The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(47)

“Well, look who it is,” Mychelle said. “I’m glad you’re not still feeling under the weather.”

“And I’m glad you were so concerned about my health.”

I finished rinsing my hands quickly so I could get out of there, but Mychelle stepped between me and the paper towels.

“What were you doing at that party? Besides getting sloppy and embarrassing yourself, I mean.”

I’d had enough of Mychelle. I was sick of her ruining my days. I was sick of having to dodge her because I didn’t know what she’d say and how much it might hurt my feelings. What made her think it was OK to be so horrible to people?

“Wow,” I snapped. “I’m being called sloppy by a girl who’s gotten wasted at parties and spread her legs for half the football team since eighth grade.”

Mychelle looked like I’d slapped her. She took a step toward me, and I took a step back.

“If you want to have a cat fight, wash your hands first. You just came from the toilet, and you’ve already spread enough diseases to the senior class.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” Mychelle said, but she didn’t step any closer.

“No. It’s the other way around. I’ve spent four years avoiding you in the halls because you only feel good about yourself when you make bitchy remarks to me. But guess what? I don’t care anymore. The difference between me and you is that I don’t have anything to lose. So say whatever you want to. Just know that you’ll be getting a response.”

For a moment, the bathroom was dead silent. Then Mychelle said, “Go to hell, Hawthorn.”

I laughed. “I’m already in hell. Welcome to Griffin Mills High School.”

I pushed past Mychelle and out into the hallway. For a Monday morning, I was feeling pretty OK.

? ? ?

The feeling only lasted until lunchtime. Up until then, I was so busy replaying my victory over Mychelle that I didn’t worry that people were making fun of me for throwing up at the party. I didn’t even care about all of the stuff I was hearing about homecoming, because everyone was just concerned with what they were going to wear and where’d they’d have after-parties, and no one was thinking about how I was a loser because I didn’t have a date. Maybe. Probably.

My good mood disappeared at lunch when Emily didn’t show up behind the gym.

I ate my food slowly, thinking maybe she was late because she got caught talking to her third period teacher or something. It had happened before. But when my food was gone and lunch period was halfway over, I was pretty sure Emily wasn’t going to show.

I gathered my stuff and went to the library. Emily wasn’t there. I knew she’d never break the rules and leave campus for lunch, which meant she’d done the unthinkable—gone to the cafeteria.

Though I hadn’t been there for years, I worked up the nerve to step inside. Sure enough, Emily was sitting at a table with Logan and his musician friends.

I knew I should leave. Emily had made her point. But didn’t I deserve an explanation? Couldn’t she have given me some warning before deciding to end our tradition of eating behind the gym?

I walked over to the table. Emily was in the middle of a conversation with a girl who had pink-and-green hair. She didn’t even notice me.

“Hey. Can I talk to you?”

She looked up with a guilty expression, which somehow made the whole situation worse. “Can it wait until later?”

“No,” I said, hopefully sounding more firm than I felt.

Emily excused herself from the table and followed me to the side of the cafeteria, where we were mostly out of everyone’s earshot.

“So you’re just ditching me at lunch now?” I blurted.

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh?”

“Look,” Emily said. She twirled her necklace around one finger. She bit her lip. “I just think we could use a little space from each other. Just for a little while.”

My stomach dropped. “Why?”

“I meant what I said the other night. I feel like our friendship is always about you. You decide what we do and what we talk about and who we dislike. I’ve spent most of my life being forced to participate in schemes I don’t want any part of.”

“Like what?”

“Like when you thought the world was going to end and wanted me to steal supplies from my parents’ store.”

Oh yeah.

“Or when you were convinced that there was a serpent monster in Tappan Lake.”

“I was a little kid,” I protested.

“You were twelve. And that’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“That I’m not like you, and you can’t accept that. You want me to help you on your missions and listen to your thoughts, never stopping to think that maybe I have my own.”

I could feel my face burning, though I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or shame. “I never meant for it to be like that.”

“I know you didn’t. It probably never even occurred to you. That’s the problem, Hawthorn.”

“So, are we just not friends anymore?” I sounded pitiful. I felt pitiful. “Is this, like, a breakup?”

“We’ll always be friends. I just need some space.”