The New Girl

Unfortunately, we’re unable to focus on much else outside of our studies.

Then there’s the matter of English Lit, and for once, when I say that, I’m referring to good news. Mr. Werner’s sub, Ms. Oyongo, hands back our midterms results, and I actually get an A minus, which is incredible. I can’t stop the grin from taking over my entire face, and I don’t even try. I sit there, beaming, and then I look over at Mandy. Mandy, who’s leaning back in her seat, looking like she’s about to cry.

I want to say I feel glad to see Mandy struggling, but it really only brings a hollow satisfaction, like getting full of junk food. After class, I head over to Stacey’s before going to Danny’s. Ever since I discovered Beth’s drug business, I haven’t really hung out much with her. Not for lack of trying. I’ve texted a half dozen times, but she’s been ignoring everything, so there you have it. Not sure what else I can do about that.

I still have meals with Sam and Grace, but it’s somewhat strained because I can’t tell them what’s happened between me and Beth. Grace is in a foul mood because she hasn’t been able to get any “goodies.” I don’t know how much of a drug habit she has and what kind of drugs she takes, and I feel absolutely helpless, sitting there, listening to her bitch about Woot1212 suddenly closing up shop.

When I try to talk to Sam about it, she stops me and tells me she knows. She keeps a close eye on Grace and once or twice, I see them walking on campus with Sam’s arm around Grace, her head tilted down toward Grace’s protectively. I’m glad Grace has someone looking out for her.

My appetite has returned, but I’m still running way too much, a fact Stacey makes apparent when we’re hanging out in her room one day. My exams are over, but she still has one test left.

“How do you expect me to focus on American history—which is bullshit, as our textbook very conveniently omits the genocide of Native people and our long history of slavery, by the way—when you keep fidgeting?” she says, shutting her textbook.

“My legs are really hurting,” I grumble, shifting again to find a position that doesn’t make my legs feel like they’re eating themselves. Which is impossible, as it turns out.

“Yeah, you know why that is? Because you insist on running like a mad woman on speed.” She reaches to her bedside table and flings a granola bar at me. “Eat this.”

I have to laugh. “You’d make a good Asian mom. You’ve got the nagging part down, and you’re always telling people to eat more.”

“Only when they do need to eat more.” She tosses her history textbook on the floor and stretches.

“Uh-oh, are we giving up on American history?”

“I’m going to write a whole thing about how I refuse to partake in any history class that insists on lying to its students. It’ll be titled Teach Us the Real History, You Whitewashing Assholes!”

I laugh again, flopping on her bed and gazing at the posters she’s hung up. There’s a whole bunch of them, mostly games I don’t know, but there’s one of two girls holding hands, and I vaguely recognize them as characters from Overwatch. It makes me grin. Stacey’s turned out to be such a likable dork, it’s hard to remember how much I hated her when I first came to Draycott.

“—Mendez the other day.”

“What?” That snaps me back to the present. The pleasant haze I’ve been feeling cocooned up in Stacey’s room disappears.

“I said I saw Mendez the other day. She came out of Henderson’s office looking pissed as hell.”

My heart tattoos a painful rhythm in my chest. “What do you think—why—what—” Wow, I can’t even English anymore.

“My guess?” Stacey says, propping her chin on her hand, “Henderson got the investigation shut down.”

I could cry, I really could. I look at her and almost go, “Really? You promise?” as if I were five years old and she were Santa. I manage to catch myself in time. Come on, get a grip. It’s not like Stacey would know. I tear my gaze from hers and force myself to take a deep breath. “Cool,” I mumble, as though I didn’t care, as though I weren’t mentally jumping up and down and screaming to the universe for a break.

“Hey,” she says.

Something in her tone of voice makes the back of my neck prickle, and I look back at her. “Yeah?”

Stacey gives me a long, slow look, and I sense something large behind her eyes, some dark things she badly wants to share, and my shoulders tighten. My smile freezes.

Maybe she catches it, the lake of fear stirring inside me, because she breaks eye contact, says, “Eat more,” and flings another granola bar at me.

I chew slowly, itching to know what she was going to ask me, but not quite daring to ask. Some secrets are best left buried.





Chapter 29


The crushing weight of midterms is suddenly lifted as soon as the last exam is done. When the last bell rings, we hand in our papers with a flourish, and I swear it’s as though my bones have turned from lead to pure oxygen. I’m made of starlight and moonbeams. I fly out of the classroom and what do you know, I immediately spot Danny in the crowd. My sweet Danny.

He catches my eye and smiles, and the past few weeks of awfulness immediately melt away. We scythe through the crowd of students milling about in the hallway and meet each other in the middle.

Is he back to his sweet, old self? I search his eyes for any traces of anger or mistrust and find nothing. He’s just Danny. My disarmingly charming, cheerful boyfriend. I crush him with my hug.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head. “I’ve been such an asshole.”

“No, you haven’t. You had a lot on your plate.”

He gives a slightly shuddery laugh. “It was all too much—Uncle James and exams coming up and everything. But I’m here now. I’m okay.”

I grin up at him, unable to speak because of the huge lump in my throat. When we finally kiss, it’s just as good as I remember it.

***

The parties start being thrown that same night. The next morning, I hear of Elle Brown throwing one at the rooftop of the Randolph, and Anya Scott having a bash at her family’s country club. I’m not invited to either of these, but Sam and Grace are, and when they show me pictures over breakfast, and I would be lying if I said I’m not just the tiniest, teensiest bit jealous.

“I’m not even the tiniest, teensiest bit jealous,” I say, through a gritted smile.

“Reeeally?” Sam says. “’Cause you seem jealous.”

“Pfft, jealous over some stupid party at some stupid, swanky country club? That is the saddest venue I can think of.” Maybe. I don’t know, having never been to a country club. I wasn’t even aware that teens could hold parties in one.

Sam laughs. “Don’t be jealous, because you’re invited to my party. On my yacht.”

“What!” I yell. A yacht party? YES!

Danny glances up from his dude table, sees me grinning like a loon, and shoots me a quizzical smile. I grin even wider, and he laughs before heading over. “What’s up, Cheshire cat?”

“Not much, just a freaking yacht party.”

“Ah, you told her, then,” Danny says to Sam.

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