The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(7)

“Well, you were right to say something.”

Lizzie pulled out her phone and checked her messages, which was good, because it meant she didn’t see the look on my face. The look that said I was surprised and totally thrilled that she thought I’d been right.

“I wish other people thought so. All my friends hate me.”

“So make new friends,” Lizzie said.

I glanced over to see if she was joking, but she wasn’t. As if making friends was that simple. Maybe for her, it was.

Lizzie didn’t have any idea what it was like to be a regular person. In her world, she was the one calling the shots. She got to decide what was cool and what was worth worrying about and who she’d be friends with. I wondered what it felt like to have all that power. Did she even realize she had it? Probably not. Girls like her were oblivious.

“Everyone hates me,” I said. “The whole school is talking about what I did.”

“Look, it’s not that big of a deal, OK? So your friend fucked a teacher. So you told some people. Who cares?”

“Um. It seems like a lot of people care.”

“Listen, Little Creely,” Lizzie said matter-of-factly, “none of this matters.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, hating how insecure I sounded.

“You did what you thought you had to do. Stand by it.”

I wanted life to be as straightforward as she made it sound, as straightforward as it apparently was for her.

“You’ll get through this,” Lizzie said, standing up to go.

I wanted to ask her to stay, to tell me over and over again that everything was going to be OK. Instead, I said, “Thanks for the advice.”

“It’s nothing. Anytime.”

Then she left. But her words stuck with me.

Anytime.

Though I knew it was probably just something she said to be nice, I got a weird thought in my head. Maybe Lizzie really wanted to help me. Maybe she was someone I could talk to about my problems without her judging me.

I had this image of a Lizzie who wouldn’t tell me I was crazy if I suspected Mr. Kaminski had bombed that bridge. She wouldn’t even flinch if I said I didn’t actually think he was a terrorist, that it just popped into my head and almost made sense, so I said it out loud. That even as I was calling Amy’s mom, I knew I was doing something stupid, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I could tell her how disconnected I felt since starting high school. How suddenly life was all about dances and football games and who was hooking up with who, and I didn’t know how to be a part of that world and just wanted things to go back to the way they used to be. I wanted friends who talked about characters from books like they were real people, friends who would make up elaborate games with me because anything we imagined was better than something that already existed. I wanted friends who loved me even if I didn’t wear the right clothes or know the lyrics to the right songs or have crushes on the right celebrities.

Maybe I could even tell Lizzie it seemed as if everyone else wanted a completely different life than the one I dreamed about and how lonely that made me feel. I wanted more than high school, then college, then some stupid job I didn’t care about. I wanted to be swept away on a magical adventure. But so far, I was still waiting for that to happen, and I was starting to suspect I’d be waiting forever. And maybe Lizzie would look me in the eyes and say, “Little Creely, I know exactly what you mean.”

Lizzie could teach me how to ignore all the people who thought I was broken and strange. She’d teach me how to fit in, how to be likable. How to be like her. She’d take me under her wing so it wouldn’t matter what I said or did, because if I had her approval, I’d have everyone’s. Even if no one else understood me, she would. We could dream together.

Even at the time, I knew it was stupid to imagine Lizzie as some kindred-spirit/mentor person. But I couldn’t stop my train of thought. That’s why, when I went to the locker room during lunch the next day, I was kind of hoping Lizzie would be waiting there for me.

She wasn’t, but Emily was.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said.

“You’re speaking to me again?”

“I never stopped speaking to you.”

Technically, this was true. She might have tried calling, but I’d turned off my cell phone and told my mom I was never talking to anyone from school ever again. I said it was because I didn’t want everyone telling me how much they hated me and threatening my life. But really, I was most afraid of turning my phone back on and finding out no one had tried to get ahold of me at all.

I sat down on the bench next to Emily.

“Do you want to talk?” she asked.

“There’s not much to talk about. I really messed up.”

“No, Mr. Kaminski messed up.”

“Then why is everyone so mad at me?”

“Amy is mad at you,” Emily said. “Everyone else just likes to gossip.”

That didn’t change the fact that I could feel people staring at me when I walked down the hall and hear them whispering behind my back. It didn’t change the fact that I’d pretty much ruined my chances of having a normal high school experience. I would always be the girl who couldn’t keep a secret.

“What about the terrorist thing?” I asked Emily.