“That’s the fun part. Everyone goes. It’s like the entire East Coast descends on Florida for a week. You should come. You can share my room.”
Lizzie’s gut twisted at the sheer sound of Cynthia’s voice. She kept walking, eyes forward.
But Cynthia’s voice carried anyway. “You know who definitely can’t afford it? Lizzie Wakefield. Can you imagine? She’d have to save up for like six months just to cover the flight. Too bad there’s no reward for being a snitch. She’d be rich!”
Lizzie stopped walking.
“Keep going,” Maya hissed.
Emma’s voice was quieter, uncomfortable. “Cynthia, that’s kind of mean.”
“I’m not being mean, I’m being realistic. Some people just don’t have money. It’s not her fault she’s broke. Oh yeah. And a snitch.”
Maya’s hand tightened on Lizzie’s arm. “She’s not worth it.”
Lizzie started walking again. Fast.
The student center was packed with people getting coffee, killing time between classes. Maya pulled her to a table by the windows, as far from the entrance as possible.
“She’s such a bitch,” Maya said.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. She said that loud enough for you to hear on purpose.”
“Probably. Whatever. She’s the one who can’t get over something that happened freshman year.” Lizzie dropped into a chair.
During their freshman year, before Lizzie knew what sort of person Cynthia was, she'd agreed to be grouped up with her on a project in their English Literature class. It had become very clear, very quickly, that Cynthia didn't believe in doing any actual work and was a fan of letting others do everything for her.
Others, in this case, being Lizzie.
She should have said something. But Lizzie liked to think of herself as a decent person, so she hadn't. What she haddone, however, was come down with a very unfortunate, very convenient case of laryngitis on the day of their presentation. Terrible timing, really. Completely beyond her control.
Which left Cynthia standing alone in front of the class, expected to present a project she knew absolutely nothing about.
It had not gone well.
The professor had seen through it immediately, Cynthia had been put on notice, and somehow — even though Lizzie had never said a single word to anyone — Cynthia had decided that she was a snitch.
Lizzie had always found that logic somewhat creative, given that the only person who had exposed Cynthia's ignorance was Cynthia herself.“Well, don’t let her get to you.”
“I’m not,” Lizzie replied.
After Maya left, Lizzie sat there watching people stream past the windows. Cynthia and Emma were gone, probably in Cynthia’s car heading somewhere fancy for lunch. Spring break was still a month away but everyone was already there in their heads, already tasting freedom.
Lizzie gathered her stuff and headed for the subway.
***
The F train was delayed, as always. She stood on the platform reading A Moveable Feast, the same copy she’d had since high school with the cracked spine and coffee stains. Hemingway writing about being young and broke in Paris. At least she wasn’t alone in being poor.
The apartment building looked worse every time she came home. Cracked brick, rusted fire escape, the front doorthat stuck unless you knew exactly how to push it. Three flights up to the third floor. The familiar creak of the fourth step.
She expected quiet. Her brothers wouldn’t be home from school yet. Her mom was working a double at the nursing home.
But jazz was playing inside.
Lizzie unlocked the door. “Hello?”
