Deadgirl

shoulder as she backed up.

“Oh, you know. I didn’t get off my shift until about an hour ago.”

“Wow,” Morgan said. “You look great for pulling a twelve hour shift without sleep.”

My mom smiled, “From you, that means almost nothing, dear. Thanks, though.”

Morgan blushed. She knew how pretty she was, but had somehow managed to avoid a good chunk of the arrogance usually implied by that. I imagine it’s because her transformation was recent—in junior high she’d been tall and skinny and unmistakably mannish. The un-clever nickname MorMAN had been stapled to her at that age. No one called her that anymore that I knew. Most of the bullies were too busy hitting on her now.

“What about you gals?” Mom asked.

“Okay,” Morgan began. “We vegged during volleyball. Coach Lark had cramps or something.”

Volleyball may have been part of her appeal, I thought. Boys loved a hot girl in tiny shorts. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair. I would have slipped my ear buds on and drifted away to MP3 land, but my mom hated them and was just as likely to slap them out of my ears than ask me to take them off.

“Are you team captain yet, Morgan?” Mom asked.

“I’m only a sophomore, Mrs. D.,” Morgan laughed.

“Right, right,” Mom said. “I always forget that you’re the same age as my Lucy. You look so grown up.”

I longed for ear buds. Or a sharp hammer-blow to the temple.

“What about you, Luce?” Mom asked. “Your day?”

“Okay,” I said. “Do you mind if Wanda comes over later?”

Mom shrugged. Wanda was so vanilla-plain and unobjectionable that my requests to hang out with her were rarely denied, if even questioned. It was a fact I had yet to take advantage of, but something I’d long ago filed away for future use. I offered information anyway—it built good credit for the times I didn’t.

“Wanda needs to fix a bunch of fliers,” I said.

Mom nodded. Morgan leaned forward from the backseat.

“Mind if I come over, Mrs. D.?”

I shot Morgan a surprised look. Her eyes widened and snapped back to normal, and I took the hint. I sat back in my seat and pretended everything was cool.

“Sure thing, honey,” Mom said. “I guess we’re having a little party tonight.”

“Thanks, Mrs. D.,” Morgan said.

I didn’t turn around to look at her. I had no idea what she was up to, or why, but I decided to ride it out anyway. After a moment, Morgan spoke up again.

“I still need to swing by my place first, if that’s okay?”

Mom made a mmm-hmm noise, cranked up the Beatles, and pulled into the long line of traffic trying to escape Atlanta High. The Beatles told us that yesterday all our troubles seemed so far away. I didn’t bother asking another question.

We swung by Morgan’s mom’s mildly-crappy apartment—ever since her dad had left, she and her mom had been living pretty tight. Morgan was back to the car in minutes with a wide smile and an overnight bag—she must have begged or pleaded or thrown herself at her mother’s mercy something fierce.

Our house sat in an okay neighborhood—next to Morgan’s place, it felt positively palatial. Morgan had never made me feel guilty. In fact, when I brought my feelings up, she laughed them off. If jealousy ran through her brain very often, she didn’t show it. Which made me feel twice the rat for being so envious of her.

Mom pulled into the driveway, and Morgan and I jumped out of the car. She grabbed my hand and yanked so hard that I nearly forgot my backpack. Morgan ran me at the house like she was charging a castle—I only just got my keys out before she whipped me towards the door.

When we got inside, Morgan raced up the hallway stairs two at a time. Her energy was contagious, I couldn’t help myself. I darted up the stairs after her.

“Slow down or you’re gonna break your…”

My dad’s shout didn’t make it out of his office intact.

Morgan was already lying sideways across my bed when I got there. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. I crossed my arms and let a suspicious look radiate off of me for a while. She gave me a smug smile, but I wasn’t breaking first. I busied myself by letting my eyes drift around my room.

A year ago, the room would have made me shudder. Candy-pink wallpaper hugging every wall. The huge cartoonish flowers on the print leaning drunkenly at me from every direction. Horrifying. It reminded me of Alice in Wonderland, and not in the good way. My mom and dad had decided to infect my room when I’d gone away to Outdoor Ed, and I’d returned to find my lovely room defiled. It had taken me three years to get them to recant.

I’d succeeded last year with the I’m in high school now argument. Even to them, pink and flowery was too much for any teenager to have to bear. Me, Morgan, Sara, and Daphne had raided the Home Depot for paint and equipment on Dad’s dime and made a weekend of redecorating.

Now the walls were a warm amber color that filled me with calm rather than pink terror. We’d even got my dad to sand my old white dresser and paint it black. Most of my furniture was black now, I noticed. Not emo black —classy black.

No posters of shirtless teenage heart throbs—that was Morgan’s room, no paintings—Wanda’s room, just pictures. My walls were coated with picture frames, and they spilled out onto my dresser, my desk, my bookshelf. My friends, most engaged in either ridiculous pose or ridiculous dress, looked out at me from every direction.

I sat down at my little corner desk to check my email when Morgan cleared her throat.

I rotated my office chair slowly, my fingers steepled in my lap. I did my best super-villain impression. Morgan tossed her bright pink cell phone to me. I caught it by virtue of luck.

“Read,” she said.

The phone displayed a text message, from…

Zack. My heart flip-flopped. My mouth went dry. I looked up at Morgan, who was still smiling.

“Read it!”

I glanced down again, but had trouble making out the small glowing letters. They were blurry, insubstantial. I shook my head and tried to focus. I glanced at the time—she’d received the text minutes ago. Maybe right when we climbed into Mom’s car.

Hey M. Going 2 the Set tomorrow night. You and friend should come. Bring Luce too. You down?

My heart didn’t flip-flop this time—it stopped. I sucked air that wasn’t nourishing enough, and what had to be a Helm’s Deep of butterflies raged in my stomach. Morgan was next to me all of a sudden, pulling me out of the chair.

“What does that mean, huh?” Morgan asked.

“I…I don’t know,” I said. My lips felt numb. “He wants a friend to come, too. Maybe it’s just a triple date or something.”

Morgan made a ‘that’s right, dumbass’ face.

“Oh. Oh! Do you think?”

She nodded.

“Doesn’t that seem kinda…forward? We barely talk to each other.”

“Maybe he’s nervous,” Morgan said. “He is somewhat unpredictable.”

“True,” I said. It’s one of the reasons for my quasi-obsession. “But we tried this last year.”

“Just flirting,” Morgan said. “That’s not anything.”

“Yeah, but we flirted like crazy,” I said. “And he never once asked me out.”

“Did he ask anyone else out?”

I frowned. I didn’t need her pity-logic.

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything,” Morgan said. “Maybe he’s not allowed to date or something.”

I bit my lip. It could be right—it certainly explained his reluctance.

“Maybe he’s allowed to date now that he’s a sophomore,” Morgan said.

“Maybe,” I said. “But he’s been a sophomore for a month and a half.”

“Give the guy a little time to work up some nerve,” Morgan said, turned, and shoved me at the bed.