“Ask your friends,” he said through an open-mouthed yawn.
“Just walk up and invite them to the play?”
He shrugged. “Will it work? Maybe, maybe not. But you know what I hate?”
I shook my head.
“The part in books where supposedly smart characters screw up their lives because it’sjust too hard”—he made a crybaby face, fists twisting in front of his eyes—“to tell someone the truth.”
“The truth,” I repeated.
“I love you, I miss you, I can’t live without you.” Jasper yawned again. “Whatevs.”
“You’re right.” My cheeks puffed as I blew out a heavy breath.
“Try not to sound so excited.”
“It’s a little demoralizing,” I admitted.
Jasper cocked a brow. “Getting schooled by your little brother?”
“Being as dumb as the people in books. I always thought I’d be smarter. Make a better choice at the moment of crisis. Take the road less likely to screw up my whole life.”
“Yeah, but those people weren’t reading about themselves. They couldn’t, like, peek ahead to the end.” He mimed flipping pages. “It was all happening to them. Boom! In your face!”
I pressed my fingers over my eyes. “Okay, I get it. You can stop saying smart stuff now.”
Dear Diary,
You go your whole life thinking you know exactly which kind of character you are. Virtuous. Loyal. Full of integrity. Brave if the situation calls for it, which hopefully isn’t too often. The hero, not the villain.
But what if the bad guys feel the same way? Maybe they aren’t sitting around cackling evilly and twirling their mustaches; they just cut themselves too much slack when it comes to doing what they want.
M.P.M.
Chapter 30
Like a dream that fades upon waking,the optimism I’d felt after talking to Jasper was hard to sustain by the light of day, especially when I walked into school and found Anjuli waiting next to my locker. My first instinct was to pretend she was invisible, or that I was, but that didn’t fit with my new unflinchingly honest approach to life.
“You actually did make friends,” Anjuli said by way of greeting. “With those girls. Assuming that was for real.” She chewed pensively at her thumbnail while I struggled to pull the metaphorical dagger out of my chest.
“Yeah. It just sort of happened.” It felt both strange and not strange to be talking to her. The weight of habitalmostbalanced the months of estrangement, like we were on a teeter-totter temporarily holding level.
“So I guess you are capable of changing. When you want to.”
“Maybe I didn’t have to. They liked me the way I was, old books and all.” I hoped she didn’t notice the past tense.
“Sure. It’s all my fault. Perfect Mary never does anything wrong.”
I tried not to betray myself by flinching. “I didn’t say that.”
“Please. Everything just falls into your lap.”
I stared at Anjuli, the coddled only child whose parents bought her the latest everything, sent her to expensive camps, took her on trips all over the world. “What are you talking about?”
“New friends, a cute guy.” She crossed her arms, fixing me with an accusing scowl. “I bet you even went to the dance.”
“Yeah. And that turned out so well. Lucky me.”
