When I told the office secretary I needed to talk to Mrs. Ames about my schedule, she sat back in her chair and gazed at me through her reading glasses, which magnified her no-nonsense glare.
“It’s the sixth day of school,” she said. “You think the principal has nothing better to do than listen to you complain?”
“That’s all right, Ivy.” There was no mistaking Mrs. Ames’s voice, deep and resonant in the way only school principals’ voices are. She appeared at her doorway. “I can spare five minutes. Come in, Alexis.”
During my more, shall we say, “impetuous” period, I’d sat on her scratchy old couch about once a week. Now I got upgraded to the guest chair. Looking around, I saw an unfamiliar, possibly fake, plant in the corner, and a new diploma on the wall—a master’s degree.
“When did you get that?” I asked.
“Just this past June,” she said, putting her reading glasses on. “Thanks for noticing.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, and we sat and stared at each other. Apparently, apart from my misbehavior and its consequences, we didn’t actually have much to talk about.
Then we both spoke at once.
“You’ve been on my mind this morning,” she said, just as I said, “I have to get out of Photography.”
She sat back. “And why is that?”
As calmly as I could, I gave her a rundown of how thoroughly I detested the class. I led with the fact that we never actually spent any time in the darkroom because everyone else shot digital, and ended with an impassioned visual critique of the brick wall. Mrs. Ames nodded from time to time, seemingly content to listen to as many complaints as I could dredge up.
“If there was moss growing on it or something, that would be one thing,” I said. “But seriously. They’re bricks.”
Finally, out of ammunition, I gripped the armrests of my chair and waited.
She folded her hands and sighed. Then she tilted her head to the left and the right, stealing glances of something on her desk. “School district policy,” she said, “does not allow transfer out of an enrolled class without pressing circumstances. Which don’t traditionally include students’ opinions on the aesthetic merits of building materials.”
I started talking as soon as I could get another lungful of air. “But Mrs. Ames—this class is incompatible with my skill level. I truly believe that I will become a worse photographer every day I’m forced to participate.”
She held up a hand. “All right, Alexis. Calm down.”
“Please,” I said. “I didn’t even want it on my schedule. My father found out about it and wouldn’t leave me alone until—”
“Stop.” She gave me a sharp look. “While you’re ahead. I liked your arguments better when you weren’t blaming other people.”
I shut my mouth. But not for long. “There’s no chance, then?”
She was still studying whatever was on her desk. “It’s so serendipitous that you came in here this morning,” she said, as if we’d finished the discussion and were moving on.
“Why?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.
She handed me a sheet of paper.
LOOKING FOR THE NEXT GERNERATION OF SUPERSTAR PHTOTGRAPHERS, read the heading at the top. ANNOUNCING THE FIRST ANNUAL “YOUNG VISIONARIES” CONTEST.
“It’s a photography competition,” she said. “The grand prize is a scholarship and a paid summer internship.”
“Ah.” I tried to hand the flyer back. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
She wouldn’t take it. “You’re not even going to consider it?”
I shrugged. “Not like I could possibly win.”
“Why not?”
Because I’m not going to enter. Because I have better things to do with my time than compete in some cheesy contest, surrounded by overachieving college-application padders.
Mrs. Ames turned her attention to rearranging the pens in a mug by her phone. “You don’t just send your work in and either win or lose. It’s more of a process than that. There are interviews, social functions…but the deadline for applications is tomorrow.”
“Contests aren’t really my thing,” I said, reaching for my bag.
“That sounds like a groundless line of reasoning to me.” Her chair let out a loud creak as she swiveled toward her computer. “But I know you, Alexis. And I imagine no amount of money could entice you to do something you don’t want to do.”
“Wait,” I said. “How much money?”
She smirked but tried to wipe it off her face before she turned around. “I believe the scholarship is five thousand dollars, and the internship is paid—probably minimum wage.”
“Oh,” I said, and then, “Oh.”
So, okay, before you call me a sellout, here’s the thing:
My parents have decent jobs, but even with our health insurance, I suspected they’d had to lay out a bundle of money to keep Kasey at Harmony Valley instead of the county facility. College didn’t worry me—I figured I’d get a summer job and save up enough money to go to a state university, hopefully with some kind of “Hey, at least you tried” academic scholarship.
But there was just one little variable:
I wanted a car.
I mean, I really, really wanted a car. Bad.
And if I got a scholarship, maybe Mom and Dad would shave a few dollars out of my college fund and apply it to something pretty with four wheels and a gas tank.
Mrs. Ames was watching me.
I examined my fingernails. “The only thing is…I’m not sure I would have time for all that,” I said, “what with all the extra time I’m spending on photography class.”
I folded the paper in half and set it on her desk, trying to look both angelic and apologetic.
“That’s a shame,” she said softly.
I raised my eyes to meet hers.
“I would just hate for an elective class to get in the way of your ambitions.”
“I totally agree,” I said, my voice almost disappearing.
“Do we understand each other?” she asked.
Afraid to drop my gaze, I nodded.
She smiled but tried to hide it. “Better head back to class.”
I stood up, reaching hesitantly for the flyer and tucking it into the pocket of my bag.
Before third period ended, an office runner came into the classroom with a slip of paper. He handed it to Mr. O’Brien, who said, “Warren,” flapping it at me. I yanked it from his hand and read it right there, at his desk. It was a memo from the guidance office: Class substitution: Alexis Warren, Period 2, report to Library Study Hall, Miss Nagesh.
Mr. O’Brien looked up. “Good news?”
I pressed the slip to my chest like it was a telegram bearing news of a soldier’s homecoming. “You have no idea.”
* * *
Surrey High has two separate lunch hours, with all four grades mixed together. Megan, Carter, and I had second lunch. I wasn’t sure which one Kasey ended up with.
Megan plunked her stack of books down on our table and headed for the lunch line.
Dad always packed my lunches—and now Kasey’s, I guess—so I never had to brave cafeteria food. I saw a flash of blond, and Carter came in, carrying a dark green metal lunch box that matched my purple one. His mother got them for us as back-to-school presents. They were made by some Danish designer who was known for his “artisanal metalwork.” I was tempted to look them up online, but I had a feeling they cost about a hundred dollars each, and I wouldn’t be able to look Mrs. Blume in the eye if that were true.
“Hey,” Carter said, pressing his lips to my forehead. “How’s your sister?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen her.”
“Hi, guys!” Emily Rosen set her tray down across from us, a smile on her heart-shaped face. “Happy Monday!”
“Hi, Em.” I turned back to Carter. “I’m sort of hoping she miraculously made some friends or something.”
“She didn’t,” Carter said, smoothing his cuffs over his wrists
and pulling a sandwich from his lunch box.
I blinked. “Why do you say that?”
“She just walked in,” he said. “Alone.”
“I can move over,” Emily said, gathering her stuff. If they gave out prizes for niceness, she would be the model for the figurine on top of the trophy. We’d gone to school together since first grade, and Emily had swept the citizenship awards every year. I’m relieved to be able to say I’d always liked her, even during the brief two-year period when I made it a point not to like anybody.
After Megan and I started sitting together at lunch last year, Emily ended up drifting to our table. We have kids from almost every clique. Kind of like high school stew.
“Thanks, but no,” I said. “I might give her a minute. I’m sure there are plenty of freshmen who still have room at their tables.”
But I was wrong. Every table seemed occupied by a fully formed group, and there was clearly an unspoken rule that forbade sitting down with strangers. Kasey was like a rat in a maze, thwarted at every turn, and we were the scientists watching from above.
To make matters worse, it seemed like stories about my sister’s year in a mental institution were making their way around. Crowds parted wordlessly for her; kids fell silent as she passed, then put their heads together, whispering and casting sly looks at her back.
“There’s lots of room,” Emily said.
“She has to learn to make her own way, right?” I asked. “Survival of the fittest? Sink or swim?”
Carter, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her, said, “Sink.”
Kasey had found an empty table. It was the worst spot in the whole cafeteria. It was next to the trash cans and smelled like garbage (especially by second lunch), not to mention the constant danger of someone’s poorly aimed trash landing in your food.
Kasey glanced around nervously, then opened her lunch bag and pulled out her sandwich. I winced as an older boy walking by slapped the tabletop.
“All hail Queen of the Janitor’s Table!” he crowed, walking past.
My sister ducked her head, and my resolve weakened. I focused all of my attention on getting my wonky apple to balance. Carter’s breath warmed my ear.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
No, I wasn’t. How could I be? None of my life experiences had prepared me for this situation.
But then the decision was made for me.
“Lex—” Carter’s voice held a warning note, strong enough for me to instinctively look over at Kasey, who was shrinking in her seat like a hand puppet without a hand.
Mimi Laird stood over my sister, hands on her hips. I was too far away to hear what she was saying, but it carried outwardly to the tables around them, drawing tons of attention.
I bolted to my feet. “I’ll be right back.”
Mimi Laird had been Kasey’s best—and last—friend. She was loyal up until the moment that my sister, in the beginning stages of her possession, broke Mimi’s arm in a confrontation over one of Kasey’s precious dolls.
Kasey spent eighth grade at Harmony Valley; Mimi spent it clawing to the top of the social ladder. Now she was top-tier, even as a freshman—her expensive clothes, well-maintained appearance, and haughty attitude made it clear that she was not to be messed with.
As I came closer, I could hear random words: possessed, psycho, stalker—and see my sister cowering under Mimi’s ranting. People at nearby tables were watching and listening; any drama is good drama.
This would have to be handled delicately. Mimi’s big sister, Pepper, was a prominent fixture in my social circle. I couldn’t blast Mimi the way I once would have, but I planned to make her stop—in no uncertain terms.
I didn’t get a chance, though. As I opened my mouth to call her name, I was interrupted.
“Hey, Mimi, why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?”
Lydia Small approached them, her hands on her hips. Mimi turned around, blushing furiously; for all her beauty rituals, she wasn’t what you’d call a petite girl.
Lydia was six inches shorter than Mimi and probably forty pounds lighter, but she waltzed right up to her.
“Could you please keep your mooing at a more appropriate volume?” she asked sweetly. “People are trying to eat.”
Mimi let out a squeak of rage as the tables around them tittered.
Lydia feigned alarm. “Why would you even do this now?” she asked. “Do you realize you’re missing out on valuable cud-chewing time?”
“Go away!” Mimi countered feebly.
Lydia put her hand on the table and tipped her head to one shoulder in an over-practiced pose. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said slowly. “You go away.”
At this point, one of Mimi’s friends swooped in and dragged her back to their table.
I went over to my sister. “Kasey,” I said. “Are you all right? Come sit with me.”
Kasey looked intently at her brown lunch bag. “I’m okay, Lexi.”
Lydia smiled brightly. “Oh, hi, Lexi! You’re so welcome for saving your sister from Moomoo. She could have been eaten, you know. High school is a very dangerous place.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Lydia’s eyes widened. “Talking to a new student. Making friends. Welcome-wagon stuff.”
“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. “Adrienne?”
Lydia gave a brisk head-bob. “Come with us, Adrienne. Need help with your stuff?” She lifted the tray from the girl’s hands and headed for the double doors, towing Kasey and Adrienne in her wake like some emo Pied Piper.
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 min
e. “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.