I frown. She makes him sound conceited. I hate that. But something about it rings false. Sam didn't seem that way at all to me. At my expression Carl continues.
"No I didn't mean it like that. It's not that he's full of himself. I think he just gets sick of girls falling all over themselves. Tuck says he just doesn't like attention. They're best friends, you know. If Cap wants a girl, he'll let her know. And he'll get her, believe me." I have no doubt. "The rest of it, it's just annoying I think. I mean, take Chelsea - they've been friends since we were all kids, and then suddenly we're in high school and he can't be around her without her trying to flirt with him in one way or another."
"Poor him," I murmur. It comes out sarcastic and the girls laugh. I mean it to sound that way, because for it to be earnest would sound silly. To pity someone because they get too much positive attention from the opposite sex. But the truth is I kind of know what Carl means. Not to that extent, of course. I've certainly never had boys falling all over themselves, but I understand unwanted attention. "But really, I was just having trouble finding the class, it was really nothin'," I assure them.
"And again, maybe I'd believe that if you weren't, like, freaking hot," Tina counters. I throw a french-fry at her and laugh.
"I'm not," I insist.
"You kind ofare," Carl murmurs and I can see she's being genuine. I roll my eyes.
Okay, I know I'm not ugly, but I'm definitely not "like, freaking hot". Especially now that I'm dressed down and practically makeup free. Maybe I should lose the lip gloss.
****
The rest of the school day continues uneventfully. Most of the students leave through the side entrance as it's adjacent to the student parking lot, but it's also where the gym is, and the locker rooms. Rationally I know that football season is long over, and that there are plenty of people out and about in the hall that leads to the locker rooms, but my therapist says I should avoid triggers as best I can, and high school locker rooms are definitely a trigger. I make my way through the main entrance and around the perimeter of the building, like I did for lunch, and by the time I get to my car, almost everyone has left. I hop into my jeep and drive straight home to get started on my calculus homework.I'm already behind. Tomorrow I'll have to ask Mr. Frank if he has any extra help hours or tutoring.
The good news is that my AP English class is working on just about the same list of books I'd been reading back in Linton, and the ones that weren't on the old syllabus, I've already read on my own. At least that's one thing that'll make life easier. Hey, you take the good where you can find it. Or at least that's what I try to tell myself.
The next morning I make it to first period - which is now homeroom for the next ten minutes - with time to spare. Carl has saved me a desk next to her near the back and I'm grateful for it. We chat for a few minutes before the bell rings. I try not to stare when Sam walks in, but the kid is just freaking gorgeous. I try to be inconspicuous about it, and realize I'm not the only one. Most of the girls in the class are trying to steal glances at Sam. I can see why he might find it annoying, but really, who has a "no girlfriends in high school" rule? Idly I wish Robin had had that rule, but stop myself. I'm not supposed to dwell on past events I can't change. My therapist would chasten me for even thinking it.
I steal one more glance at Sam, who's simultaneously texting on his iPhone and chatting with the guy he introduced yesterday as Dave, before the teacher, Mr. Frank, walks in as the bell rings. The students settle, and just before he turns to face the smart board, Sam peeks back at me and half smiles. For a moment, I think I imagined it, but then Carl nudges me with her elbow and mouths, "see!"
I don'tseereally. He's just barely acknowledged me.
I don't tell her the real reason Sam was nice to me yesterday. Why he's acknowledging me today. I don't tell her he caught me freaking out in the hallway and popping drugs barely in time before I hyperventilated and passed out. Which is what happened the first time an attack hit about ten months ago. I don't tell her he's only being nice because he thinks there's something wrong with me. Because heknowsthere's something wrong with me. Because he pities me.
Pity.
It's funny how things change. Nine months ago I'd have welcomed it. It would have been a nice change from the accusations and scorn. If they pitied me it would have meant they believed me. Now, I don't want pity. I want to pretend like none of it ever happened. That was the whole point of moving across the country. That no one would know. But while Sam may not know what happened, he's witnessed the scars. Not the physical scar, but the emotional ones. And those are far deeper.
****
Over the next few days I fall into a routine. Classes, lunch with Carl and Tina, more classes, homework, reading, and declining invitations for any other social activities. When Friday rolls around, it becomes more difficult to use excuses about having to have dinner with my mom to get out of hanging out after school. Everyone is going to a party at Andrew's tonight. It's the kind of thing I'd have been excited about a year ago. But now, I decline.
When I mention it to my mom over dinner, she gives me that look. That sad, pathetic look that reflects that I am just a shell of my former self. But I also see her own self-pity, reminding me how much this has all hurt her too, and I make the snap decision to try and alleviate some of her pain.
I decide to go to the party.
I don't spend much time getting ready. After all, I don't want to look like I'm trying. If I can hang out for a little while - at least until Mom goes to bed - she might think I'm recovering in some way. That I'm on the road back to normal.
I wait in the living room for Carl to pick me up, aware that my mom is watching me closely, searching for signs that I'm not ready for this so she can order me to stay in. But I know that isn't what she wants. What she wants is to find the unlikely reassurance that I'm starting to be okay. So I give it to her.
Plastering on my "everything is okay" fake smile is too much right now, so I make every effort just to keep my lips from slipping into their default frown. Two honks let me know that Carl is here to pick me up. I don't panic, but I am shaking with anxiety.
THREE
S E P T E M B E R, L A S T Y E A R
IAM LITERALLYshaking with excitement. Finally, finally, it's junior year. I am officially an upperclassman. Everything changed this past summer. I was never the kind of girl who had a lot ofgirlfriends. As a kid, I was more of a tomboy. I had little interest in painting my nails or attending slumber parties. Instead I was always more likely to seek out a street game of kickball or a pickup game of basketball at Cam's driveway hoop. Cam's been my best friend since his family moved next door when we were both three, and we've been inseparable ever since.
It wasn't all that strange when I was a kid. By the time I'd started high school, it was a little unorthodox that I hung out with mostly guys, but it was what it was. I was mostly carefree and still saw the guys as just my friends, and not romantic interests. Soon enough, though, I started to feel like I was missing out on something. Cam's a great friend - the best - and I love him, truly, but while we mostly hung around listening to music or playing video games, I increasingly started to wonder if I shouldn't be at the mall or just doing something to bond with girls my age. It wasn't as if I didn't know them. Linton is a small town; we've all known each other our whole lives. And it wasn't like I was an outcast or anything. Everyone was always nice enough to me, even the girls who weren't all that nice in general.
Then, this past summer, after passing the lifeguard test, I got a job at the pool. It gets hot as hell in Linton during the summer, and we're far enough from the gulf that the ocean breeze dies miles before it's of any use to us. Most of us spend our time either at the lake, or if our parents can afford a membership, the pool at the country club.
I've known Lacey Forbes forever. Of course, everyone in Linton knows her and her family. She and her friends, Courtney, Emmers, and Stella, are the closest thing Linton has to a "popular clique", and her dad, who's the town's mayor, has been friends with mine since they were kids. So when Lacey approached me at the pool in July, I saw it as my chance to make some girl friends - to work on becoming less of a tomboy and more of a normal girl. Lacey had her own motivation.
I've always been considered pretty enough in our small town, but when a girl hits about fourteen, what makes her attractive has less to do with her face, and more to do with how fast she develops. This new rating system, along with my being seen as one of the guys, always had me left off any "hot" lists. Until now. Sometime at the end of the last school year, I sprouted breasts. Not especially big ones, but I was just happy not to be flat as a washboard anymore, and according to Cam, who grimaced when he reported it, my necessary quota for breast size was significantly lower due to my attractive face. Again, Cam's words, not mine. According to the guys in my grade - guys who had been my best friends but now suddenly saw me as a sexual object - my large B's were equivalent to double D's on a plain girl. This news sent me into a fit of laughter, and caused Cam to rub his face red with his palms. He's like a brother to me, and can't stand it when his friends - our friends - talk about me like that. But it's become clear to the both of us over the past year that this is the way of things, and we'd both have to get used to it.
