In Harmony(10)

“If I had to Mean Girls-classify us, we are the Greatest People You Will Ever Meet,” Angie said. “The quirky, diverse science geeks and persons of undeclared sexuality.” She leaned into me as we neared the booth. “We’re all straight on paper, but Caroline once kissed Jocelyn at a party and in the immortal words of Ms. Perry, they both liked it.”

I’d already classified Angie’s crew as effortlessly likeable and Nice with a capital N. The kind of people it’d be really damn easy to get close to. The kind whom if you told certain ugly secrets, they wouldn’t brand you a slut or ask you why on earth you sent a topless photo to an older guy. Or why you let that same guy into your bedroom. They’d even be horrified to find out you didn’t remember allowing him in, in the first place.

“Hey all, you remember Willow,” Angie said as she slid into the booth next to Nash. Caroline scooted closer to Jocelyn to make room for me. “I’m claiming her as ours before the cheerleaders grab her.” She looked at me uncertainly. “Unless you want to be a cheerleader?”

She nodded at a table where a bunch of pretty girls with long hair and sparkling lip gloss talked at each other over their phones. Guys in letterman jackets sat at the next table, their eyes on the game blaring from a TV in the corner.

“No, I’m not a cheerleader,” I said.

Not anymore.

In my old life, I’d not only been a cheerleader, but co-chair of the Junior Prom Committee, Class Treasurer and a member of the debate team. A whirlwind roster of activities that now all seemed like faded memories belonging to someone else.

“It’s okay if you are,” Angie said. “Our Plastics aren’t all that Plastic.”

“Everyone’s pretty nice, actually,” Jocelyn said, waving at a girl across the restaurant. “When you grow up with the same people since pre-school, it’s pretty hard to be bitchy.”

Nash smiled at me. “If you know the Homecoming Queen used to eat paste, she doesn’t exactly have a lot of leverage.”

“Still, they might try to steal you from us,” Angie said. “You’re so shiny and new.”

“Steal me from what?” I asked.

Angie exchanged glances with Nash. “I may have ulterior motives for calling the gang together. Motives that have nothing to do with Greek tragedy.”

“She wants you for our yearbook staff,” Nash said, and flinched as Angie elbowed him in the side.

“You didn’t let me sell it,” she said.

“The play starts in forty-five,” Nash said. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

Angie rolled her eyes and dug into her bag. “Fine.” She pulled out a yearbook from last year and slid it across the table. “As we discussed earlier, college apps are the thing now and you need extra-curriculars, right?”

I nodded, flipping open the glossy book of photos. “My dad commanded it, so it shall be.”

“So?” Angie clapped her hands. “To paraphrase The Breakfast Club, are we not exceptional in that capacity?”

“Maybe,” I said, flipping through the pages.

I had zero interest in being on the yearbook staff. Or a cheerleader again. Or obeying my dad’s edicts at all. I looked at the faces in the photos—students laughing together, working on projects, singing in talent shows and winning ribbons for science fair exhibits. An entire book dedicated to normal kids doing normal things. I knew many of them—probably more than I could guess—had their own horrible shit to contend with, but they looked so much better at moving past it than I was.

I wasn’t moving at all.

A waitress took our order, and I went back to browsing the yearbook while the others chatted around me. I turned to a page of Harmony community activities. And there was Isaac Pearce onstage. Frozen in a dramatic black and white shot. I leaned closer.

“Why, Miss Holloway,” Angie said. “We’re becoming awfully curious about Mr. Pearce, are we not?”

I ignored her and scanned the photos of Isaac with captions beneath each: Angels in America, Buried Child, All My Sons.

“He’s been doing this a long time?” I asked.

“Since grade school,” Angie said.

“Oh, I see,” Nash said with a roll of his eyes. “Tonight isn’t arts appreciation, it’s inducting a new member into the Isaac Pearce Fan Club.” He looked at his girlfriend. “I hope you told New Blood she’s barking up the wrong tree.”

“I’m not barking up any tree,” I said, a deep ache clanging in my heart. The idea of being with a guy, ever again, was repellent. Having him stand close to me. Being in the closed confines of his car for a date. Being kissed. Or touched. A boy’s body pressed close to mine and not knowing its intentions. Or its power.

I shut the yearbook with a snap, cutting off both the visual of Isaac and the thoughts that could send me into a level-10 panic attack.

“He’s pretty to look at,” Jocelyn was saying, “but a serial college-girl screwer. He won’t even look at us children.”

“Children?” I said. “He’s our age.”

They all shook their heads.

“No?”

“No. His mom died when he was eight,” Angie said. “He stopped speaking for, like, six months or something, and had to be held back a year.”