You Don't Know My Name (The Black Angel Chronicles #1)(9)
“Spunk,” she says and smiles.
“And vomit sound effects,” I say and point my gloved finger at her. “I couldn’t get through the lab without those.”
“Thank God you’re going to be a doctor or we’d be super screwed,” Harper says, and I have to stop my muscles from flinching. I’ve been lying my entire life. It’s scary how second nature it is to me but when my friends repeat my lies back to me, sometimes the guilt rises hot and prickly on my skin.
I open up the frog’s stomach to reveal thousands of tiny black eggs. “I guess this one is a female.”
Harper glances up from her notes and doubles over when she sees the glistening cluster of eggs. “Oh my God, that is so disgusting,” she shrieks, then chokes on something in her throat.
“Mac, would you rather have to eat all those frog eggs or…” Luke begins.
“Stop it, Luke. That’s so gross,” Harper says, smacking him hard on the arm with her notebook. “Do your stupid ‘Would You Rather’ game with Reagan later when I’m not wanting to die.”
Harper throws her hands over her eyes as I grab one of the scalpels and scrape out all the eggs.
“When I go to med school, I’ll have to dissect a person,” I say, staying on script. I cut a few inches more and open up the frog to reveal its heart, liver, and stomach.
“Seriously? Oh my God, no lie, I feel runny mashed potatoes coming up my throat. This isn’t fake throw-up. This is real. Please change the stomach.”
“The stomach?”
“The subject. Please change the subject,” Harper says, squeezing her eyes shut and grabbing on to her midsection.
“You are so dramatic, I love you,” I reply and giggle.
“Mr. Weixel, can I see you for a moment, please?” Mr. Bajec says, adjusting his dark-rim glasses and motioning with two quick flicks of his fingers for Luke to meet him at his desk.
An uh-oh look flashes into Luke’s eyes for a moment, but with a quick shrug of his shoulders, it’s gone. “Last name plus the worst words a teacher can possibly utter, all in one sentence,” he says with a smile. Luke hops off his stool, his hands smoothing the front of his uniform. “Lucky me.”
I watch Luke for a beat too long as he walks away. I know it’s too long because I can feel Harper’s eyes on me, a small smile creeping up her face.
I break my stare, remove my frog-slime-covered gloves and take the lab sheet out of Harper’s hand to start working on our notes.
“Why is Mal so into going to Mark Ricardi’s party?” I ask quickly before Harper can start in on me. “She practically burst into tears when she found out I didn’t want to go. There’s got to be more in it for her than spiked cider.”
Harper sighs, probably disappointed that she missed her window of opportunity to bust me on my Luke-induced staring problem. “The real deal on Mal is that she heard Peter Paras is bringing some hot Australian guys from his soccer travel league to the party.”
“I should have known,” I say and smile. Mal’s continent goal. She’s got Africa and Europe crossed off the list after making out with a South African swimmer in town for a competition and a French boy while on vacation. She’s been saying that Australia and South America are her next big gets.
“Well, Luke certainly got you to change your mind. No surprise there,” Harper says, her voice teasing, her eyes on my face, careful not to look down at the frog.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, my eyes back on our lab notes. I scribble down the location of the heart and lungs.
“Oh, stop trying to BS me,” Harper says, cocking her head to the side. “It’s me you’re talking to. Seriously, what’s going on with you guys?”
“Nothing. We’re RGFs,” I reply, staring hard at my notes and instinctively pushing my lips into a disinterested pout. I refuse to give Harper a reaction. But I can feel my heart beating in my ears. Not fluttering either. Pounding.
“RGF? What?” Harper’s nose, eyes, and brow squish together as she tries to decode my abbreviation.
“RGFs. Really. Good. Friends,” I say and look up at her. Her eyebrows arch sharply over her hazel eyes as she shakes her head slightly, not believing a word I’m saying.
That’s not a lie. Luke and I are really good friends. He’s probably the first real close friend I’ve ever had. Granted, I haven’t been in one place long enough to make too many close friends. We’ve been in New Albany just over a year and that’s our longest run in a new city since I started high school. But it’s not just the length of our post. From day one, we just sort of fit together.
I love Malika and Harper. They make me happy. They really do. But there’s something about being with them that makes me feel lonely too. I can never really be myself with them. I can’t really be myself with anybody. It’s ingrained in me to lie, to stick to the cover story and blend in no matter what. And I feel guilty about that. Because they think they know me so well. They think because they can finish my sentences they know everything about me. But they only know Reagan MacMillan; the quick-talking, tough girl I created. Sometimes I wonder which parts of my personality are really me and which ones belong to the pretender.
But with Luke, it’s different. There’s nothing forced or strategic about our friendship. He’s gotten to see glimpses of the real Reagan. And that scares the shit out of me. Because I know how quickly it could all be torn away from me. How quickly I could be torn away from him. There’s no such thing as a happy ending for a girl like me.