Phobic (12 page)

“You think I want your pizza-faced girlfriend?” Turcott says. Like I need that now, too. I hate acne.

I sink against the lockers. Judging by the glares being slung at me, the whole school knows. My life is over. And my audition—what’s the point?

Todd hands me my backpack, his brow compressed with something like pity. Wet hair twists around his ears, and he smells like soap. “You okay?”

His tender tone stings. I nod, but I won’t look at him. Just at his battered DC’s.

“Hey,” Todd says, drawing me to his side. Oddly enough, his welcome embrace doesn’t comfort me. “Don’t listen to whatever that loser said to you. People don’t know the real you.”

I scuff a trembling hand across my cheek. “They will now.”

“What?” He pulls away so he can see my face.

I press my lids closed. I’ve never said the words to another soul before. Sure, he already knows because his mom asked a lot of questions when we first moved in next door. But we’ve never really talked about it.

“He’s such a jerk,” I say instead.

“Let him be,” Todd says, puffing back up again. “I could kick his butt any day of the week.”

He spools me into a hug, but I push away. It doesn’t fix the fact that the whole school knows my mom killed someone. I swallow a lump in my throat and try to avoid the crowd of cheerleaders whose glowers remain on me as they pass.

“I’m ready to tell you. What you wanted to know,” I say. I take a minute to inhale his scent, mingled with the perfume and BO in the hall. I should have told him about my house—about the ghost, and the bloodstain—sooner. I should have texted him or something right after it happened.

“Your room?” he asks. “And the floor thing? It’s got to be that. I already know you watched Barney as a kid, Pipes.”

I let out a weak chuckle, but the reminder of our long friendship only makes me feel worse.

“Out with it, or I’m gonna be late to Spanish.”

I don’t get why he’s not jumping down my throat about it anymore. “Why aren’t you more upset?”

“I figured Joel was pretty pissed after he caught us,” Todd says with a shrug. “And I’m sure you’re worried about the au-dish today. You said you’d tell me. I’m going with that.”

I sniff, but close up inside as the bell rings. Lockers slam, kids shout and yell over the uproar. Todd bobs his head, an indication that he wants to hear it, but doesn’t want to be late to class either. This isn’t something that can be rushed. I have to figure out how to even say what I need to say.

Todd’s finger tilts my face up to him. My stomach flutters at his fingertips on my cheek. “If it’s about your mom,” he says, lowering his hand. “It doesn’t matter to me. Don’t care what others think.”

I take in a thin breath and my foot kicks the locker behind me. “That’s easy for you to say.”

Todd straightens and clasps the strap of his backpack. “Because it’s true,” he says, as if he’s telling me rain is wet.

“Look, it’s not—”

Sierra Thompson flaunts her shapely assets just by walking. The sight of her cuts me off, because Todd lifts his head toward her. Ugh, I’m ready to disappear.

“—just my mom. Something else happened.”

I stop talking, because it’s pointless. I may as well be talking to myself.

Todd points his finger to his heart, like we do when the other needs a pick-me-up. But it doesn’t have its typical effect, because his eyes are still on Sierra. “Pipes, I gotta go.”

He follows her like he’s a kitten and she’s catnip. I hide my face in my hands, a pang of jealousy jagging through me.

It’s my row’s turn to water our tomato plants in greenhouse, so I head to the heated light tray at the back of the room. When I turn, Sierra and three of her sheep friends block my way, each girl with her arms folded.

“Is it true, Zittles?” Sierra asks, knocking the cup in my hand. Dirt spills on my chest and down my shirt, and the plastic cup falls to the floor. I glance to the teacher’s desk. Coach Morris is so lax, he probably hasn’t noticed I’m being ganged up on.

I think back to Turcott cornering me this morning, back to the endless flak these girls have given me online, back to the coughing and the lunchroom incident the day before. I said nothing for Todd’s sake then. I won’t take it this time.

I level a glare at Sierra and her satin-smooth skin and perfect eyes. For once I’d like her to have pimples covering her cheeks, her chin, her forehead. To wash her face twice a day and not have it do a single thing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re not that stupid, are you? I mean your
mom
.” She holds out a small newspaper clipping. With a gasp I remember her snooping through Joel’s papers last night. Patting something in her pocket.

“You didn’t,” I say, hoping it’s not true, but knowing it is. I have no other explanation for why her mom would do an out-of-the-blue news story about a murder committed nine years ago.

“Funny what you can find when you look through people’s stuff,” Sierra adds.

I snatch the article from her, ignoring the triumphant look on her idiotic face.

Lydia lifts her chin. She has a flower on her headband, and curls tumble to her shoulders. “No wonder you’re so messed up, Payback.”

I step forward, but they do too, caging me in. There’s no point in saying anything. Joel and I couldn’t hide it forever. I knew better than to have them come over last night.

Sierra closes in, narrows her stenciled brows. Her irises jag back and forth. “Wait. You’ve got…oh my lanta, it’s all over your face! Somebody call the nurse!”

They laugh, and for the first time I keep eye contact with her. I don’t know where my nerve comes from. “Too bad your ugliness is all under the skin,” I say. “If people could see how you really are, you’d look like a burn victim.”

Jaws drop, and gasps break from their glossy lips. Pulse thumping, I ignore the gawks I’m getting from people and head toward my seat. My tomato seedling is dead anyway.

They have no clue, no
idea
what it’s like to have
their
mother be the murderer. To be the one with the loopy house, the ugly face. I’ll show them. I’m not sure how. But I’m done with this. Done with being the kickee. That was the old Piper. Not anymore.

Amy Nelson turns to face me. Her hair is smooth and perfect, as usual. Freckles dot her big nose. But she doesn’t ask me a question about terminology. She doesn’t look over my clothes with a sneer.

“So,” she says.

Oh. I am. So. Sick of this.

“Yes. My mom is in prison for murder. I have acne. I don’t cheat on my tests, I didn’t do anything to my dad, and I’m done talking to all you people!” My voice elevates so loud I don’t notice until every eye is on me, including Mr. Morris’s. His mustache twitches.

Amy recoils. “Sorry, Piper. I was just going to say good job for sticking up for yourself. You know, to Sierra. She totally had it coming.”

My scowl deepens. “Oh, and you don’t?”

Instead of taking a breather to figure out where this comes from, I keep going.

“For years I’ve put up with nothing but crap from you. From all of you!” Every eye is on me. Might as well keep going. I huff like a madwoman. “I won’t do it anymore. You can all just piss off
.”

I stand and nearly trip when Morris moves to the front of his desk. He analyzes me, then gives me a nod as if to say,
Good girl
.

“Sorry for interrupting class,” I mumble on my way out.

The hallway stretches before me, and I walk like I’m on stilts. I’ve
never
acted like this before. Sure, I’ve had all these thoughts for years. Years! But I’ve never once thought I’d ever say them out loud. And here I am chewing everyone out.

Ugh, and Todd. I have no clue what to do about him, or why he’s even my friend. Who knows what he even sees in me that’s cool enough to keep putting up with my drama for all this time.

A different version of myself has surfaced, and I’m not sure where she came from or if I like her. I need to talk to someone, but I don’t know who. My mom is out, obviously. Dad, too. There’s Joel, but he doesn’t care about my petty high school problems. Every time I try to talk to him he’s so closed off. So consumed with schoolwork and his depositions, or being “in charge.”

I stomp past the front office on my way to the bathroom, but our principal, Mr. Connor, steps out, catching me. His belly hangs out like a growth over the top of his pants.

“Miss Crenshaw? Mind stepping in here for a moment?”

Morris intercommed the office already. That’s just fantastic.

I sniff a slow breath through my nose. Might as well get this over with. I’m on a roll, sullying up my record. Let’s rack up detention while I’m at it.

Even though my outburst was at Amy, all I can think of is Sierra. Sierra. The girl who has made my life wretched since I moved here in third grade. The girl who used to blow snot rockets in my chocolate milk, who would invite me over to play just so she and her friends could make fun of my crooked teeth and huge glasses, the girl who would stare down at me from bathroom stalls and dare me to lick toilet seats during truth or dare—then force my head down when I wouldn’t do it. Not to mention she’s snagged Todd’s attention from me.

Sierra. Sierra Thompson. I hate her. HATE.

Her parents are ordinary, together,
alive
. Her house is normal. Her skin is beautiful. Just for once I’d like to trade with her, to let her know what it means to feel plain, to have pimples no amount of squeezing will get rid of. That she could have the mean comments in her direction, the teasing, the low self-esteem. Maybe that would shut her up.

After leading me into his office, Connor sits and taps a pencil against the desk. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I lift my head, waiting for him to say it. De-ten-tion.

He stops fiddling with the pencil long enough to say, “I just want to make sure you’re…coping…with things.”

Everything inside me sags. The news. That must be all anyone thinks about when they see me now. I take a deep breath though I feel like I’m about to snap. Sure, I wanted to talk to someone, but not the freaking principal. I shove a smile on my face. “I’m fine.”

“Nothing at all you’d like to discuss?”

Another slow breath. “Nope.”

“I want you to know I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”

Right. Because if I can’t tell my best friend, I can tell you.

I step out into the hall, but the school looks like a prison to me, like one giant mousetrap, the kind that people drop rats into just to watch them hit dead ends. I don’t care that my audition is today. I can’t stay here.

I peek into the office window behind me. Connor’s back is turned, and the secretary isn’t at her desk. I make a break for the front doors.

T
he air outside has never smelled fresher, and I welcome the sunshine. It soaks in warmer than it did during Todd’s football practice earlier, and my mood lifts. I ditched school. I did it. I
really
did it. For the first time I feel daring and adventurous. My steps are light, like I’m on the descending slope of a big hill.

Until I turn the corner onto my street. The weight from what happened in the basement, the library—it all crashes back in. My beautiful, freaky Victorian. It’s insane to keep living there, and I’m not even sure how I’ve lasted this long. Something is seriously going on, and I don’t have a clue what it is.

My mother killed someone and hid his body there. My father died there. The worst thing the average kid probably deals with is, I don’t know, having to do chores. Not me, nope. Lucky me, I’m dealing with
death
. My knees hurt from the strain of stepping so hard, like I’m trying to take my frustration out on the sidewalk. So what? It’s
my
house.
My
house!

I run to the center of my street, backpack smacking my back with each step, making me do a kind of wobble-run. I pass Todd’s ordinary, red brick bungalow and then duck beside his Mom’s SUV out front to catch my breath.

I’m tempted to hide and just let the world pass me by. Wait for Todd to get out of school. I’ve always felt safe and warm with Todd, since we were children. I’d trade my Polly Pockets and Barbies for Power Rangers and Star Wars action figures with him and his brother, but it wasn’t until that day when we were nine years old that we became inseparable.