“Do you know how many fat calories are in that?” Missy said, flicking her gaze at my food.
I dropped into the last empty chair at the end of the table and let my heavy book bag thud to the floor. I decided not to care what Missy Thurber thought of my food. I was too hungry to care. And besides, it was comfort food. If there was one thing I needed just then, it was comfort.
“Pass the ketchup?” I said.
Missy groaned as Kiki handed it over. “Your funeral,” Missy said.
Constance pulled her cookie out, bit into it, and smiled at Missy. Missy rolled her eyes and turned her back on us to gossip with her minions.
Constance was starting to grow on me.
“How were the rest of your classes?” she asked sympathetically. Translation: “I already know history sucked. Did it get any better?” Answer: Definitely not.
“Fine,” I said with a quick smile.
Even though my French class had been conducted entirely in French and I hadn’t been able to keep up or form any coherent answer other than
“Je ne sais pas.”
Even though my art history elective had been packed to the rafters with teen curators, all of whom knew the artist, year, and medium of every work our teacher flashed up on the screen. I could only imagine what was going to happen in my next class—Trigonometry. We’d probably skip right to Calculus because everyone would be bored by sines and cosines.
“I know this is going to sound obnoxious or something, but if you ever need any help, I’m totally there,” Constance said. “The school I went to back in the city was really good. Like
really
good.”
Okay. Was she offering to help me, or showing off? Neither one made me feel any better. It was as if everyone here had decided that I was stupid and in need of charity or something, but I wasn’t. I was a straight-A student for God’s sake.
I
was the one who always helped out everyone else. What was happening to me?
The girls at my table gabbed about the boys in their classes
and planned a trip into town for the weekend. I overheard the phrases “four-ply cashmere,” “so hot,” “new credit card.” They were stressed about nothing. I was stressed about a zillion and one various things of all shapes and sizes and urgencies.
And then I saw them. The Billings Girls had emerged from the lunch line and were walking down the aisle right toward us. Noelle led the way, with Kiran, Taylor, and Ariana trailing behind, her head bent as she read from her book. For the first time, I could see them up close and each was more perfect and beautiful than the last.
I held my breath as Noelle sauntered by, her eyes sliding over me and an amused smile playing around her lips. Kiran and Taylor chatted their way past and then came Ariana. She wore a white tank and a long, flowing aqua-colored skirt that grew darker in color from waist to foot. Around her neck was a sheer purple-and-lavender scarf, the ends of which hung down over her chest and grazed her stomach. I would have looked ridiculous in an outfit like that—like a kid playing dress up—but she
belonged
in those clothes. She brought with her an exotic scent that still somehow felt familiar. I was just trying to place it when she lowered the book, looked directly into my eyes, and said, “Oh. Hello.”
All her friends stopped. So did my heart.
“This is the girl I was telling you about,” Ariana said. She had the slightest of southern accents, so muted that it was as if she added it as an afterthought.
My empty stomach churned and I tasted bile in the back of my throat. I could feel the girls from my floor looking at one another.
“
Real
ly?” Noelle crossed her arms over her chest and strode over to me, looking me up and down. A few other girls from Billings, those not of the four, stood back and glanced at one another quizzically. “You’re our peeping Tom?”
Missy bleated a laugh.
“I thought she’d be more butch,” Kiran said. Taylor laughed, then snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand. Kiran rolled her big, beautiful, perfectly lined eyes and smiled. At me.
“Don’t mind her. We’re still working out the kinks,” Noelle said. “What’s your name?”
“Reed,” I said.
“I’m Noelle. This is Kiran and Taylor and Ariana,” she said. I noticed that she did not bother to introduce any of the other girls from her dorm. So they
were
second string.
“Hi,” I said. They smiled. I was on top of the world.
“Now that you know who we are, maybe you can have a little respect and quit licking the glass.”
Laughter surrounded me and Noelle smirked at my now bloodless complexion. The Billings Girls smiled superiorly, looking at me with practiced condescension.
“Come on, you guys,” Noelle said, turning away. Kiran and Taylor fell in at her sides and they walked off together, like a moving wall. All the others followed—everyone except Ariana, who tilted her head apologetically, looking somewhere over my shoulder.
“Sorry,” she said. “Noelle can be a little blunt.”
“Yeah,” I managed to say.
She tucked her wispy hair behind her ear. Like me, she wore no jewelry or makeup, but still seemed more sophisticated than I ever would be. Her skin was so pale that I felt that if the sun from the skylight shifted, I’d be able to see right through her. For a moment she refocused her blue eyes directly on mine and I saw with perfect clarity that they were sad, even though she was smiling.
“Well, see you,” she said finally.
Then she turned her attention to her book again, and trailed off after her friends. Already I wondered if I had imagined the sorrow. Of course I had. What would a girl like her have to be sad about?
“Way to piss off the Billings Girls on your first day,” Missy said.
“Were you really spying on them?” Constance asked.
“Not exactly,” I replied, privately cursing myself.
What was wrong with me? All I had done since I had arrived here was dig myself a hole. With the teachers, with the Billings Girls. Now I was going to have to do everything I could to scramble out.
“Hey, new girl.”
As we were on our way out of the cafeteria, Thomas Pearson pushed himself away from the gray brick wall and fell into step with me. Constance shot me a look like
Hello, supah-stah.
Like how could I possibly know a guy this hot on only my second day there?
Search me.
“Hello,” I said coolly. Even though my pulse was racing.
“Got something for you,” Thomas said.
He produced a small medallion from his pocket. It was bronze and had a square hole in the center. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger, looking quite pleased with himself.
“What is it?” I asked, pausing.
“My good luck charm. I’ve decided to give it to you because I no longer need luck. I have transcended luck.”
I smirked and tried to sound unimpressed. “Good for you.” My heart was pounding.
“It is, isn’t it?” he replied.
I had to struggle to keep from grinning doofily in his presence. So annoying.
“But really,” I said. “What is it?”
“It
was
a subway token. From the days before MetroCards,” Thomas said, raising his eyebrows.
What the hell was a MetroCard?
“I was devastated when they outmoded them. Call me old school, but there’s just something about slipping something solid into that little slot and hearing that satisfying plink, then reaping the rewards. . . .”
He shook his head wistfully and gazed directly into my eyes. I flushed. Hard. Metaphor intended? Probably. Metaphor noted? Definitely. Girl intrigued, yet mortified? You bet.
“Anyway,” he said, breaking the momentary trance. “You hold in your hands a relic from another time. Keep it well.”
“Thanks.”
He backed away toward the quad, hands in his pockets, grinning suggestively. I caught more than a few girls staring at me with unabashed envy. Hearts broke all across the campus. As Thomas turned away, two guys jogged to catch up with him. He ducked his head and listened as they scurried to keep up.
“
Who
was
that
?” Constance asked with inflection that befitted the magnitude of the man.
I grinned. “That was Thomas Pearson.”
“What’s his deal?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes to watch him as he and his cohorts were enveloped by the crowd making their way to afternoon classes.
“I have no idea,” I said. “Explain to me what this is.”
Constance laughed. “You used to use them to pay for the subway. Now they have electronic passes called MetroCards. Geez, Reed. Haven’t you ever been to New York?”
No. I’d never been anywhere. Not that she needed to know that.
I stared down at the tiny token, feeling indescribably happy until I felt someone watching me. When I looked up, I was looking directly into Ariana’s clear blue eyes. She was a dozen yards away near the stone benches at the center of the quad, but from the intensity of her stare, she may as well have been on top of me. My heart skipped a disturbed beat and I smiled automatically—uncertainly. Then she blinked and turned away, leaving me wondering if I had misread the whole thing.
I was the first person on the bleachers for soccer practice that afternoon. Not wanting to be late, I had run back to Bradwell after the last class to change, pausing only to slip Thomas’s token onto my silver chain and fasten it around my neck before sprinting all the way up the hill to the fields. Now, as the rest of the team approached in one clump, carrying soccer balls and orange cones, I realized that being super-early was just as conspicuous as being late. At the front of the pack, Noelle eyed me as if my appearance amused her.
I pulled my legs closer to me and looked off across the soccer field, avoiding eye contact. Maybe if I
pretended
I was invisible . . .
“Hey, glass-licker,” she said, rattling the metal steps as she climbed up. She sat directly behind me, her bare knees straddling my back. I was already sweating beneath the merciless sun, but with her so sitting close to me, I felt new rivulets of sweat start to form. “You play? Or are you just following me?”
A few of the other girls laughed. My face burned. This was going to be way fun.
“All right, ladies! Let’s settle down.” A middle-aged woman with broad shoulders and calves stood at the bottom of the bleachers. I took this to be the coach. She had short blond hair, wore no makeup or jewelry, and had plenty of dirt under her fingernails. Her eyes fell on me. “You’re Reed Brennan, I assume. I’m Coach Lisick.”
“Hi,” I said.
“Reed comes to us from Pennsylvania where she was the leading defensive scorer in her division as a freshman,” Coach announced to the group.
Great. Now Noelle knew I was from good old, square, boring PA. I wondered if I could lie and say I was from Philly. Was there any cachet at all in being from Philly? My guess was no.
“Which means you should all be grateful to have her here,” Coach continued. “Got it?”
There was a murmur of assent.
“Glass-licker got skills,” Noelle whispered, her breath hot on my ear. “You go, glass-licker.”
She patted me twice on the shoulder, hard, and I sunk lower in my seat. There I stayed, feeling her eyes on the back of my neck, until Coach blew the whistle and set us out to scrimmage. I ran out onto the field, relishing the freedom from Noelle’s scrutiny. Out here I could do anything.
We lined up on opposite ends of the field, me defending the north goal, Noelle playing forward on the south. We were going to go head-to-head, no question, and my skin sizzled with anticipation. Bring it on.
The whistle blew and Noelle got control of the ball. Naturally. She quickly booted it across to the teammate on her right, who took it upfield. Color me impressed. I had assumed Noelle was a ball-hog type. All glory, no teamwork. Apparently I was wrong.
Noelle streaked toward me and I backed up fast, but she blew by me. The girl was quick. The second Noelle hit open field, her teammates passed her the ball and my heart lurched. I charged her from behind. I couldn’t let her think I was some talent-free plebe. I couldn’t let her intimidate me. Not out here.
I raced in and slide-kicked from her blind side, knocking the ball away from her and toward my teammate across the field. Noelle shouted and tripped over my shin guard, hitting the ground hard and tumbling butt-over-head. For a moment our legs were entangled, but I extricated myself quickly and stood.
“Nice play, Brennan!” Coach shouted from the sidelines.
I smiled and offered Noelle my hand. But when I looked into her eyes, my heart slammed to a halt. She spat on the ground and glared right through me, seething.
I should have been running downfield after the play, but I couldn’t move. Cheers erupted near the far goal and Coach blew the whistle. Noelle shoved herself up from the ground and all I could think about was the fact that she was going to kill me. Kill me dead. For that split second, all the viciousness she was capable of was discernable in her eyes and for some reason I thought of that scar under her clothes, so violent and red. No longer did it seem so very out of place.
But then she faced me and smiled. A genuine, amused, almost proud smile. She brushed the dirt off the front of her shorts.
“Keep doing that and we might win a few this year,” she said.
“Thanks,” I replied, hoping she’d miscredit my breathlessness to exertion rather than fear.
“But do that to
me
again and we’re gonna have a problem.”
Then she laughed and ran up to join the rest of the team. I stood there, trying to get ahold of myself, trying to decide if it was too soon to be relieved. Was she irritated with me or impressed?
Somehow I had a feeling that with Noelle, I might never know.
The other sophomores on the team took off right after practice, so I walked back to Bradwell alone. I wasn’t sure why my peers had decided to alienate me. Because I was new? Because Coach had singled me out? Because they felt like it?—but I wasn’t surprised.
Alone
was my natural state of being. For now.