I knew Sarah only to the extent it’s impossible not to know someone who has been in the same grade as you since kindergarten. I knew that she’d been on the cross-country team with Anna, that her personal style consisted of three constants: thick black eyeliner, black jeans, and large (black) headphones, and that her mom was widely considered the most beautiful woman in Birdton.
Sarah looked at me with a blank expression, her headphones still firmly secured to her ears. I pointed at the seat.
“Oh,” she said loudly. “Sure.”
She moved her coat, an enormous puffy thing that appeared fully capable of doubling as an airbag, into her lap to make room.
As I slid in next to her, the bus groaned and began moving with a jerk. I grabbed the edge of the seat to avoid pitching forward.
Sarah put her headphones around her neck, releasing the tinny sounds of a low repetitive beat. “You all right?” she asked, looking at my white knuckles still clutching the seat.
“I’m fine,” I said, releasing my fingers. “I’m just concerned this bus is going to fall apart.”
It wasn’t really meant to be a joke, but she laughed. “What gave you that impression—the rattling noise or the lurching?”
“Both.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, it’s not just you. The driver claims he can’t hear it, but I’m pretty sure he won’t admit anything is wrong with this bus until it spontaneously bursts into flames.”
“Thanks for that comforting image.”
“Anytime,” she said, flashing a quick grin as she pulled up her headphones again.
Okay, I thought as I closed my eyes, hoping to nap for the rest of the ride. You found a seat, talked to another person. That’s a good step. That’s good practice for what you’ll need to do next. Which was getting Lily’s phone number from the person I knew would have it: Charlie.
—
BY LUNCH, I STILL HADN’T managed to find Charlie. Or, rather, I’d found him—twice—but the first time he’d been surrounded by other basketball players, and the second, he’d been walking so fast that I’d have had to literally sprint down the hallway to catch up. And it’s hard to casually ask for a phone number when you’re struggling to breathe.
So instead, I was back in the bathroom stall, staring at my sandwich. This time when I gingerly peeled back the bread, I found that there wasn’t even lettuce inside—nothing but a slick of yellow mustard against the white bread. Fortunately, I’d come prepared. Last night, I’d snuck into the kitchen after my parents went to bed and made my own sandwich as backup in case the mustard sandwich wasn’t a fluke. Now it looked like that would need to be my official new system unless I wanted to either starve or inform my grieving mother that she’d been making me condiment sandwiches.
I set aside my mustard monstrosity and began unwrapping the sandwich I’d made.
When the main door swung open, I paused. While the bathroom was probably the cleanest place in this building, I didn’t exactly want people knowing I was eating in here.
There was the sound of heavy backpacks landing on the tile floor in front of the sinks, and then zippers being undone. Apparently, it was primping time. I hoped they’d be quick about it. Yesterday afternoon, some girl had stayed in the bathroom for almost fifteen minutes, screaming into her phone at someone who was either her mother or her boyfriend (she hated them, they were too controlling, and she didn’t appreciate their comments about her weight).
“God, I can’t believe I got stuck with Mona as my lab partner in chem instead of Stephen,” one girl said.
“Thanks, babe,” someone, presumably Mona, replied. As far as I knew, there was only one Mona in the school: Mona Addle. She was a sophomore also, but we ran in very different crowds. She’d been a cheerleader freshman year.
“Okay, you know I love you, but I love love Stephen. Or I would if he’d let me. I sat right next to him so we’d get paired up, but Mr. Ryers is, like, against young love or something, I swear.”
There was a snort of laughter from a third girl. “Whatever, he probably takes lousy notes. Paired with Mona, you’ll actually pass. Besides, you’re lucky you aren’t taking bio. Ms. Tattin has gone completely insane. There are all these crazy labs—it’s like it’s never occurred to her that we might have other classes.”
“They’re all insane,” Mona said. “Matthews is having us read practically a book a week. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the syllabus. Then, when I asked him about it, he acted like I was being lazy.”
“Yeah, I used to think he was kind of hot, but now he’s all mopey and distracted,” the first girl said. “He almost knocked into me in the hall yesterday.”
“Well, we all know why he’s acting like that,” the third girl said, drawing her words out low and deliberate.
Intrigued in spite of myself, I leaned forward and peered through the small gap at the edge of the door. I saw the back of a glossy brown bob and skinny shoulders: Lauren Chambers, known for her big eyes and sharp tongue. Most of the unpleasant but accurate rumors at school could be traced back to her. Beth McConey and Mona, her inner circle, turned toward her in perfect sync, like trained dolphins performing for fish.
“No, I don’t,” said Beth. “Please tell me it’s something good, like he got caught shooting up or something.”
“No,” Lauren said, shaking her head, a tiny smile on her mouth. “Nothing like that.”
“What, then?”
“It’s Anna.”
Anna?
Beth frowned. “What about Anna? I mean, it’s super sad and all, but most people aren’t trying to mow me down in the hall because of it.”
Lauren leaned toward the mirror and slowly applied a light coat of foundation to her nose. “Mr. Matthews was weird about her,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” Mona asked as she applied some
