“I won’t, I swear.” With my throbbing face and burning eyes, it was hard to force a smile, but I did. “I also want to try to pick up a shift at the library. It’s going to take weeks to pay for this.”
“Oh... Yeah.” Olive winced, clutching her own phone a bit tighter.
Rissa squinted at me, not as quick to accept my excuse, but eventually, she grumbled. “Fine. See you at home.”
My smile fell once their backs turned. Maybe I actually should try to pick up a shift. That’d be a nice distraction.
I tried to call first. But with the cracked screen, dialing each number was a struggle. I got stuck on the two at the top. Worried that someone from the park might come this direction, I gave up.
Shoving my hands into my coat pockets, I stepped off the path to the library and cut through the woods, taking a shortcut.
In an attempt to avoid a pity party, I tried to think about unimportant things. It was cold enough that we might get snow again tonight. I wished I’d worn my hat. It sucked growing up in this town where everyone knew everyone else.
They’d all decided early on who fit in and who didn’t.
And I definitely didn’t.
Rissa always knew what to say. Olive usually could hold her own too. I’d probably think of a good comeback tonight in bed as I tried to fall asleep.
Raising my chin higher, I stomped across the crunchy ice-covered ground harder than necessary, taking my anger out on the snow. The guys in this town sucked. They weren’t worth it.
Ever since Calvin and Miriam’s joint birthday party in sixth grade, they’d decided to shun me. I’d told Ethan’s friend Caleb how people used to believe the platypus was fake—because it looked like a bunch of other animals all pieced together—and he’d nodded along seriously before going off to whisper to the others about “that weird Donovan girl.”
I wasn’tobsessivelike Caleb had told everyone. I just loved researching and strange facts. Now, though, years later, I still hadn’t shaken that label.
“Hey,” I said wearily to Taisha as I walked through the front door of the library. She worked part-time here, like me. “I came to see if I could pick up some hours.”
She smacked her gum as her gaze drifted from the computer to my face. “You can try, but Pearl just told me to go home in fifteen, so...”
Gritting my teeth, I nodded. I still asked Pearl, just in case, but unfortunately, Taisha had told the truth.
With nowhere else to go, I headed home.
By the time I got to my street, my whole face was numb from the cold. It made my cheek hurt less where the snowball had hit, so that was a plus, I supposed.
Walking up the shoveled path to our little white house with dark green trim, I took the two concrete steps to the front door, hoping Mom wasn’t inside.
The living room was empty. I tucked my coat and boots into the closet and considered dropping onto the worn couch to watch some TV, but I wasn’t in the mood to sort through garbage on our seven channels.
I peeked through the doorframe that led to the kitchen. Though the light was on, no one was there either.
The bolt on the back door by the sink was unlocked, but that didn’t mean much. Nobody in Selmo bothered to lock their doors.
I crossed the yellowed tile, running a hand over the backs of the kitchen chairs on my right, noting the dishes still in the sink on my left. Nothing had changed from this morning, which most likely meant Mom was out.
Stepping around the table, I passed the ancient pale blue fridge. Mom called it retro because she romanticized everything. In the little two-foot hallway, I turned away from the bathroom and Mom and Dad’s bedroom, entering the other bedroom that my sisters and I shared.
Still no sign of Mom.
I let out a sigh of relief. She’d want to know why I wasn’t at the movies, and the last thing I wanted right now was to have another pep talk.
Barely a week ago, right before Christmas break, one of the cheerleaders had dubbed meMost Likely to Die Alone with a Herd of Cats.
Upsetting, clearly, and not just for the obvious humiliating reasons. It was also so morbid. And so off base. If I had to pick, dogs always trumped cats, obviously.
Mom had made me bake chocolate chip cookies with her that day after school. Just when I’d thought she’d let me off the hook, she’d sat me down with a warm cookie and a glass of milk, like I was still a shy five-year-old, embarrassed by kids on the playground.
“Their opinions don’t matter, Brynn,” she’d said, eyeing me. “They only have power over you if you give it to them.”
