One of Us is Lying(46)

“We’ll get better at that eventually.”

I’ve gotten used to stares, so the fact that they’ve intensified since yesterday doesn’t faze me. When I leave class in the middle of history, it’s because I feel my period coming on and not because I have to cry.

But when I arrive in the girls’ room, someone else is. Muffled sounds come from the last stall before whoever’s there gets control of herself. I take care of my business—false alarm—and wash my hands, staring at my tired eyes and surprisingly bouncy hair. No matter how awful the rest of my life is, my hair still manages to look good.

I’m about to leave, but hesitate and head for the other end of the restroom. I lean down and see scuffed black combat boots under the last stall door.

“Janae?”

No answer. I rap my knuckles against the door. “It’s Addy. Do you need anything?”

“Jesus, Addy,” Janae says in a strangled voice. “No. Go away.”

“Okay,” I say, but I don’t. “You know, I’m usually the one in that stall bawling my eyes out. So I have a lot of Kleenex if you need some. Also Visine.” Janae doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry about Simon. I don’t suppose it means much given everything you’ve heard, but … I was shocked by what happened. You must miss him a lot.”

Janae stays silent, and I wonder if I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth again. I’d always thought Janae was in love with Simon and he was oblivious. Maybe she’d finally told him the truth before he died, and got rejected. That would make this whole thing even worse.

I’m about to leave when Janae heaves a deep sigh. The door opens, revealing her blotchy face and black-on-black clothing. “I’ll take that Visine,” she says, wiping at her raccoon eyes.

“You should take the Kleenex, too,” I suggest, pressing both into her hand.

She snorts out something like a laugh. “How the mighty have fallen, Addy. You’ve never talked to me before.”

“Did that bother you?” I ask, genuinely curious. Janae never struck me as someone who wanted to be part of our group. Unlike Simon, who was always prowling around the edges, looking for a way in.

Janae wets a Kleenex under the sink and dabs at her eyes, glaring at me in the mirror the whole time. “Screw you, Addy. Seriously. What kind of question is that?”

I’m not as offended as I’d normally be. “I don’t know. A stupid one, I guess? I’m only just realizing I suck at social cues.”

Janae squirts a stream of Visine into both eyes and her raccoon circles reappear. I hand her another Kleenex so she can repeat the wiping process. “Why?”

“Turns out Jake’s the one who was popular, not me. I was riding coattails.”

Janae takes a step back from the mirror. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“ ‘I am large, I contain multitudes,’ ” I tell her, and her eyes widen. “Song of Myself, right? Walt Whitman. I’ve been reading it since Simon’s funeral. I don’t understand most of it, but it’s comforting in a weird way.”

Janae keeps dabbing at her eyes. “That’s what I thought. It was Simon’s favorite poem.”

I think about Ashton and how she’s kept me sane over the past couple of weeks. And Cooper, who’s defended me at school even though there’s no real friendship between us. “Do you have anybody to talk to?”

“No,” Janae mutters, and her eyes fill again.

I know from experience she won’t thank me for continuing the conversation. At some point we need to suck it up and get to class. “Well, if you want to talk to me—I have a lot of time. And space next to me in the cafeteria. So, open invitation or whatever. Anyway, I really am sorry about Simon. See you.”

All things considered, I think that went pretty well. She stopped insulting me toward the end, anyway.

I return to history but it’s almost over, and after the bell rings it’s time for lunch—my least favorite part of the day. I’ve told Cooper to stop sitting with me, because I can’t stand the hard time everyone else gives him, but I hate eating alone. I’m about to skip and go to the library when a hand plucks at my sleeve.

“Hey.” It’s Bronwyn, looking surprisingly fashionable in a fitted blazer and striped flats. Her hair’s down, spilling over her shoulders in glossy dark layers, and I notice with a stab of envy how clear her skin is. No giant pimples for her, I’ll bet. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Bronwyn looking this good, and I’m so distracted that I almost miss her next words. “Do you want to eat lunch with us?”

“Ah …” I tilt my head at her. I’ve spent more time with Bronwyn in the past two weeks than I have the last three years at school, but it hasn’t exactly been social. “Really?”

“Yeah. Well. We have some stuff in common now, so …” Bronwyn trails off, her eyes flicking away from mine, and I wonder if she ever thinks I might be the one behind all this. She must, because I think it about her sometimes. But in an evil-genius, cartoon-villain sort of way. Now that she’s standing in front of me with cute shoes and a tentative smile, it seems impossible.

“All right,” I say, and follow Bronwyn to a table with her sister, Yumiko Mori, and some tall, sullen-looking girl I don’t know. It’s better than skipping lunch at the library.