The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(77)

Shit. I’d written a lot of other embarrassing things.

“Just stop, Mychelle.”

“Stop? But you were so excited about it. Your very first big-girl kiss.”

I shook my head. “God. Why are you such a bitch?”

“Me? What about you? Lizzie Lovett is missing, and you hook up with her boyfriend? I guess taking advantage of someone who’s grieving is the only way you can get a guy to pay attention to you.”

“Give me my notebook back,” I snapped.

“Sure.” Mychelle handed over the notebook. “Your diary entry isn’t in there though.”

I didn’t figure I’d be so lucky. “What did you do with it? Photocopy it and pass it out all over the school?”

“Something like that.” Mychelle’s smile widened. “I told you not to mess with me, Hawthorn.”

“You think a little embarrassment is going to ruin me? You’ll have to try harder than that.” I was bluffing though, and Mychelle probably knew it.

“Don’t worry. I’m not finished yet.”

Then Mychelle sauntered away, her hips swaying, oozing confidence with every step.

? ? ?

I wished Mychelle’s hair would get tangled in her homecoming queen tiara. I wished a strap on one of her high-heeled sandals would break. I wished she would always weigh two pounds more than she wanted to. I wished her mascara would dry out after she’d only done one eye.

I had stupidly thought that because I hadn’t been thinking of Mychelle for the last few days, she wasn’t thinking of me either. But of course, she was. What else did she have to think about? I was probably the only person in her life who wasn’t doing exactly what she expected, and that made her furious.

It turned out Mychelle hadn’t made photocopies. She’d scanned the notebook page and posted it on her blog. Only a few kids made mocking kissy faces at me, but there was a lot of whispering. People kept looking up from their phones and smirking at me.

Ronna Barnes, whose pregnant belly was starting to swell, came into the bathroom where I was hiding between classes. “Sorry about your diary. Thanks for giving me a break though.”

“I wish I could say I was glad to be of service.” I glanced down at Ronna’s stomach. “How’s the pregnancy thing going?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and I wondered if I’d said something wrong.

“Was I not supposed to mention it?” I asked.

“You’re just the first person who’s asked how I’m doing.” She rested her hands on her stomach and frowned. “To tell you the truth, I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

Instead of mumbling something incoherent and scurrying out of the bathroom like I normally would, I boldly said, “Well, I don’t have, you know, firsthand experience or anything. But if you ever need someone to talk to, let me know.”

Maybe it was just pregnancy hormones, but Ronna looked like she might cry.

My next encounter was far less pleasant. The jock who sits next to Mychelle in math stopped me in the hall and said, “You want some more fireworks and passion? Meet me in the locker room in five minutes.” The guys who were with him, other football players, laughed.

“You wish,” I muttered. Only he didn’t wish that at all, which was part of the joke.

Emily caught me as I was walking into fifth period. “You want to talk?”

She looked nervous, like I might tell her to get lost. Instead, I barely resisted the urge to fling myself at her, sobbing and begging her to be my friend again.

“You’ll be late to class,” I said.

Emily shrugged. “My GPA can handle an occasional tardy.”

We wandered to a hallway that was mostly empty, and I slumped against the wall.

“It’s not that bad,” Emily said.

“Are you sure?”

“It was a kiss. We’re seventeen, not seven.”

“It’s not about the kiss,” I said. “It’s the way I described it that’s mortifying.”

“No one really cares. The only reason anyone’s acting interested is because Mychelle Adler told them to.”

“I guess you’re right.” Emily had always been the voice of reason in my life, something I’d seriously been lacking since we stopped hanging out. It was a relief to have her back, even if only for a few minutes between classes.

“Remember when the hippie caravan showed up? You thought everyone was going to make fun of you for forever. Or when you got drunk at the party. Or freshman year when that thing happened with Amy.”

“Are you trying to remind me of all my worst moments?”

“No. Sorry. It’s just that nothing is as big of a deal as it seems at the time.”

I took a deep breath. She was right. Why should I be ashamed of a kiss? Why should I be ashamed that I wrote about it?

“We should get to class,” Emily said.

I nodded.

“And about you and Enzo…well, congratulations, I guess.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

We smiled at each other and went to class. It wasn’t like the old days when we spent hours dissecting a situation, looking at it from every angle. But our brief talk in the hall was definitely better than drunkenly screaming at each other in public. It was progress.