“I hid behind the island in Kyle’s kitchen, because everyone I tried to talk to ran screaming for the hills,” I said. “
Later I thought about how it was that Phil, like Camilla, wasn’t all ga-ga over the Bitches. He thought they were hot, sure, but he didn’t fall under their spell like the rest of us. Camilla, she was above it all. At least that was my take on it. But Phil was immune for a different reason: because he was pure. That was a funny word to use on a boy, but it fit. He was pure of heart.
On Monday, I avoided the Bitches as best I could. I picked different routes when I glimpsed any of them in the hall, and I stayed away from the bathrooms altogether. But I ran into Mary Bryan as I was heading for history, and for a moment we were face to face at the bottom of the stairwell.
“Jane,” she said.
My stomach dropped, and I pushed into the crowd. She called after me, but I pretended I didn’t hear.
At noon I bought a Nutrigrain bar from the vending machine and snuck to the library. I took the long way past the basement art rooms, because hardly anyone except the art kids went down there. A group of them leaned against the wall by the Ceramics Studio. One of them was Raven Holtzclaw-Fontaine, from Kyle’s party. I could tell she didn’t have the vaguest clue who I was.
In the library, I chose the farthest back carrel. I slit open my bar and got out my book. Ramona was cross because she had to clean up her room, and Beezus was cross because her mother wouldn’t let her spend the night at Mary Jane’s. Even Picky-picky, the cat, was cross. Cross, cross, cross.
“God, you are so predictable,” Alicia said, clomping across the floor. She dragged over a chair from the next carrel. “And thanks for returning all my calls. Really, it meant a lot to me.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I was busy.”
“Yeah, right. Doing what, hiding beneath your covers? I’ve seen you today, running around like a scared chicken.” She tilted her head. “Guess they didn’t pick you, huh?”
“Guess not.”
“You must have really bombed at the party.”
“Guess so.” In my mind, I saw Bitsy’s expression when she dropped me off. How her eyes hadn’t even registered me.
Alicia blinked. For a moment she seemed uncertain, and then she reclaimed her usual brusqueness. “Well, it’s their loss,” she said. “Let them have their freaky black magic—we’re better off without it.” She spotted my paperback and grabbed it by its spine, losing my place. “Ramona books again? Jesus, Jane. When are you going to grow up?”
She meant it as a tease, as in
Sadly, Alicia sucked. I wasn’t saying that to be mean. But she just wasn’t cheerleader material.
Her voice screeched when she yelled, “Go, Devils!” And during a complicated knee-slap-clap combination, her tongue snuck into position under her lower lip. And her final cheer didn’t end with a split. It ended with a squat. And no matter what the group leaders had said, it wasn’t okay. Of the sixty-five girls who tried out—over half the girls in our freshman class—only Alicia and Tina Burston failed to do a split. And Tina Burston had a broken leg. She auditioned without her crutches, which was actually pretty impressive. She’d painted her cast green and white.
“I sucked,” Alicia muttered as everyone exited the gym. “Don’t bother lying, because I know I did.”
“Results will be posted tomorrow!” called one of the group leaders through cupped hands. “But remember, you’re
When we got home, Mom threw her keys on the counter. “Chinese?” she suggested.
“Sure,” I said. I didn’t care.
She dug the menu out of the junk drawer. “Go ahead and chill out for a while,” she said. “I’ll call you when it gets here.” She waited until I was halfway up the stairs, then stepped into the hall. “Oh, and a package came from your dad. I left it on your bed.”
I stopped. I turned around.
“He sent me an elephant hair bracelet,” she said. “Not exactly my style.”
“An elephant hair bracelet? Is that what he sent me, too?”
“You’ll have to open it. I have no idea.” She hesitated, and for a second I thought she might say something real. Instead, she flashed me a smile and returned to the kitchen. Several seconds later, I heard, “I’d like to place an order to go, please. What? Sure, no problem.”
I trudged back downstairs, because no way was I dealing with Dad now, even in the form of a boxed-up gift waiting in my room. Already the mention of him had stirred up the familiar mix of anger and loneliness. Anger that this was what he thought being a dad meant, sending knickknacks from all over the world. Or rather, anger that he thought he could get away with it—or was willing to get away with it—regardless of whatever father truth he actually believed in. That was what made it so bad. Because at some level, he had to know he was hurting me. And yet he did it anyway.
Dad used to love me. He would come to my room when I was scared, and he would turn on the light to show me that everything was okay. “It’s the same house in the night as it is in the day,” he’d say. Then he’d sit on the edge of my bed and rub my back until I fell asleep. Even if it was the middle of the night, he’d yawn and stick it out.
I couldn’t figure out what had happened to that love, and that’s where the loneliness came in. Stupid, pointless loneliness. I fought against it, but it came in anyway, carving me out and leaving me empty.
I went into the den and signed on to the Internet. I checked my e-mail. There was a note from Phil about
Before bed, I steeled myself and opened Dad’s gift. Inside was a genuine jade hair comb. It said so on the enclosed slip of paper. I unwound the bubble wrap and regarded the comb, which was decorated with inlaid stones in the shape of a butterfly. It was very cute. Only, I didn’t do “cute” anymore. Hadn’t for years.
I shoved the comb into the drawer with the Egyptian teddy bear. “Thanks, Dad,” I said aloud. “It’s just what I wanted.”