Lessons from a Dead Girl(29)

I peer down the hall, too, wondering who she’s watching out for.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “He let you take the doll that day. If you want it back, you can have it.”

She presses her temples with her fingers and leans against the brick wall next to us. “I didn’t want the f*cking doll,” she says. “I didn’t want —”

She stops.

“Fuck it. Never mind.”

“Didn’t want what?” I ask. “What happened with him, anyway?”

She looks away from me and out toward the dance floor again. “Forget it. It’s over now.”

Her eyes look glassy, like she’s trying not to cry.

“God, Leah. What did he do to you?”

Her bottom lip drops. Our eyes meet.

Just tell me, I think.

“Hey! I thought you were gonna wait in line!” Web comes bouncing over to us.

Leah fake-smiles at him.

“Hey, Leah,” he says, like they’re acquaintances but not friends.

Then I remember. They’ll be at the same school this year.

“I’ll see ya later, Lainey,” she says, quickly grasping my wrists and squeezing. But when I give her a concerned look, she kisses the air at me and transforms from the girl about to cry to the girl about to pounce.

“Have fun,” she says sarcastically, nudging her head at Web. Then she saunters off confidently, as if nothing happened.

“What’s her problem?” Web asks as she struts away.

I shrug. I can still feel her hands on my wrists.

“She was in one of my summer classes. I think she was doing our English instructor. He was always checking out her ass.”

“Leah was in summer school?” I can’t believe straight-A student Leah would ever need to take special classes.

“Yeah, but she hardly ever came. I think she and the instructor had their own private lessons.” He smirks, and it annoys me. It annoys me that he did it, and it annoys me that I even care. I don’t know exactly what Sam did to Leah. But it doesn’t give her the right to treat me this way. Screw that.

“C’mon. Let’s go dance,” I say. Clearly, I must still be drunk, since I would not in a million years suggest this at any other time. But now I just want to show her. I want to show her I’m with Web now. I have a friend. Maybe a boyfriend.

Web takes my hand, and we shove our way onto the crowded dance floor. It doesn’t really matter that I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s so packed with people, we’re all like one massive body waving back and forth. Web and I put our hands in the air and sway, our stomachs pressed up against each other. I look around for Leah, but I don’t see her.

But just because I can’t see her doesn’t mean she can’t see me. Look at me, I think. Look at me with a boy. I’m over you. I’m not what you think.

I press closer to Web, our pelvises touching. He smiles at me and rocks into my body. I want to kiss him, but I don’t dare. Could we be an us? I’m so light-headed, I can barely feel my feet or hear the music or feel the sweat I know is beading on my forehead.

I will him to kiss me, but instead he looks down at me and smiles, as if this is the best fun he’s ever had. As if I am his best friend.

Later, when we’re leaving, Web holds my hand so we don’t get separated in the sweaty crowd. We slowly inch toward the exit sign while people push and bump against us. Then someone grabs my other wrist. I panic, thinking I’ll get separated from Web. I try to pull away, but the person holds tight. I don’t need to look down at my wrist and see the long, graceful fingers, the deep-red nail polish, to know who it is. She manages to squish between two people, pulling my arm as if it’s a tow rope. She motions to Web and smiles.

“Nice try,” she mouths at me. Then she lets go and disappears back into the crowd.

I squeeze Web’s hand harder and let him pull me out of there. But Leah’s nice try lingers in my ear, and I can’t stop wondering what she meant. Did she know I was trying too hard to make him like me? Did she know I was trying to show her I was into guys? Or, worse, did she know Web would never be attracted to someone like me?





The first week back at school, Jess tells me that one of Web’s friends is having a huge party Saturday night.

Before the party, I go to Jess’s to get ready. She makes me change my shirt and wear a tank top. She tightens her lips and looks at my chest like she’s disappointed. She sticks out her own and admires it in the mirror.

“Maybe if you stood up straighter,” she says, jutting her chest out ever farther so her boobs almost touch the mirror.

I let my shoulders slump forward again. Whatever. Like I want anyone looking at my chest. Like I would know what to do if they did.

We sneak a few drinks from her parents before we leave, just to loosen up. Jess’s parents are always having big parties, so there’s plenty of alcohol in the house, and her parents never notice when some goes missing.

When we get to the party, I already feel buzzed. There are about six or seven cars in the driveway. We see Web through the huge kitchen window that overlooks the front walk. We have no idea who lives here, but it’s like a mansion compared to our own houses — even Web’s. We pause outside to check out the kitchen scene. Web is doing shots with some guys we don’t recognize.