A second later, Taylor is beside me. “Sorry about in there,” he says. “Henry’s usually pretty cool.”
“I’m sure he is,” I say, kind of deadpan, and I don’t know if Taylor can tell I’m being sarcastic. I’m so confused right now. I don’t even want to work on the treehouse or fall asleep in my car. I don’t even want Taylor to kiss me. The only thing that sounds remotely good is tracking Dylan down to tell her that I’m sorry about everything and that I understand I was being irrational and weird. A rumble comes from around the corner, and then a yellow Datsun appears with Jayson behind the wheel.
“Look, I’m gonna go,” I say to the concrete.
“But you need to try this restaurant. It’s really good, I swear. You won’t be sorry.”
“I’m just gonna go,” I say.
Jayson slows and stops in front of us.
“At least let me drive you,” Taylor says.
I raise a foot and step off the curb, pivot toward Taylor, and say, “I feel like walking.” I manage a smile and add, “Thanks, though.”
Taylor looks like a kid who didn’t get what he wanted for Christmas.
I say, “If you have leftovers, you can bring me lunch tomorrow,” and then I turn and head toward the strip mall.
I go into the noodle place. It smells like coconut milk and pineapple. Elvis is singing on the jukebox. Dylan isn’t in there.
I decide to get some soup anyway. I sit in our usual booth and eat alone.
9
I’m headed away from fourth period, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Alicia, her red hair piled on top of her head in a huge mess. I mean mess in a good way. Alicia always looks perfect.
“Caitlin,” she says. “I’m glad I found you. I never see you at lunch. Where do you sit?”
I can’t really bring myself to tell her that I’ve been spending my lunches hiding in bathroom stalls, so I shrug and say, “Different places,” and hope that it sounds vague in a cool way and not like I’m too embarrassed to tell her the truth.
She doesn’t seem too concerned with my answer anyway. Her eyes are busy darting from side to side, like she doesn’t really want to be talking to me right now. Once she’s convinced that no one more important is around, she looks at me again.
“Listen,” she says. “Caitlin.”
She pauses like I’m supposed to say something.
“Um, yeah?”
She takes a breath and launches into her speech. “We’ve been friends for so long. I mean a really, really long time. So I feel like it’s my responsibility to tell you that people are starting to say things about you and that, um, girl.”
“Dylan?”
She scrunches her nose and nods violently. “I mean, not that I would ever believe them, but it’s really something for you to think about. I know that this is a hard time for you, and I’m just telling you this because I care. I would just hate to see you fall in with the wrong crowd.”
I don’t bother pointing out that one person does not really equal a crowd. I also don’t mention that this advice is coming a little late.
“You have your reputation to consider,” she concludes. And tilts her face. And smiles.
I look at each strand of red hair lacquered perfectly out of place, at her bright green eyes darting away from me to somewhere in the distance, and without thinking, I blurt out, “Alicia, do you consider yourself a shallow person?”
Alicia’s attention jerks back to me. “What?” she asks.
“Because I don’t consider myself a shallow person, either. But I think that people who make judgments about people they don’t even know are shallow, and people who start rumors are shallow, and I really don’t care about what shallow people say about me.”
Alicia’s eyes are open wide and fixed on my face. I can practically see her brain ticking. She says, “I’m just telling you for your own good. Because we’ve been friends since first grade. But now I see that you aren’t grateful, so I’ll stop caring. It’ll make my life easier. So, thanks.”
“No,” I say, with my heart pounding and a brick in my stomach. “Thank you, Alicia.”
Then I turn and walk away from her, toward the bathroom.
I stand in front of the mirror. I didn’t turn in a self-portrait this morning. I didn’t even take a bad one. Ms. Delani told us to turn them in at the end of class and I just grabbed my backpack and left as everyone was lining up to drop their photographs in the pile.
Behind me, on both sides, are long rows of empty bathroom stalls with silver doors. I lean over the sink, closer to my reflection, and stare at myself hard. I don’t know what I see, I don’t even know what I want to see.
Some days I like to think of myself as visibly wounded—like Melanie, only quieter. I imagine people wondering about what went wrong in my life. But other days I want to be like Dylan and Maddy and their friends, who seem like they’ve lived a little, have been a little bad, but seem so healthy at the same time.
Really, when it comes down to it, I don’t know if it’s something I can decide. I back away from the mirror. I don’t know what I see.
After school is over, I follow Dylan from English to the science hall. We turn our combination locks at the same time. I keep glancing over, trying to say hi, but she ignores me. A buzzing noise comes from her pocket and she reaches in and takes out her phone.
“Hey,” she says to someone on the other end. “Yeah, I’m just leaving now.” She slams her locker shut and walks out, still talking.