And then I get this tight-stomach feeling—guilt, I guess—knowing that it’s been weeks since I’ve been to the store to see Kim. Not since our little fight, when I needed to use the copy machine to photocopy Alex’s gay-ass poems for our revenge scheme. I was so wrapped up in getting that done I didn’t give Kim the time of day when she obviously needed a friend to talk to.
Hopefully she’ll forgive me.
The thrift store doesn’t have winter coats, unfortunately. Only summer crap from people cleaning out their closets. I walk the mile over to Paul’s Boutique. Day of the Dogs won’t come on till late, but it’s better that way, because Kim and I will have a chance to catch up. I decide in advance not to talk about any of my shit. Tonight should be about her unloading on me. Maybe things worked out between her and Paul. Who knows, maybe his wife didn’t actually know they were doing it. I hope so.
I walk into the store, and there’s someone I don’t recognize behind the counter, some skinny dude with a mullet. So I head straight to the back, where the shows are, and try to walk through the door. It’s a lot darker inside the garage space, and a few people are already pushed up to the front of the stage to make sure they have a good spot for the show. Someone grabs my arm.
“Ten-dollar cover.”
I turn and see Paul himself. Paul’s hair is cut pretty short, and it looks more silver than I remember. He’s got on an old Sex Pistols T-shirt, tight ripped jeans, and canvas sneakers. He’s short for a guy, but in good shape. Kim says he’s really disciplined about going to the gym since he got clean. Apparently, years ago he was into some pretty hard drugs. Like needle drugs.
Anyway, I smile, because I’ve met him before. “Yo, Paul.”
He doesn’t let go of my arm. “Ten-dollar cover.”
I yank myself free and glance over to the sound booth, wondering if Kim might be in there. But it’s empty.
“You deaf?”
“Where’s Kim?” I say, and I know I sound pissed.
Paul looks taken aback. “You know Kim?”
“She’s a good friend of mine.”
He folds his arms. “She doesn’t work here anymore.”
“What? Why not?”
“She stole from the store, so I fired her.”
I narrow my eyes. I spit out, “You’re a liar.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I’m so angry I’m shaking. “You’re a liar. Kim would never steal from you.” I know this for a fact. Kim would never, ever, ever steal from Paul. She worked so freaking hard at her job. Partly because she loved music, and partly because she loved him.
He points his finger in my face. “What do you call letting people in to see shows for free, huh? When’s the last time you paid to see a band?”
“You piece-of-shit coward.” I say it loud enough so that people standing near us turn around. “You fuck your employees, and when you get caught, you fire them.”
He snorts like he could give two shits, but I can tell he’s livid. “All right, kid. You’re out of here.” He throws his tattooed arm up and starts waving to Frank, the bouncer, leaning against a big amp. Frank comes over, and he looks anything but happy to throw me out.
“I hope your wife knows what a dickbag her husband is!” I’m screaming at the top of my lungs. “I’d be happy to tell her myself!”
“Come on, Kat,” Frank says, wrapping his arm around me.
I start flailing and spewing all the curse words I know in one long stream.
Frank leads me into a back hallway, near the tiny room where the band hangs out until it’s time for them to go onstage. I can hear them now, warming up their instruments, laughing and talking with each other.
“You okay?” Frank says.
I’m fighting the urge to cry, so I punch the wall hard. “Where’d she go?”
Frank shrugs. “They had a big fight a few weeks ago and Paul gave her twenty-four hours to pack up her stuff in the apartment upstairs. She did it in three, and on her way out she took all the cash out of the safe.”
So Kim did steal from Paul? I guess Frank can see the shock on my face, because he shakes his head, like I’ve got the wrong idea. “Think of it more as an inevitable lawsuit settlement.”
“But it’s not like this place makes that much money. What could it have been? Maybe a thousand dollars, max? That’s not going to get her far. It’s not like that’s buying her a mansion or something. She hasn’t talked to her parents in years. She could be . . . homeless.”
“She’ll be okay,” Frank says again, but this time he’s less sure.
The tears come right then. I can’t stop, and Frank looks uncomfortable as shit. Wiping my nose with my sleeve, I say, “If she calls, will you tell her I came looking for her?”
Frank nods, but it’s the kind of nod where we both know that won’t ever happen. Kim’s gone for good.
I’m straight-up bawling as Frank leads me out of a side door and into the alleyway. He tells me good-bye and then shuts the door in my face. I try to call Kim’s cell, but the number’s disconnected. Of course.
I think of Kim, going through this shit alone. Wonder if she thought about calling me. Asking me for help. Probably not. Probably not once. Because I’m a dumb high school kid. Because the one time she tried to get real with me, all I cared about was my own life.
I feel like such a turd. To let down the person I thought of as my bestie when she needed me most. It’s a sucky lesson to learn, but I make a promise to myself, then and there, to never be a shit friend like that again.
* * *
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
LILLIA
RENNIE PRETENDS I’M NOT THERE during Monday’s cheer practice. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak to me. Not a single word. Even when it’s me, her, and Ashlin standing in a circle, discussing what cheers we should work on next. Rennie keeps her eyes on Ashlin, only speaks to Ashlin.
It’s like I’m invisible.
I try not to let it get under my skin. Rennie loves giving the silent treatment. It’s practically her signature move. What makes me mad is that I didn’t even do anything to deserve it.
Not that she knows about, anyway.
So even though she’s being a bitch to me, I still talk to her. I mean, kind of. Like when I tell her, “I think Melanie is coming in late with her second roundoff.” Rennie doesn’t respond to me, of course. But she does walk over to Melanie and tell her to work on her timing.
In the locker room when we’re getting changed, Rennie invites Ashlin to come to her house for dinner. She does it right in front of me. Ash says, “Yeah!” and then, when she remembers that I’m standing there, she frowns and asks, “What about you, Lil? Come with?”
Rennie immediately turns her back to me and faces her locker, so that I know I’m not welcome.
“Can’t. I have to go to the stables.” I don’t really have to go, but I’ve been meaning to for weeks. Nadia’s been riding Phantom much more than I have lately. I don’t want him to forget me. Plus, I don’t want to seem like I care. Monday is pizza night at Rennie’s house, and I don’t love the place where they order from. They put way too much sauce on, in my opinion.
Rennie snorts at my excuse. She’s never liked Phantom. She tried to ride him once, but as soon as she was in the saddle, he started trotting sideways, because Rennie had her legs squeezed around him and his bridle pulled left. I told her to lift up on the reins, but instead she freaked out and jumped right off him while he was moving! She fell hard on the ground and skinned both her knees in the dirt. The stable guys ran over to help her up, but they were yelling at her too, because it is very dangerous to dismount a horse that way. Rennie was so embarrassed. She went and pouted in the parking lot by herself while I led Phantom back to his stable and got his saddle off.
I drop Nadia off at our house. At every stop sign I wait to see if she’ll say anything about the way Rennie’s been acting, if she’s noticed the cold shoulder, but Nadia spends the whole rid
e texting her friends.
As I drive over to the stable, I can’t help but think that Kat and Mary would never do something like this to me. Ice me out of the group for no reason. I decide to call Mary’s house and throw Kat a text, to see if they want to meet at the stables and hang out for a bit. I bet Mary will love Phantom. I’ll even show her how to brush him.
Kat texts me back right away. Horseshit?! I’m soooo in! I laugh out loud, and it already makes me feel better.
I call Mary’s house and her aunt answers. Her voice sounds groggy, like she was sleeping. “Hello?”
“Hi, is Mary home?” I ask her.
There’s silence on the other end.
So I go ahead and say, “This is Lillia; I’m a friend of Mary’s. I’m calling to invite her to the stables to go horseback riding this afternoon.” More silence. “So . . . if you could give her that message, that would be great.”
There’s heavy breathing. Then a click and a dial tone.
She hung up on me! I know Mary said her aunt’s kind of weird, but geez. That was freaky. I swear, I’m getting her a cell for Christmas.
I get to the stables too late to ride, so I head to Phantom’s stall to groom him. He stands perfectly still while I brush his coat. I whisper to him as I pull the bristles through, and he shines like black velvet. When I get to his neck, he keeps trying to turn his head and nuzzle me.
When Nadia comes to ride Phantom, she always asks the stable guys to brush him down and scrape the mud out of his hooves for her. But that’s my favorite part of riding him. You have to build up trust with your horse. And I trust Phantom completely. I know he’d never hurt me. Even though I haven’t been here to see him in weeks, he greets me like no time at all has passed. I used to be so in love with Phantom I would have slept at the barn if my mom had let me. When did that feeling go away? When I started cheering? I wonder if Phantom noticed, if it made him sad that I stopped coming around so much. The thought makes me want to cry.
One of the stable guys knocks on the door. “You’ve got someone here to see you, Lillia.”
“Oh, great.” I peer out of the stall, down the length of the barn. There’s Kat, her fingers pinching her nose closed. I wave at her. “Down here, Kat!”
Kat walks directly into the center of the barn, careful not to get close to any of the stalls. “Dude. Can’t we hang out somewhere else? It’s rank in here!”
I take a deep, long breath. “Are you serious? I love the smell of manure!”
Kat, looking skeptical, takes her fingers off her nose and gives a sniff of the air. Then she starts to gag. “I’d stop telling people that if I were you.”
“Fine. There’s a pretty trail that runs down by the coast. No one else is out riding. We can walk it.”
“Sure, whatever,” Kat says, gasping for breath. She turns and runs back for the barn entrance.
I put Phantom’s finishing brush away and give him a kiss before I leave him. Outside, it’s practically dark, and kind of cold, but Kat and I start walking anyway.
“I called Mary,” I tell Kat. “But I’m not sure she got—”
“Guys! Wait up!”
We turn and see Mary, running toward us. “Sorry I missed your call, Lillia. I fell asleep. I always take a nap after school.”
“Aww,” Kat says.
Delicately I say, “Is everything okay at home? Your aunt was kind of weird when I called. I didn’t think she’d give you the message.”
Mary sighs. “Aunt Bette’s on some kind of New Agey tear lately. She’s more into books and crystals and stuff than interacting with actual people.” She shakes her head. “So what’s up?”
I guess the three of us have only ever hung out when we were scheming up revenge plans. Or when we had urgent business to discuss. Except all that’s over with now.
“Nothing much,” I say. “I just missed you guys.”
Kat eyes me. “How’s things with Ren?”
“Not great,” I say. And that’s it. I mean, I want to let it all out. I want to tell them how much it sucks right now, but I can’t. Kat went through exactly what I’m going through. Even worse. So who am I to complain?
But Kat is surprisingly sympathetic. She pats me on the back and says, “Don’t worry. Someone else will piss her off and she’ll forget about it. Hey! It might even be me!”
“And you’ll always have us,” Mary says.
I smile at them both. “Thanks, guys.”
After that it’s kind of quiet. It’s not uncomfortable silence, exactly. More like we don’t have much left to say to each other anymore. Which maybe we don’t. It’s still nice being with them, though.
* * *
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
KAT
WHEN THE BELL RINGS AT the end of third period, I head to the library instead of to calc, because the guidance office is offering a workshop for seniors to help them fill out their college applications.
I’m almost positive it’ll be a waste of time. I’m going early-decision Oberlin, and the materials are pretty straightforward. A basic application and a personal statement about who I am and why I want to go there. It should be a cakewalk.
But after my less-than-awesome SAT scores this summer, I need to pull out all the stops. It’s a fucking broken system. With the SATs, there are tons of tricks about how to answer questions that can bring your score up hundreds of points. That’s why rich kids end up doing so much better than poor kids, because they can afford special classes where they teach you those secrets.
It’s not like I could ever afford a private tutor, so I got a bunch of books out of the library. Some of them were super outdated, and some dumb-ass had actually filled in the practice tests in pen. I did the best I could, but it clearly wasn’t enough. I plan on talking about that in my personal statement, actually. Oberlin is a super-liberal, progressive place. I feel like they’d jive on my lower-class angst. Regardless, I’m going to have to take the SATs again next month, and hopefully improve my score by a couple hundy.
If there are any secret guidance counselor tricks I can learn, anything that will make my application to Oberlin rock freaking solid and stand out over all the others, I need to know them. I’ll do whatever it takes to get off Jar Island forever. Ohio might not seem like the coolest place, but it’s definitely where I want to be.
The library is dead, so dead I wonder if maybe this thing is happening in the guidance office instead. I walk over to the reference desk. The librarian there is on the computer. I hold my yellow pass up and say, “Do you know where the—” but she cuts me off with a big fat “Shhhh,” even though there’s no one in here but her. Then she points to the conference room next to the computers.
There aren’t a lot of kids in the conference room. Maybe five other seniors, some I recognize and some I don’t. I take a seat in the back, unzip my bag, and pull out the application to Oberlin. You fill it out online, but I printed a copy out so I could plan all my answers beforehand.
Ms. Chirazo, the head of guidance, comes in as the bell rings, in the flowy black pants and yarn neck scarf that seems to be her unofficial uniform. I swear, the woman has nothing but that shit hanging in her closet.
She frowns, I guess because she’s disappointed with the lack of turnout. But then she sees me and her face brightens. “Katherine DeBrassio! How are you?”
I mumble, “Fine,” and stare down at my papers.
“We should arrange a time to sit down in private and properly catch up!” She says it way too cheerily, and it basically confirms my worst suspicions.
I had to talk with Ms. Chirazo when my mom died. Not because I needed to. I wasn’t acting out in class or crying in public or anything like that. But Ms. Chirazo saw the obituary in the newspaper. She actually showed up to one of my classes with it clipped out and asked me in this weirdly calm voice, “Would you like to talk?” She wasn’t even a guidance counselor at the middle school. She worked in the high school. But I guess grief is her specialty.
> I told her, “Nope. I would not.”
And then bitch made it a mandatory five sessions!
I know she loved it, getting to counsel a kid over the death of a parent. I’d come in and she’d be smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. Parental death is like catnip to a school counselor. That, abusive relationships, teen pregnancies, and eating disorders. I barely said more than two words to her at each of the sessions. At our last one she gave me all these grief workbooks and crap that I chucked in the Dumpster as soon as I was dismissed.
“Well, it looks like it’s just us today,” she says, turning her attention back to the room. “Hopefully, you’ll spread the word to your friends and classmates about how valuable this resource is.” She’s about to close the door, but someone stops her.
Alex Lind.
He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans, and a black-and-white-checked shirt underneath a hunter-green sweater. “Sorry I’m late.” Even though there are plenty of empty chairs, he slides into the one next to me. “Looks like we’re officially losers,” he whispers, and laughs.
“Speak for yourself,” I say back. It comes out kind of bitchy, so I tack on a little smirk.
Not that I even care if he thinks I’m a bitch. I’m over him. Summer was a long time ago already.
Ms. Chirazo starts going off on her spiel, breaking down the college application process into three parts. The questionnaire, the recommendations, and the personal essay.
“Personal essay is the most important part. It’s the only time you’ll have a chance to show the admissions board who you are, explain what you’re all about. It’s your chance to stand out, to let them get to know you, and proactively address any aspects of your academic record that might not be up to snuff. This will be the primary focus of our time together. Since we’re such a small group, why don’t we partner up.”