Where the Staircase Ends

Where the Staircase Ends by Stacy A. Stokes




CHAPTER ONE


BEFORE




I never noticed my pointy elbows until they became yet another reason for people to avoid me. They were thorny things, jutting out from my sides like a barbed-wire defense system. I flattened them against my body.

It didn’t help.

A line of three girls made an unnecessary show of skirting past me, exchanging smirks with the subtlety of elephants. Once out of view I heard the hiss, hiss, hiss of heated whispers passing between them.

That was her, right? She’s the girl?

I fought the urge to spin around and shoot venom right back at them, but I didn’t want to waste my words on three girls I didn’t care about yesterday. Besides, Sunny was the one who caused this whole mess.

No one was at Sunny’s locker when I passed by. Without the swarm of bodies and hum of morning activity it looked like any other locker in any other hallway. The only sign that it meant something more was the key-scratched heart and initials I carved into the tan paint earlier that year.

I <3 J

My heart lurched. Had Sunny gotten to him, too?

The hallways seemed longer than they had before, twisting labyrinth-like between the classroom wings. Posters announcing the upcoming Spring Formal hung above archways, their edges curling into the hand-painted block letters as if they were ashamed of the drips and wrinkles in the imperfect writing. I straightened my shoulders. I would not be like the posters.

More students filled the corridors. More necks craned in my direction. I did my best to ignore them as I searched for her familiar red head in the crowd.

I found Sunny leaning against a locker in the south wing, surrounded by our once-shared friends. Her hands flitted around her like bees around a hive, the way they always did when she told a story and tried to be all dramatic. I didn’t recognize the shirt she was wearing—a light-and-dark green striped tee pulled taut over a skirt that toed the dress-code line. Had she gone shopping without me again?

Someone shoved me from behind, and I stumbled into the open space of the hallway, mere feet from where Sunny was in storyteller mode.

Our eyes locked. Her hands stopped their flitting.

Just get this over with, I thought, letting my fingers curl into fists. Then I uncurled them when I remembered that I didn’t know how to throw a punch. Grab her hair instead. Yank as hard as you can.

“Hey Sunny!” I hoped the smile I gave her looked like the sneer I intended. “I just heard the craziest rumor. Know anything about it?”

Her expression may not have given anything away to the crowd that paused to watch our exchange, but I knew her well enough to catch the slight twitch in her lip. Not that I needed any more confirmation of her guilt.

She closed the distance between us with a few tight steps. Her face was stoic, but her eyes were wet and shiny in a way that suddenly gave me hope. Could we fix this?

Did I even want it to be fixed?

My brain screamed at me to do it—grab a fistful of her fiery hair and twist until she told everyone what really happened. But my heart wasn’t ready to let go of our nine-year friendship just yet. It clung to the wetness in her eyes, hoping for something else. Something that wouldn’t let it be over.

“Sunny, how could you?” I whispered in a voice that lacked the oomph it had a few moments before.

She didn’t mean it. She’s going to take it all back and tell everyone the things she said weren’t true.

Her mouth opened and I waited for the apology that had to be coming, but instead I watched in horror as her gum swelled into a pink bubble and quickly disappeared back into her mouth with a loud snap.

She leaned in and whispered so only I would hear. I could barely make sense of what she said, barely translate it over the buzz of electricity as everyone waited for one of us to throw a punch.

“Wait, what?” I asked, turning my ear toward her so I could hear her better. But it was too late. I waited one second too long. By the time I processed what she said, she’d backed into the center of the hallway, pushing the throng of students into a horseshoe around her.

She raised her voice so everyone could hear.

“Everyone knows you did it, Taylor, so stop trying to act all innocent. And stop calling me. It’s pathetic. I don’t want to be friends with someone like you.”

She turned on her heel and made her way back to the locker, where my former entourage greeted her with sympathetic hugs. Like she’d done something brave and worthy of praise.

The crowd’s eyes had teeth and hands. I could feel them trying to eat me alive, pushing me down into the mud-colored carpet like it was my grave.

I wanted to shout: She’s lying! It’s not true! How can you people believe her?

But my lips wouldn’t move. My tongue was a rock. All I could do was stare back at everyone like a wordless lump of skin, and those soundless seconds changed everything.

I was no longer the Taylor of Taylor-and-Sunny. I was Taylor the outcast. Taylor the terrible. Taylor the “ohmigod can you believe she did that” girl. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t done anything. Their faces told me Sunny’s words had turned the rumors into fact.

My brain must have told my legs to move, because they carried me to the nearest bathroom, giving out after I’d managed to lock the stall door. In the distance, the first period bell rang. A toilet flushed. People came and went.