But still. It’s not like I don’t have any other friends at school. There’s that girl in my homeroom, Kayla Pies, who has always been really nice to me. And there’s another girl in my math class who sits with us at lunch sometimes, Deanna Meacham.
With all my scheming about being sick, I have to get up immediately or I’m going to miss the bus. So I jump into the shower, then quickly arrange my hair into a twisty braid that starts near my forehead and goes all the way down the side of my head. It’s super-easy to do, but it’s super-cute, and will look even cuter when it dries.
The sun is peeking through the clouds, but it’s low in the sky, and I can tell it’s chilly out. So I pick out my comfiest pair of jeans and a soft pink sweater, hoping that the softness of the denim and the presence of my favorite color will calm me.
I top the outfit off with cozy pink socks, my cream-colored UGG boots that I had to do hours and hours of chores to convince my dad to buy for me, and my puffy black jacket.
I pack my book bag, grab a few dollars out of the jar on top of the fireplace for lunch money, and head to the bus stop.
As soon as I get to school, there they are.
The three of them.
Ellie.
Brandon.
Kyle.
All standing in the lobby by the front entrance.
Ellie’s cheeks are red from the cold, and she’s laughing at something Kyle’s saying. She throws her head back, her hair falling away from her face, and then Brandon adds something, and the three of them all laugh together.
My throat gets tight, and tears prickle at the back of my eyes. I stay frozen in place, unable to move. It’s like the three of them are a movie or something and I can’t stop watching.
A second later Brandon catches me looking. I avert my gaze and start to walk by, catching glimpses of him out of the corner of my eye as I weave between kids that are all hurrying to their lockers before homeroom. He’s not laughing anymore, and I expect him to look away.
But he doesn’t, and so finally I turn and look back at him.
We stay like that, just looking at each other, and it’s like everyone else fades away. My heart has stopped in my chest. It literally feels like I can’t breathe. And for a split second I convince myself I can fix things.
I’ll go over there, and I’ll tell him I need to talk to him and Ellie, and then I’ll explain everything to them, and maybe they’ll believe me. Maybe if I can just tell them something that makes more sense, if I can prove to Brandon that—
But then he looks away.
And the first bell rings.
Ellie and Kyle hurry down the hall.
Brandon heads the other way, down toward the science wing where his homeroom is.
And there’s nothing left for me to do but go to class.
* * *
Math.
Brandon Dunham is sitting right in front of me.
I used to think that I was so lucky. That I could just be in math, sitting behind Brandon Dunham, being able to stare at his neck the whole time. (Brandon Dunham has a very cute neck, in case you were wondering.)
But today it seems like some kind of cruel joke. What a mistake, dating someone from my own school. Think about it—why would I want to date someone I have to see every single day? Of course we were going to break up eventually. And now look what I have to deal with—the back of Brandon Dunham’s neck. Every. Single. Day.
Jessa Schneider has the right idea. She’s this girl in my social studies class who’s always dating boys from other schools. Of course, everyone pretty much knows she’s lying about it. She has all these cell phone pics she’s always waving around of all the guys she’s supposedly dating. There’s, like, a new one every week, and they’re all super-cute. How many super-cute guys from other schools can she really be meeting?
Not to mention that they always have these super-amazing stories to go along with their great looks. They’re always, like, captain of the football team, or head of the student council.
Jessa’s probably stealing those photos from random people’s Facebook pages. That might be illegal. I wonder if someone—
“Kendall Williams,” Mr. Jacobi says.
“Here,” I say automatically.
Everyone in the class laughs.
“I wasn’t asking if you were here,” Mr. Jacobi says. “I was reminding you about the math tutoring project at Stoneridge Elementary. It starts today.”
“Oh. Right. Totally.” I give him a smile, even though I completely forgot about that dumb project. It’s this after-school program where we’re supposed to spend time with elementary school kids who need help with their math.
I signed up for it during the first week of school, and the only reason I did was because Brandon signed up. This was before I knew him and was just staring at his neck. I thought maybe we’d get to know each other if we were involved in the same activities.
“So the people whose names I just called will stay after school today,” Mr. Jacobi says, “and we will head over to Stoneridge. Once you’re there, you will be paired up with a student who needs your help. The work is elementary school level, so I’m sure you’ll have no trouble handling it.”
I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or not, but I feel like maybe he looks at me a little doubtfully when he says that last part. Like I’m the only one he’s worried about being able to teach little kids. Which is super-insulting when you think about it. I mean, yeah, math’s not my best subject, but I can totally help kindergartners. They’re probably just learning how to count. They probably don’t even need tutors.
In fact, this whole thing seems like something schools do to make it look like they’re getting involved in community service. It’s all very political.
“You’ll be assigned peer partners in class to help you,” Mr. Jacobi says. “That way, if you encounter any problems, you’ll be able to get together with your peers and brainstorm teaching solutions.”
Yawn.
Someone in the back raises their hand. “Will we be able to get class time to do this?”
“Yes,” Mr. Jacobi says. Then he narrows his eyes and pushes his glasses up on his nose. “But let me remind you that this is to be taken seriously. This is not an easy way to get extra credit. These children are your students. They are going to be depending on you to teach them and be good role models. You’re going to need to work hard to come up with a lesson plan that’s going to be successful, just like a real teacher.”
Again his eyes flick over to me. Really, what is this guy’s problem? I’m getting a lot better in math. And I’m really trying. And now that Brandon isn’t going to be a distraction, I’ll probably get even better.
Of course, Brandon was helping me with my math, but whatever. I don’t need him. I can do great on my own. I sit up straighter, determined to pay attention. I open my notebook to a blank page, making it my new resolution to take perfect notes on everything Mr. Jacobi says.
“Be a role model to kids,” I write, and then draw a little flower next to it. Who wants to read their notes back if they’re not fancy? Probably if people kept their notes nice and doodley, they’d be a lot better off. In school and in life.
“Now, I’ve put you in groups of three,” Mr. Jacobi says.
“Working in groups of three,” I write, with a little smiley face after it. Wow. I am a really good note taker. I mean, I’m not missing a thing.
“I’ll read the partners now.”
I’m writing “Mr. Jacobi will read the partners” and realizing that might be taking it a little too far when Mr. Jacobi calls my name.
“Kendall, Brandon, and Madison,” he says. “You three will be working together. When you arrive at the elementary school this afternoon, we will have a short informational meeting, and then you will be assigned the names of your students. Now please take out your weekend homework so we can go over it. I’m sure you’re all struggling with something.”
My blood is rushing through my body so fast, I
can hear it. My face feels flushed and hot. Me, Brandon, and Madison are going to be working together? It’s bad enough I’m going to have to be with Brandon, but Madison Baker? Madison Baker is this seriously annoying girl who has a big crush on Brandon. She’s actually part of the reason Brandon got so upset about me hanging out with Micah. Madison kept telling Brandon that I was spending a lot of time at Micah’s mom’s nail salon, hanging out with Micah. Which was true, but still. She didn’t have to go blabbing it all over the place.
I sneak a glance over my shoulder to where Madison’s sitting a few rows away. She smirks at me and then waves her fingers. She’s wearing a tight white skirt and a long-sleeved red top. Her hair falls in silky waves over her shoulders, and her lip gloss is perfectly applied. As she waves, a shiny Michael Kors watch slides delicately down her wrist.
I swallow and turn around, forcing myself to pay attention.
It’s okay, I tell myself. I’ll just tell Mr. Jacobi that I can’t do this whole tutoring program thing. I’ll tell him I have other, more personal commitments that have come up. I’m sure it happens all the time.
When the bell rings, I take my time gathering my books so that I can stay and talk to Mr. Jacobi after everyone else leaves.
“Hey.” Madison Baker appears in front of me. She leans down, resting her hand on my desk for support, but you can tell she’s just doing it so she can show off her watch. She wants to make me jealous. And it kind of works. I mean, it’s a really fab watch. And I’m only human.
“Oh, hi,” I say nonchalantly. I open my folder and start flipping through the papers, pretending I’m looking for something important.
“So, looks like we’re going to be working together,” she says, giving me a big smile.
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“Should be fun,” she says.
She’s so fake, I can’t stand it. She knows it’s not going to be fun. How could it be fun? She doesn’t like me, and I don’t like her. And I’m sure neither of us likes tutoring.
“Yeah, totally,” I say, mostly because I just want her to go away. I’m not about to tell her we’re not going to be working together because I’m going to be quitting the project. It’s not worth getting into.
“I’m really sorry about you and Brandon breaking up.” She reaches her hand out and squeezes my shoulder.
“How did you know we broke up?” I ask before I can stop myself. I’m not sure I want to know the answer. What if Brandon called her immediately after we broke up and was all, Oh, hi, Madison. I’m single now. Wanna hang out? I’m so not in a place to handle that kind of information.
Madison shrugs. “I didn’t see you guys together this morning, so I just figured.” She sounds gleeful, like she’s glad she guessed right. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even.
“Yeah, but you must be at least a little sad,” she says. She’s studying my face, trying to make sure I’m miserable. “I mean, he broke up with you.”
I keep rearranging the papers in my folder, making sure I don’t make eye contact with her. If I have to see her standing there with her dumb watch and her dumb hair and her dumb perfect makeup, I’m going to either scream or cry. And neither one of those things would be good, especially since Mr. Jacobi is still at his desk. I don’t think he can hear what we’re saying, but he’s looking at us impatiently, like he can’t wait for us to leave so he can do whatever it is teachers do when their students aren’t around.
I don’t say anything for a beat, hoping maybe Madison will just go away.
But of course she doesn’t.
“Poor Kendall,” she coos, and gives my hair a quick stroke. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m totally here for you.” She tilts her head and thinks about it. “Not that anyone has ever broken up with me before. But I’m a really good listener when my friends are going through it.”
This statement is wrong on so many levels. First of all, she’s totally snobby for pointing out that no one has ever broken up with her. It’s probably true, but still. How ridiculous.
And second, Madison Baker and I are not friends. We never have been, and we never will be. So for her to even suggest that I would talk to her about what’s going on with me and Brandon is preposterous. Obviously, she just wants to get gossip out of me. The only person I would talk about this with is Ellie, even though I can’t, since she’s pretty much not speaking to me.
I feel a warm tide of anger moving through me, starting in my toes and filling my body until it builds to a crash. A crash that must turn me into a complete and total lunatic, because before I know it, I’m saying something I shouldn’t be saying. Something that isn’t even true. Something that could cause more harm than good.
“Well,” I say, flicking my folder shut with a satisfied slap. “I should be sad, yeah. But I’m not. I mean, the reason Brandon broke up with me was because he was jealous of me and Micah. You know, Micah from the hair salon?” I flip my hair over my shoulder on this last part, mostly because it seems like something you would do when you’re delivering a particularly bratty line. “I started to really like him, and of course, I was trying to juggle both of them at the same time, but Brandon found out.” I roll my eyes. “So in a way, I kind of broke up with him.”
Madison’s face darkens, her eyes narrowing into two tiny slits. “You like Micah?” she asks skeptically.
“Well, yeah,” I say. “Didn’t you know that already? I mean, you were always telling Brandon how much time I was spending at the salon with him.”
She has the decency to look a little guilty. “Well, yeah,” she says. “You were always there.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Because I liked him. I mean, uh, like him. Present tense. Anyway, when we started hanging out and everything, you know, Brandon got upset. And he caught me at the bowling alley with Micah, and so he broke up with me.”
I’m surprised at how easily this slips out of my mouth. Of course, only part of it is a lie. Brandon did catch me at the bowling alley with Micah, I had lied about it, and Brandon did break up with me. But I don’t like Micah, at least not as more than a friend. And of course I leave out the part about telling Brandon I can see ghosts.
“Oh,” Madison says. “Well, that’s good. So you’re with Micah now?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t really want a boyfriend right now,” I say. “That’s how I got into this mess in the first place.” The idea that I would be in so much trouble because I had a boyfriend and would now want the chance to play the field is almost laughable. I’m so not that type. In fact, before I got together with Brandon, my experience with boys was pretty much zero.
And Madison must know it, because she wrinkles up her nose and gives me a look. “I guess,” she says. Then she leans in so close that I can smell her perfume and see the perfect smooth line of her eyeliner. “But if I were you, I’d be careful. You don’t want to give up any opportunities with guys when you have them. You never know when they’re going to be gone.”
And then she pats me on the head.
Madison Baker actually pats me on the head!
Talk about condescending.
“Anyway,” she says in this totally bored tone, like I’ve been making her stand here talking about my boring boy problems, when she’s the one who started this stupid conversation in the first place. Then she reaches down into my book bag and pulls out my cell phone.
“Cute phone,” she says as she begins to program her number into it. “Here’s my number. Text me anytime. You know, if you need to talk. Or if you need any advice about how to act around Micah.”
She slides my phone back into my bag. I don’t say anything, mostly because I’m kind of stunned. I mean, who does that? Just reaches into someone’s bag and pulls out their phone? Talk about a total breach of etiquette and privacy. What if I had something really embarrassing on there?
“Bye!” she says, like we’ve been having a totally pleasant conversation and we’re not mo
rtal enemies and she didn’t try to just ruin my life and my relationship.
I sigh and pull out my phone, studying it for signs of vandalism. I think about erasing her number, but something inside me decides not to. I’m not sure why—it’s not like I’m ever going to call her.
But deleting it would mean that I care. And I don’t. Madison Baker is nothing to me. She’s just a little fly that’s buzzing around my head, totally inconsequential to me and my life. Well. If a fly had a crush on my ex-boyfriend and had beautiful hair and flawless makeup.
The thought of a fly wearing makeup is ridiculous. I laugh out loud. I mean, can you imagine? Like, a fly with painted wings? Although, when you think about it, it’s not really any different than us painting our nails or dyeing our hair. Humans are just animals, after all. And in other cultures—
“Something funny, Miss Williams?” Mr. Jacobi asks.
Oh. Right. I’m still in math.
And Mr. Jacobi is still sitting at his desk.
And I’m still sitting at my desk, which is ridiculous, since the bell rang a few minutes ago and everyone else is already gone.
“Oh, um, no,” I say, standing up quickly and gathering my books.
“Is there a reason you’re still in my classroom?” Mr. Jacobi asks.
Wow. Talk about making a student feel unwelcome and unwanted. Someone really ought to file a complaint about him.
“Yes, actually,” I say. I walk up to the front of the room. “I wanted to talk to you about the tutoring program.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Williams,” he says. His head is completely down, and he’s focused on the papers he’s grading. He’s not even looking at me. “It’s elementary school math. You shouldn’t have any problems with it.”
I do my best not to feel insulted. “Oh, it’s not that. I’m sure I’ll have no problem with the math. It’s just that, uh, I’m not going to be able to do the program.”
This gets his attention. He sits up straight and takes off his glasses, regarding me across his desk. “And why is that, Miss Williams?”
“Well,” I say slowly. “I have, um, a family situation going on.”