Rhymes with Witches - Myracle Lauren - Страница 17

That didn’t mean I wanted to give her a stolen offering, though. But what choice did I have if I wanted to be accepted by the others?

Through my headache, I noticed all the shit girls lug around every day. Lipsticks, cell phones, compacts. Little plastic makeup pouches attached to the loops of backpacks. Clippies shaped like butterflies. Jewel-studded barrettes. Tubes of body glitter. Gum.

But I couldn’t actually steal anything from anyone. For starters, someone was sure to see. Her eyes would lock with mine, and I’d yank my hand from her backpack, leaving the body glitter behind. “Sorry,” I’d say with a burning face. “I was just wondering what kind it was.”

I twisted the dial on my lock. Beside me, Sally Howarth’s locker stood open while Sally chatted with Leila Hobbs. Sally had decorated the inside of the door with colorful magnets, some holding up pictures, but some on their own, serving no purpose whatsoever. Just wasting space.

Sally fished around for the notebook on top of her stack of books. She slammed her locker and headed down the hall with Leila.

“You look like hell,” Alicia informed me, pulling off another of her great sneak-ups. “Seriously. You look even worse than I do.”

I whipped around, my pulse in overdrive. “Gee, thanks,” I said.

“I’m just being honest.”

“Uh-huh. And thanks again.”

She leaned against the lockers on my other side. She’d trimmed her bangs, and they lay in a straight, black line over her eyebrows. “Anyway, if you’re worried that I’m still mad at you, I’m not. Which I would have told you if I could have found you at school yesterday. Or if you ever answered your damn phone. You’re like this lady of the night now, always off on some mysterious adventure. What’s up with that?”

I closed my eyes. I needed to tell her. Had to tell her. But I knew she wasn’t going to like it. I opened my eyes. “Um, actually I—”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said. The hall was filling up, and some guy knocked her off balance as he passed. “Meet me in front of Hamilton after math, all right? I’ve got big news. Bigger even than cheerleading. See you!”

Okay, then, I thought. Saved by the bell, which hadn’t yet rung. I shoved my French books into my backpack and closed my locker. I scanned the floor, hoping to spot a wayward pen. A paper clip, even.

But there was nothing there.

“I know, I know, it’s totally out of character,” Alicia said two minutes into our free period. “You’re thinking, ‘Who is this chick,’ right? ‘Who is this girly-girl who’s taken over my best friend’s body?’” She widened her eyes. “But Jane.”

“But Alicia,” I said.

“He is amazing,” she said. “I’m telling you, I’ve never had a crush this bad.”

“You’ve never had a crush, period.”

“Because there’s never been anyone worthy. Until now.” She nodded, as if to suggest that yes, it was incredible, and yes, she could handle it if—understandably—I didn’t know how to respond.

I didn’t know how to respond, but not for the reason she suspected. I’d spent all of math class gearing up to tell her about the Bitches, and the strategy I’d come up with was to spill the news in a great excited burst, as if I fully assumed that she’d be as happy about it as I was. No room for wounded resentment, that was the goal.

But now here was Alicia, telling me her own news in a great excited burst. She’d morphed into an actual human being—happy, even—and I’d barely been able to get a word in edgewise.

“So are you going to tell me who he is?” I asked.

She gripped the cement bench we were sitting on. “Tommy Arnez. We got put in the same group for English—how lucky is that?” She lifted her eyebrows. “And you know how much I hate group work.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not anymore. No sir, no way.” Her voice went dreamy. “Tommy Arnez.”

“Ah,” I said. Tommy Arnez was a drama geek, not a super-cool jock or a hottie in a garage band. Tommy’s friends called him “Babyface,” because of his big, round face that matched his big, round body. He was way talented, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up on Broadway someday. But he was the funny guy, the always-joking guy, not the smooth-moves-and-aftershave guy. Which was good, because it meant Alicia had a chance.

“Ms. Morgan assigned us this asinine project, which was to come up with five ‘essential learnings’ for the semester,” Alicia said. “We were all like, ‘You’re the teacher. That’s your job.’ But Ms. Morgan said we had to take ownership of our own experience—gag, gag—and that after coming up with the essential learnings, we had to decide what would happen to anyone who didn’t learn them. And you know what Tommy said?”

“Tell me.”

“‘Throw ’em in the chokey.’”

“The chokey? What the hell is the chokey?”

“That’s what I said, too!” Alicia said. She slapped the bench. “He said it’s, like, this dark closet with sharp nails sticking out all over the inside. Like a medieval torture chamber, kind of.” She smirked. “Ms. Morgan was not amused.”

Apparently, Alicia was.

“And get this,” she said. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“We left class together, and we talked all the way to our lockers. And then last night, he called me up and invited me to this fundraiser thing on Saturday night. It’s for this performance art group called Howling Muses, and they do all this hilarious stuff like put poems into tampon dispensers.” She whapped my leg, a series of rapid pats. “Can you believe it?”

“Alicia, that’s awesome.”

“I know!”

“I am so happy for you.” I upped my smile and barreled ahead. “And guess what? I have good news, too. I’m a Bitch!”

“Huh?” Alicia said.

“You know, a Bitch. A Bitch. They picked me after all!”

Alicia’s face muscles slackened, and for a second I saw the old Alicia shining through. But she covered her jealousy almost immediately. “Oh my god. Jane, that’s fantastic!”

“Really? You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it. Why wouldn’t I mean it? What kind of friend wouldn’t mean it, you spaz?”

To her credit, she was really trying. And her own windfall softened the blow, I’m sure. Gladness bubbled through me, and I decided just to run with it. She was happy for me, and I was happy for her. Why should that be too good to be true?

“So … when did this happen? And how?” Alicia asked. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

So I did, and it was so nice not to have to edit myself and make it sound less mind-blowing than it really was. I skipped the part about the stealing, however, because that was privileged information. Besides, it wasn’t a detail I needed to share.

“In-freaking-credible,” Alicia said after I’d finished and after I’d answered her many questions. She tilted her head, going for supportive with a dash of caution. “You’ve just got to promise to be careful, okay?”

“Yeah, of course. But there’s nothing to worry about, Alicia.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m just saying.”

A warmth radiated between us that I hadn’t felt for a while. We grinned at each other.

From the building came the muffled ringing of the bell. Kids poured from the doors. I saw Phil trip and go sprawling, and I saw Stuart Hill behind him, slapping John Rogers’s palm. I instinctively started to rise, even though I was too far away to help.

“Shit,” Alicia said. “I wanted to make myself beautiful for English.” She unzipped the bottom compartment of her pack and fumbled for her mirror. “Do I look okay?”

A girl named Oz Spencer stopped and gave Phil a hand, and I sat back down on the bench. Oz was chubby, with hot-pink hair, and she had a tendency to wear low riders that showed her butt crack. I liked her for being nice to Phil.

“You look fine,” I told Alicia.

Alicia scrunched her hair, then rubbed her teeth. Her backpack drooped off the bench, and keys and makeup clattered to the ground.