LITMIR.BIZ

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the question. “You?”

      “You didn’t get my text?”

      I mumble something about my phone dying.

      “That explains why you haven’t asked me yet! Guess what. Corey IM’d me! We chatted for, like, almost an hour.”

      “Wow.”

      “Yeah, isn’t it?” Carrie sighs contently. “After all this time. I didn’t even know he knew my screen name. You didn’t tell him, did you?”

      More accessing. This is the kind of question that can really trip a person up. Maybe not right away. But in the future. If Leslie claims she wasn’t the one who told Corey, and Carrie finds out she was, it could throw their friendship off balance. Or if Leslie claims she was, and Carrie finds out she wasn’t.

      Corey is Corey Handlemann, a junior who Carrie’s had a crush on for at least three weeks. Leslie doesn’t know him well, and I can’t find a memory of giving a screenname to him. I think it’s safe.

      “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I didn’t.”

      “Well, I guess he really had to work hard to find it,” she says. (Or, I think, he just saw it on your Facebook profile.)

      I immediately feel guilty for my snarky thoughts. This is the hard part about having best friends that I feel no attachment to – I don’t give them any benefit of the doubt. And being best friends is always about the benefit of the doubt.

      Carrie is very excited about Corey, so I pretend to be very excited for her. It’s only after we separate for homeroom that I feel an emotion kicking at me, one I thought I had under control: jealousy. Although I am not articulating it to myself in as many words, I am feeling jealous that Carrie can have Corey while I can never have Rhiannon.

      Ridiculous, I chastise myself. You are being ridiculous.

      When you live as I do, you cannot indulge in jealousy. If you do, it will rip you apart.

      Third period is band class. I tell the teacher that I left my clarinet at home, even though it’s in my locker. Leslie gets marked down and has to take the class as a study hall, but I don’t care.

      I don’t know how to play the clarinet.

      Word about Carrie and Corey travels fast. All of our friends are talking about it, and mostly they’re pleased. I can’t tell, though, whether they’re pleased because it’s a perfect match or because now Carrie will shut up about it.

      When I see Corey at lunchtime, I am unsurprised by how unremarkable he is. People are rarely as attractive in reality as they are in the eyes of the people who are in love with them. Which is, I suppose, as it should be. It’s almost heartening to think that the attachment you have can define your perception as much as any other influence.

      Corey comes over at lunch to say hi, but he doesn’t stay to eat with us, even though we make room for him at our table. Carrie doesn’t seem to notice this; she’s just giddy that he’s come by, that she didn’t dream the whole IM exchange, that chatting has escalated into speaking . . . and who knows what will happen next? As I suspected, Leslie does not move in a fast crowd. These girls are thinking of kissing, not sex. The lips are the gates of their desire.

      I want to run away again, to skip the second half of the day again.

      But it wouldn’t be right, without her.

      It feels like I am wasting time. I mean, that’s always the case. My life doesn’t add up to anything.

      Except, for an afternoon, it did.

      Yesterday is another world. I want to go back there.

      Early sixth period, right after lunch, my brother is called down to the principal’s office.

      At first, I think I might have heard it wrong. But then I see other people in class looking at me, including Carrie, who has pity in her eyes. So I must have heard it right.

      I am not alarmed. I figure if it was something really bad, they would have called us both. Nobody in my family has died. Our house hasn’t burned down. It’s Owen’s business, not mine.

      Carrie sends me a note. What happened?

      I send a shrug in her direction. How am I supposed to know?

      I just hope I haven’t lost my ride home.

      Sixth period ends. I gather my books and head to English class. The book is Beowulf, so I’m completely prepared. I’ve done this unit plenty of times.

      I’m about ten steps away from the classroom when someone grabs me.

      I turn, and there’s Owen.

      Owen, bleeding.

      “Shh,” he says. “Just come with me.”

      “What happened?” I ask.

      “Just shh, okay?”

      He’s looking around like he’s being chased. I decide to go along. After all, this is more exciting than Beowulf.

      We get to a supply closet. He motions me in.

      “Are you kidding me?” I say.

      “Leslie .”

      There’s no arguing. I follow him in. I find the light switch easily.

      He’s breathing hard. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything.

      “You were going to tell me what happened?” I say.

      “I think I might be in trouble.”

      “Duh. I heard you called to the principal’s office. Why aren’t you down there?”

      “I was down there. I mean, before the announcement. But then I . . . left.”

      “You bolted from the principal’s office?”

      “Yeah. Well, the waiting room. They went to check my locker. I’m sure of it.”

      The blood is coming from a cut above his eye.

      “Who hit you?” I ask.

      “It doesn’t matter. Just shut up and listen to me, okay?”

      “I’m listening, but you’re not saying anything!”

      I don’t think Leslie usually talks back to her older brother. But I don’t care. He isn’t really paying attention to me, anyway.

      “They’re going to call home, okay? I need you to back me up.” He hands me his keys. “Just go home after school and see what the situation is. I’ll call you.”

      Luckily, I know how to drive.

      When I don’t argue, he takes it as acquiescence.

      “Thanks,” he tells me.

      “Are you going to the principal’s office now?” I ask him.

      He leaves without an answer.

      Carrie has the news by the end of the day. Whether it’s the truth doesn’t really matter. It’s the news that’s going around, and she’s eager to report it to me.

      “Your brother and Josh Wolf got into a fight out by the field, during lunch. They’re saying it had to do with drugs, and that your brother is a dealer or something. I mean, I knew he was into pot and everything, but I had no idea he dealt. He and Josh were dragged down to the principal’s office, but Owen decided to run. Can you believe it? They were paging him to come back. But I don’t think he did.”

      “Who’d you hear it from?” I ask. She’s giddy with excitement.

      “From Corey! He wasn’t out there, but some of the guys he hangs out with saw the fight and everything.”

      I see now that the fact that Corey told her is the bigger news here. She’s not so selfish

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