Even when it feels bad.
Because it doesn’t matter howIfeel.
I get to school early like always.
Saint Vincent’s Prep School stands before me, all bright red brick and sleek glass windows. Jim and Patricia insisted on sending us to the best private schools. Tuition costs as much as some colleges do. Mom never would’ve been able to afford it. She couldn’t have afforded to divorce Dad even if she’d wanted to.
Yet as much money as Jim and Patricia have spent, they still haven’t adopted me. What am I doing wrong? Students stream in around me, eager to get inside before they receive tardy slips, laughing and talking loudly to one another. All the uproar sends a sharp pain shooting through my skull, but I smooth out my pleated skirt, double-check that my shirt is buttoned all the way up, and make sure my knee-high socks are high enough. Uniform, check.
Before I head in, I prepare to play my next part and force a smile. Being a good girl also means being a good student. I’m on my way to becoming valedictorian, and I’ve already started looking at nearby universities with Division I track teams like Harvard, BU, or BC. The closer I can stay to Bea, the better.
The hallway’s bright, artificial lights make me wince. As I walk through the locker-lined halls, I keep my head down, my glossy black Mary Jane shoes clicking quickly against the tiled floor. As soon as I open my locker, I’m met with rows of neatly lined binders, all labeled and color coded. Everything is in its place. Textbooks fill the lower shelf along with a patterned pouch of pencils that Patricia gave me for my birthday.
I grab my migraine medicine, but the bottle is empty.
Great.
Maddy glances over from her locker beside mine. We’ve been “neighbors” for so long, not to mention track teammates, that we became friends by default. Her locker is full of floral paper and art supplies. She may be a lot, but she’s always been kind to me.
“Ugh, so cute,” Maddy says.
At first I think she’s commenting on the photo of Bea I keep in my locker. A silly selfie my sister took, sticking her tongue out and rolling her eyes when she stole my phone. She hates that I actually printed it, so I have to keep it hidden or else she’ll tear it to pieces. But it’s so authenticallyherthat I can’t throw it out.
It reminds me of who I might’ve been.
But no. When I look at Maddy, she’s staring at the small magnetic mirror stuck to my locker door. She tilts her head back and forth, swiveling from side to side, like the only thing she’s interested in studying is herself.
“I’m thinking maybe I should go blond,” Maddy says, frowning at her reflection. “Tyler said he likes blondes.” She finally turns my way, surveying my hair. “What shade is that, anyway? Platinum, blond gray…?”
That’s not why I dye my hair,I almost snap, but grit my teeth instead. As soon as I was old enough, I grabbed bleach and the first box of hair dye I could find in the convenience store. I didn’t care what color it wasas long as it wasn’t my dad’s dark shade of brown. Until then I’d always see his face every time I looked in the mirror.
“Platinum,” I say, forcing out a light laugh. Thinking of my dad so much today has made my chest tight. I feel like a rubber band stretching and stretching and stretching until—
I slam my locker shut a little too loud.
“Whoa,” Maddy says. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Just have a bit of a headache. Probably stressed about the AP Physics exam.”
“Why? I’m sure you’ll ace it. You always do.” Maddy blows out a breath as she rifles through her purse. “Here, take some Tylenol.”
I pop the pills quickly. “Thanks.”
Maddy grabs her books and closes her locker. “I have no idea how you can do trackandstill make honor roll. Kind of makes me hate you. Just alittlebit.”
I do what I always do when I’m uncomfortable or don’t know how to respond. I laugh. The only reason I keep myself so busy is because the busier I am, the less time I have to think or, worse, feel. But I can’t tell Maddy that.
“Probably becauseIdon’t date,” I settle on instead.
“Try telling that tohim.”
I can already guess who she means even before a heavy arm slings around my shoulder.
“Hey, babe,” Jason says, pulling me close as Maddy scurries away.
Jason has his varsity jacket on like it’s a permanent part of him. I wrinkle my nose at the pungent scent of his sweat andwaytoo much cologne. I’ve always been sensitive to smell, but his makes my headache even worse, which I didn’t think was possible.
Keep quiet,I remind myself.Don’t cause trouble.I do my best to extract myself without causing a scene.
