The lunch bell rang, and I went on my mission. My lunch friends attempted to push and prod me to tell them what I was reading off of, what Becca wanted me to do. But that list belonged to me and Becca. Plus, they didn’t need to see the items I had already checked off. Not that I felt ashamed of any of them, but I didn’t need to give out explanations either.
Eliza had gym with Lottie next period, and I found Lottie in the new girls’ bathroom outside the small gym. The administration was slowly redoing areas of the school, and a new bathroom meant automatic handles, toilets, and sinks. Soon they’d be pissing and shitting for us, too.
Lottie watched herself in the mirror as she applied a thick layer of reflective gloss to her plump lips. She smacked them together and then, as though I weren’t in there to berate her, winked at herself in the mirror. She had almost a foot on me in her heels, but I didn’t care. I don’t know if I would’ve cared much before Becca’s list, but having a mission and someone to answer to made me even bolder.
“Hey,” I said to gain Lottie’s attention.
“He-ey,” she sang to her own image in the mirror.
“You’re Lottie McDaniels, right?” I was 99 percent sure, but revenge was only best served if it was at the right dinner party.
“Of course.” She had yet to look at me. I had yet to actually figure out what I wanted to say. Was I supposed to tell her off in the name of Becca? As Becca herself? As just some random Lottie hater? A second bell rang, indicating we were both late for class. I didn’t care, since I had art next and for all Mr. Bowles knew, I was working in the darkroom.
“Shit,” Lottie said to herself, and stuffed her makeup into her purse. I never understood purses at high school either. Just carry a frakkin’ backpack. She brushed past me, as if we hadn’t been having a meaningful, “hey”-filled conversation.
“Hey!” I called to her loudly. This time she turned to look at me. Her expression read no recognition. “I have a message from Becca Mason.”
“Oh yeah?” She put her hands on her hips and waggled her head like a bobblehead version of herself. “What?”
Obviously, she hadn’t been informed of Becca’s cancer. Or maybe she was that cold of a skag. Either way, it was my job to tell her off. I said the first thing that came to my mind. “You’re a scene-chewing, talentless tart who needs to pull the jeggings out of your camel-toe.” I looked pointedly at her too-defined crotch area, then whipped around on my gym-shoed heels and walked out. She clacked after me.
“Becca told you to tell me that?” Her mouth was agape. I saw a gray pile of gum dangling on her tongue.
“Not in those words exactly. I put my own gentle touch on them. Becca would have been more eloquent, but, alas, she’s not here right now to talk to you. I hope I made a suitable replacement.”
Lottie sputtered and sighed, a look of disgust on her face. “You tell that bitch she’ll never make the lead roles this year now that I’m back.”
“You can tell her. When she gets done with chemo.”
“What?” Lottie’s head shrunk back, her eyes opened wide.
“Becca has cancer. She wanted me to tell you you suck, in case she dies and doesn’t have the chance to do it herself.”
“You’re kidding. That’s horrible. She said that?”
Sometimes I don’t realize how awful I can sound until I see the person’s face react to my words. Becca would never have the nerve to say what I did, and even if she did, would she have wanted to?
“You know what? Forget it. I just, like, went off my meds or something.”
I began walking away, cursing my social ineptitude. Lottie clacked after me and yanked me around by my arm.
“Does Becca really have cancer?” Her look was genuine concern, not actorly fakeness topped with perfect lip gloss. I shook away her gripping hand, met her eyes, and blankly answered, “Yes.”
“Tell her I hope she gets better soon. Tell her”—she considered her words—“there won’t be any competition without her.”
I gulped. “I will.” We stood looking at each other for a minute, until I’d had enough and turned away. “I gotta go,” I mumbled, and tripped over my feet, not getting away fast enough.
Apparently I was moving too fast, looking back over my stupid, insensitive, cold-as-ice shoulder, because I slammed right into the chest of Leo Dietz.
CHAPTER 14
I LOOKED UP AT LEO, a tad out of breath.
“Running from some zombies?” he questioned.
“Something like that.” I looked down at his shoes, identical to my ratty black Chucks, except for the massive size difference. My expression must have been somewhat telling. Why was it that I never said the appropriate thing, but my face betrayed me and showed off every emotion?
“You okay?” He gently held his knuckle under my chin to raise my head. It was so strangely comforting and annoyingly masculine, I wanted to suck on his fingertips in the middle of the hallway.
“Just put my foot in my mouth. Maybe two feet. I can’t do anything right even when I’m trying to do right by someone.”
“I don’t know what that means. But I’m guessing you probably do a lot of things right.” He let go of my chin and stuffed his hand into his army jacket pocket.
“Sometimes it feels like if I really did things right, my dad wouldn’t be dead and Becca wouldn’t have cancer. I know that’s fucking stupid.” I cut myself off. I had a lot more to say on the matter, but I’d done enough talking earlier to fill my asshole quotient for the month.
“I don’t think it’s fucking stupid. I think shit like that all the time. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong person. What if? All that bullshit.”
We stood in the hallway, the cloud of my idiocracy hovering over us. “Come with me.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me along.
“I can’t leave school. I have a quiz in AP History this afternoon,” I told Leo.
“So do I. And we’re not leaving.” He spoke as he dragged me along. I didn’t know he took AP History.
“Can you slow down? My stride is about half the length of yours.”
“Sorry. I’m trying to get us out of the hallway before a monitor asks us where we’re supposed to be.”
“Where are you supposed to be?”
“Auto shop,” he answered, glancing around a corner stealthily, then pulling me along again.
“Hey!” I whisper-yelled. “I’m not a cavegirl.”
“Then good thing I didn’t club you over the head.” He stopped in front of a metal door in the back of a locker section in a yet-to-be-redone part of the school.
“Are you about to take me into a janitor’s closet?” I asked.
“Better.” He fished a key ring from out of his pocket and flipped through it until he found the one he was looking for.
“Is it the boiler room? Is this the part where we both fall asleep and Freddy comes after us? ’Cause I could so kick his ass.”
His key clicked open the lock, and he held open the door. “After you.”
I stepped into a small room, maybe ten feet square, piled floor to ceiling with books. A few old student desks balanced precariously in a corner. One naked lightbulb dangled from the ceiling.
“What is this? And why do you have the key?” I asked, sliding into a lone desk chair.
“It’s one of the English department storage closets. These are old class sets of books that never get used anymore. I took the key last year out of a teacher’s drawer and spent study hall trying doors until I found this place. No one ever comes in here.”
I stood up and ran my fingers across the book towers. Classics like Moby Dick and Adventures of
