The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things (6 page)

I love that phrase and the fact that it came from John Milton. “Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud / Turn forth her silver lining on the night?” So somebody out there thinks I’m the bright side of a dark cloud. I take down the note and stick it inside the cover of my binder. Feeling someone’s gaze, I glance around, hoping to catch the person who wrote it, but there’s only Ryan, watching me from his locker across the way. From his expression I can tell he saw the Post-it, maybe even
read
it, but he didn’t leave it there.

I turn away without speaking to him and the girl next to me notices. Lila’s not goth, but she wears a lot of black, and she’s a pro at rolling her eyes. She thinks everyone except her has an IQ of seventy-five. “So, are you two done?”

God, I don’t even know how to answer that. It isn’t what she thinks, but I still care about him, and I won’t dump his secrets in the lap of the first person who asks. Soon enough, gossip will hit that we’re “over.”
Awesome. All the break-up bullshit, none of the making-out.

“For now,” I say finally. “Sometimes it’s good to take a break, get some perspective.”

“Somebody cheated.” She smirks. “But you both look so squeaky clean that I can’t guess who’s the injured party.”

“Good talk, Lila. See you later.” Though we’ve been locker neighbors for two years, this is the most she’s ever said to me.

She laughs. “That was almost sarcastic, Princess. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

She doesn’t mean it in a bad way. I get it; I’m a joke to most people. The people at JFK think I never get down—that I don’t have shitty days and dark thoughts. I’ve just learned not to follow them down the hole. I’ve seen what lives in there, and it’s pretty awful. Depression threatens. I can’t bail on all my activities, but I’m no longer enthused about the meetings because it will be beyond awkward, dealing with Ryan. I’m just grateful I have a few things of my own, like my part-time job at the Curly Q.

My classes blur together, until it’s time for geometry. Despite my emotional turmoil, I resolve to pay closer attention, except there’s no point. Because Mackiewicz slaps a pop quiz on the front desk in each row.

He’s smiling; that’s never good. “Let’s see how well you can apply these theorems.”

Right. The day only needs this.

The quiz is OMG-hard, so that means I’ll soon have another circled F.
Awesome
. Even failures should have a friend. I’m
sure
when I explain to Aunt Gabby that I only failed the second quiz for symmetry, she’ll be good with it. I read over both pages, but it makes no sense to me, so I wind up writing nonsense in trying to “show my work.” For all the good this quiz will do me, I might as well be doodling penguins all over the paper. When I walk out at the end of the period, I hear the doom song from
Star Wars
in my head—and that’s
totally
Ryan’s fault. Before I started hanging out with him three years ago, I didn’t know Han Solo from Luke Skywalker.

“Tough one,” Shane says.

Huh?
I’m faintly astonished that he hasn’t bolted in trying to beat the jocks acting like they aren’t waiting for a chance to screw with him. I could’ve told him there’s safety in numbers, but he seemed to be in full-loner mode. Maybe he wouldn’t have listened. But he’s here now. Talking to me.

“Yeah. I’m not dumb, swear to God, but this stuff…” I trail off.

“He just doesn’t explain it well.” Shane tilts his head toward Mackiewicz’s classroom.

The man’s got tenure and he’s coasting. He gives us pages to read, rambles for an hour about Pythagoras, and then expects us to figure this stuff out from the text.

“You mean at all,” I mutter.

“If you’re struggling, I could help you.”

I’m surprised speechless.

Misreading my silence, he goes on quickly, “I know I don’t look like a math geek, but—”

“When?” I cut in. “I work Monday and Thursday afternoons.”

“And you have your green thing on Wednesday night.”

I’m ridiculously thrilled he remembers. “I’m not sure if I’m continuing with that.”

He falls into step as I glimpse the jocks already moving down the hall. They don’t have long attention spans, so they’re probably thinking about lunch or the next kid who needs to be taught a lesson.

“How come?”

I shrug, not wanting to get into it.

But he does, apparently. “I heard you broke up with your boyfriend. Is that why?”

We’re outside the cafeteria, other students pushing to get their tater tots. I consider letting the lie stand because it makes me sound cooler, less stupid, but if I’m mad at Ryan for lying, then I can’t start that way with Shane. Because gazing up at him now, just glimpsing the magic of his eyes through his tousled curls, I want this to be the start of something.

“Eat lunch with me,” I say then. “And I’ll tell you about it.”

Not everything. I won’t betray Ryan’s secrets, but I want Shane to know I’m not on the rebound; it’s not like that. It’s knottier and more complicated in some ways, but in others, it’s dead simple. I’ve been looking Shane’s way since he strode into my geometry class.

He hesitates. “I usually hide out behind the school.”

“With the burners. Do you smoke?” It’s a general question, but I mean weed more than tobacco. In my opinion, either is gross.

“No. Can’t afford it, even if I wanted to.”

“Do you?” I ask, joining the end of the lunch line.

“Sometimes. It might be nice not to care.”

Being numb is good for a while, until it’s not anymore.

“They’re fooling themselves,” I say. “It’s better to deal with your shit head on. Life doesn’t get better if you look away.”

Shane swivels his head sharply toward me. “No joke. Sometimes you absolutely have to stare it down.” But he seems astonished I
know
that.

Yeah, I’m full of surprises.

Waiting in line doesn’t offer the usual annoyance because I’m standing with Shane. But there’s going to be an awkward moment soon; the way he dresses makes me suspect that there’s not a lot of spare cash at home. So I put a few extra things on my tray, food I’m pretty sure he’ll eat, and pay the cashier. He’s frowning as he follows me to the table. Not the one I usually sit at with Ryan and the rest of the eco crew. Farther down, there are some random sophomores, but they won’t tell juniors like us to screw off.

“You don’t eat meat,” he says, staring at the burger.

I’m shocked he remembers me mentioning it at the Green World meeting. “This hardly qualifies. It’s probably eighty-five percent soy anyway. But it’s not for me.” I slide the paper plate toward him.

Shane shakes his head. “Thanks but I’m not hungry.”

“It’ll make me feel weird to eat alone. Plus, I can’t afford to pay you to tutor me. The least I can do is get lunch now and then.” A guy’s pride is a delicate thing—I know enough from dealing with Ryan not to say more.

I just start eating. A few seconds later, he digs into the un-delicious burger, as if he was damn near starved. I down a few more bites of limp salad before saying, “I guess I promised you a story.”

“Somewhat.”

The sophomores can’t hear us down the table, as it’s loud in here, but I pitch my voice low just in case. “Basically, Ryan was never my boyfriend. He just let people
think
we were together. Because I’m an idiot, I didn’t guess why.” Those last words come out bitter.

“So why
did
he do that?” I hear all kinds of nuances in his voice, questions, doubts.

Here’s where it gets tricky. “It’s complicated. He lied to me, though, and that’s what I can’t just get over. Maybe someday we’ll be friends again, but for now…” I shrug.

“Friends?” he repeats.

“Yeah. Friends.”

“So he didn’t break your heart.” He sounds relieved.

“Did you want him to?”

“I was afraid he had. That maybe you were talking to me…” His eyes cut away from mine.

“Because I was trying to make Ryan jealous? Not my style.”

I want to say,
OMG, Shane, you think I’m a dude magnet?
I’ve been Ryan’s sidekick, his not-girlfriend so long, that I have no idea what
this
is or what I’m doing. But I love it.

“I’m not looking for drama,” Shane tells me.

I understand the reason for the pronouncement immediately. Ryan’s watching us from across the cafeteria, but he won’t be shoving Shane into any doorjambs or cornering him in the boys’ toilet. In some ways, his silent, wounded eyes are worse. I can tell he feels horrible and that he misses me, but what am I supposed to do? After what I’ve learned, I don’t
want
to be his girlfriend, which is what he was shooting for when he made his big confession. I feel like I hardly know the guy, and that hurts most of all.

“There won’t be any.”

“I just … I can’t afford any trouble,” he says softly, not looking at me. “Any more, and I’m off to juvie until I’m eighteen.”

Possibly he thinks this will scare me off. But I have my dark side, too. The staff at the group home pulled me off an emotional ledge years ago, so I know what it’s like to feel completely out of control, doing stuff you know deep down is a terrible idea and yet you
cannot stop
. I study the rigid line of his shoulders. “Did you put that Post-it on my locker?”

He’s dead silent, but his eyes answer where his lips do not. I see the
yes
written in aquamarine.

In this moment, I want to kiss him so bad it hurts.

CHAPTER SIX

I don’t, of course.

This is still the JFK lunchroom, and I’m not that brave. In the end, I let him get away with not answering. It’s enough that he’s here with me and not hiding out with the burners. I finish my food, just shoveling it down, so I can say I did. I’m too nervous to enjoy the salad, especially with Shane studying me so intently. I’m suddenly worried I have lettuce in my teeth.

Afterward, Shane walks me to my next class, even though he’s not in it. Instead of saying good-bye, he brushes my hair away from my face and gives me a smile that makes me forget what subject I have this period. Then he lopes away, hopefully to make his next class before the bell. I melt into my seat before remembering where I am … and that Ryan is already sitting in the desk next to mine.

As I sit down, he glances over, but he doesn’t say anything. Around us, three girls are whispering behind cupped hands. It’s so weird to be the subject of gossip over a relationship that never existed except in other people’s minds. I heard the speculation before, but it’s different, knowing that Ryan encouraged it behind my back—that he was using the rumors. I mean, he knew his parents wouldn’t approve and that I’d be upset. Who wants to be the girl somebody pretends to date while secretly going after someone better? Yet he did it anyway. My anger kindles fresh, and I tamp it down. Rage tastes like burning in the back of my throat. Once I’m calm, I bend my head to my paper, taking copious notes that I’ll probably never look at again. Afterward, I linger over packing up my stuff to give him a chance to leave.

The day passes at the speed of snail.

Before last period, I leave a Post-it for a freshman kid the football goons are harassing today instead of Shane. They call him Alexa instead of Alex, and that has to suck. Since I don’t know him, I compliment his taste in sneakers, which are awesome old-school Chucks, just the right amount of grunge. Alex does a clumsy karate kick as I go by, showing off the shoes, and I laugh. The beautiful people think I’m an idiot, but their scorn is worth it for moments like this. It’s like everybody I tag could be a potential friend.

“Hey,” Alex calls. “I hear you’re on the market again.”

… Wait, what?
He’s a freshman.

I stop. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Does a younger guy have a shot?” he asks, flashing me a grin.

He’s short and skinny, like Ryan used to be. Alex has a goofy sense of personal style, plus bad coordination and unpredictable skin. His hair looks like his mom cuts it by trimming around a bowl. But I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Only if said younger guy can pick me up in his G6.” I figure he’ll know that’s a joke since I don’t approve of fossil-fuel burning cars, let alone absurdly wasteful private planes.

He grins. “I’ll get right on that.”

By the time I get to the bike rack, the initial after-school scramble has passed. The buses are loaded and leaving the parking lot. Most people who drive take off as soon as they can, clogging the road leading away from JFK. Still, even now, there are a few stragglers in the parking lot. Two guys wearing knit hats practice skate tricks until Mr. Mackiewicz runs them off. It’s pretty funny how he makes time to be a buzzkill even on his way out to his car.

I have fifty minutes before I need to be at the Curly Q for my shift, so I’m in no real hurry. But I’m surprised when Lila hails me. She breaks away from a pack of mostly goth posers, who are piling into a gray van. Lila is tall, five ten or so, and she might look like a supermodel, if she wasn’t so into death fashion. Her long legs eat up the distance between us.

“Where you headed?” she asks me.

I can’t figure out what her deal is today. We
never
talk. “Work, eventually.”

“Want to get a frap?”

Oh. I think I know what this is about, so I mumble, “There’s no dirt. Nobody cheated.”

“I’m not interested in that anyway. I’m sure the story’s tedious.”

“Then what?” I don’t mean to be rude, but seriously, we barely live on the same planet.

She shakes back her super-vibrant dyed red hair. “Since you want me to lay it out, well, you’re
way
short on female friends. Most of mine’ve killed too many brain cells, so I’m in the market for someone with whom I can use polysyllabic words.”

“I’m flattered. I think. And, yeah, I have time for a frap.” The tiny café that serves as a substitute for Starbucks is two blocks from the salon.

“Sweet. Can I ride on the handlebars of your bike?”

“No. You can run along behind me like a spaniel.” See, I can be sarcastic, too.