I would never have said anything about Mimi, or even Lydia. But Adrie
“Kasey made a friend,” I said. “They walked home together.”
My sister shot me a stormy look, but Mom’s eyes lit up.
“Sweetie, that’s great!” Mom said. “What’s her name?”
Kasey looked at me sideways and breathed in loudly through her nose. “Adrie
“She’s a freshman, right?” I asked.
My sister gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“Did you know her at your old school?” Mom asked.
“What is this, an interrogation?” Kasey asked, dumping the food off her fork and setting the fork on the edge of her plate. “She’s normal. She has a dog named Barney and two brothers in college. Her parents are divorced. She and her mom moved here from Phoenix in June. What else do you want to know? Her blood type?”
Dad chewed tranquilly, then swallowed and picked up his water glass. “Well, she sounds great.”
“Alexis, how’s photography class?” Mom asked. I could imagine the line in the Harmony Valley discharge brochure: Ensure that the patient’s siblings don’t feel overlooked. Try to distribute your attention equally, when possible.
“Oh!” I said. “Outstanding.”
Her forehead crinkled happily. “Really?”
“Yes, because I’m transferring out.”
“After a week?” Dad asked. “You have to give it a chance.”
“First of all,” I said, “I did. Second of all, it’s not a film class. Ninety percent of the kids are shooting digital. And I don’t have a digital camera.”
“Maybe you should ask Santa,” Dad said.
“I’m sure Santa won’t have room for a camera in his bag,” I said, spearing a bite of cauliflower. “Since it’s going to be filled with a car.”
Dad smirked. “Or maybe eight tiny reindeer.”
I twirled my fork. “Or maybe eight tiny cylinders?”
“Or maybe a bicycle,” he said.
“Great idea,” I said. “Then you could bike to work, and I can drive your car.”
Dad laughed, his head tipping forward so the overhead light reflected off his bald spot.
“Any more back-to-school parties?” Mom asked.