“Let’s goooo,” she says. Olivia has this habit of dragging out the last word of anything she says. It’s annoying, but because everyone thinks she’s perfect, her annoying habits don’t matter. Kind of like how it doesn’t matter whether you order a diet or regular Coke at McDonald’s with a Big Mac. In the scheme of things, it really isn’t affecting much. That’s how Olivia’s drawl is. It’s irrelevant, and even if people notice, most of the time they think it’s cute.
“Calm yourself,” Charlie snaps. “It’s still early. Did you get bagels?”
Olivia nods and produces a bag from the driver’s seat. Grandma’s Coffeehouse. Every Wednesday, Olivia has to drop her little brother Drew off at school and swings by the coffeehouse to get us stuff. We all order differently, but we know each other’s orders by heart. Charlie gets an everything bagel with plain cream cheese, Olivia orders blueberry with butter and strawberry jam, and I get poppy seed with chive cream cheese. Sometimes Charlie and I share, half and half, but rarely.
Charlie opens the bag and passes around our respective orders. Along with my bagel she hands me a piece of gum she’s produced from her jeans pocket. “For Rob,” she says, and winksat me. I look away because I can feel my face start to heat up.
“How is he?” Olivia slides her bag over her shoulder and slams the door.
“How’s Ben?” Charlie shoots back.
Olivia swallows, but then Charlie slings an arm over her shoulder. “Relax. It’s fine. Anyway, Rose has the big romantic news of today. Tell her,” she says, looking at me.
“Tell her what?” I tuck some hair behind my ear. It’s not even eight a.m. on the first day of school, and I already don’t want to be here.
“About the text.”
“He just told me he was back,” I say quietly.
“Oh my God,” Olivia squeals. “You guys are totally together!”
I glance around the parking lot to see if I can spot Rob’s silver Volvo, but he’s always late, so I don’t really expect to see anything, and I don’t. Charlie just smiles and puts her other arm around my shoulder, and the three of us waltz toward campus.
We’re early, of course, but today there is good reason. We can finally take advantage of the senior lounge—or PL, as we call it, because technically it’s the parents’ lounge (they fund the vending machines)—a room off Cooper House that’s reserved for seniors only. The three of us spent some illegal time there last year. In fact, it was the first place I let Jason attempt the braunhook, but we’ve never been legitimately allowed in. So today is a big deal.
Olivia is explaining how her little brother stole and hid her book bag this morning and how her mom promised her a new Tod’s tote this year but shestillhasn’t gotten it.
“Can’t you just get it yourself?” Charlie asks, looking annoyed.
“That’s not the point,” Olivia says, and stops talking.
By the time we make it to the PL, it’s ten after seven, which means we have a full thirty minutes to spend here before assembly.
The PL has windows on three sides and an entrance that connects to what we call the breezeway. It’s a walkway from inside Cooper House to the lower courtyard, where, since it’s California, we generally have lunch all year long.
There are three vending machines against the fourth wall. One has coffee and cappuccinos and things like that, another has water and juice, and the third has snacks. Charlie punches in some numbers and hands around bottles of San Pellegrino. Charlie only drinks sparkling water. It’s her thing.
Another one of Charlie’s theories is that it’s important to have “a thing.” It makes you stand out. She calls it your seven, because that’s her favorite prime number. Meaning it can’t be divided, just like the thing that makes youyoucan’t be separated. For instance,Olivia’s seven is that she always has some item of purple on, even if it’s just her key chain. Olivia wants her seven to be her hair, because she loves her hair, but Charlie says purple is way more interesting. My seven is that I don’t drive. I mentioned to Charlie that that’s sort of a negative thing, but she just brushed me off. “It makes you stand out,” she said. “It’s awesome.”
I didn’t get my license until my seventeenth birthday. It’s not that I don’t like responsibility. I love responsibility. I’m a good student. I’m organized. I’m a good friend, most of the time. But driving freaks me out. Big-time. The possibility of an accident just seems so close. I mean, these massive metal tanks zooming around trying not to crash into each other? I could never shake the feeling that by driving I was taking someone’s life in my hands. So I’ve just never done much of it.
My parents still bought me a car, though. An old white Camry off a colleague of my dad’s who was moving. I think they thought it might provide some incentive for me to want to get behind the wheel. It didn’t work. Every time I sit in the driver’s seat, my hands sweat and my heart starts racing. It’s weird, I know. I’m ateenager, for crying out loud. Driving is supposed to be the thing I love the most. Freedom, escape, independence. I get it, trust me. But for me it’s way less excitement and way more terror.
There are a few seniors sitting on a bench near the right-handwindows. A girl named Dorothy who unfortunately has been called Dorky since, like, the third grade, and Len, which is shocking. I don’t think he’s ever been on time to school. Plus, also, isn’t he supposed to be kicked out? Charlie’s rumor mill isn’t always ironclad, but it’s usually at least grounded in 10 percent truth.
“Hey.” I wave to Dorothy. Len gives me a smirk, like I’ve just singled him out for a personal greeting.
“He is such a disease,” Charlie whispers to me. Then she looks up and announces, “I’m shocked they didn’t expel you.”
“Who, me?” Len uncrosses his arms. They fall to his sides, revealing a purple T-shirt with a yellow lightning bolt down the front. Another thing about Len: He always wears long sleeves, even in the summer. It’s bizarre.
He tilts his head, and a brown curl swings down onto his forehead. He’s got this mess of curly hair that makes him look part mad scientist, part high school dropout. I think the only redeeming feature he’s got is his eyes. They’re big and blue and round, like gemstones stuck right in there.
“Why would they expel me?”
“Because you are a disease,” she says. “You’re, like, infecting this place.”
Len’s eyes flit from Charlie to me. “What do you think, Rosaline?”
