Girl on the Other Side (6 page)

Beside me, Dylan rips open three packs of sweetener and pours them into her cup. I can hear the chemicals fizzling as they sink into her coffee.

“So, how much do you have left to spend?” she asks, stirring her drink with a little brown stick.

I do a quick mental calculation.

“About a hundred bucks.”

The twins smile and rub their hands together with greedy excitement. Shopping is their all-time favourite hobby — especially when they're spending someone else's money.

I turn and look at all the shopping bags balancing on the chair next to me and feel a big, empty hole open up inside my chest. Brandi and Dylan can have this stuff for all I care.

I think about Grandma and how much I miss her and the hole widens so deep that I think it might just suck the rest of me in and swallow me up. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away. I want to run home, crawl into my safe bed, listen to my drippy faucet and never come out again.

I don't want the crap in these bags. I don't want these parasites for friends. Yeah, we have a lot of fun together, but I don't kid myself. Deep down, Dylan and Brandi are no different from anybody else in my school. I know they only like me because my family's rich. I know they're jealous of my house and my clothes and my parents' status. And I know, without a shred of doubt, that they would stab me in the back the first chance they got.

They aren't real friends … I know that because the nastier I treat them, the more desperately they cling to me and kiss my ass. A real friend would call you out for being a bitch, tell you the truth about yourself, not put up with any crap.

A real friend would like you for who you are — not what you own.

Lora

“Lora, I need you to restock the stir sticks!
ASAP
!” bellows a voice from behind me.

I don't have to turn around to know that it's Mike. He's my boss at the coffee shop where I work on weekends — a short, stocky college freshman with the loudest mouth, pointiest teeth, and hairiest arms of anyone I've ever met. Mike's on a massive power trip. It's obvious to everyone within earshot how much he enjoys managing an all-female team of adolescent baristas. He loves ordering us around and never says please or thank you for anything. Totally typical alpha male. In fact, if I had to choose a primate subgroup to classify him into, I'd definitely have to go with baboon. Still, I'm careful not to let him know how I really feel. This job is too important.

I've been working here part-time since the beginning of the school year. Daddy watches the kids while I'm gone — unless, of course, he's on duty at the fire station. Then one of the other firefighters' wives comes over to help out. It's only twelve hours a week, but I know the extra little bit I earn here really helps our family. And, even though I'd rather be reading or doing homework, I actually don't mind making moccaccinos and espressos for over-indulged, caffeine-addicted yuppies. It's a nice break from the stresses of home and school.

I've even made a friend here. Her name is Madison, she's sixteen, has green hair, a nose ring, and dropped out of school earlier this year. She's the only person who knows the truth about what's going on with my family.

Next month, we're going to start staying open late on Sunday nights for poetry readings. After half an hour of begging, Daddy agreed to let me stay and work late those nights — on the condition, of course, that I always have a lift home. I worked it out with Madison — on the nights Daddy's at the fire station, she's promised to drive me.

“Did you hear me, Froggett?” Mike hollers. “I need stir sticks now!”

“Okay, sure, right away,” I reply, before turning on my heel and hurrying into the supply room at the back of the store.

I re-emerge a minute later with the box of little brown stir sticks in my hands. But I almost drop it when I see what's waiting for me at the front of the shop.

“Oh God!” I gasp.

Three of the most vicious piranhas from my school are lining up at the counter for coffee. Luckily, I spot them before they spot me. There's still time to run. I turn back to the supply room to hide out until they're gone. But Mike sees me and thwarts my escape.

“Let's go, Froggett,” he snarls, pointing a stubby finger toward the counter. “I need you at the front now!”

“But … but …”

“Move it! We're starting to get lined up here.”

Big ape!
I want to yell. But, of course, I don't. Instead, with a wave of nervous cramps seizing my stomach muscles, I limp up to the cash register where Madison is taking orders and, as inconspicuously as possible, refill the stir-stick dispenser. That's when I hear the piranhas order their coffees. A cold shiver runs up my spine at the sound of their voices. I know it's them without even looking. They sound confident and careless and there's an underlying laughter behind their words — like they're sneering at the world.

“Three large decaf non-fat lattes — Lor, will you give me a hand with the steamer, please?” asks Madison.

I nod, afraid to speak in case the piranhas recognize my voice. I start up the steamer. It hisses and sputters — like a python with respiratory failure. As I help prepare the coffees, I lower my face, let my hair hang down as a kind of curly red veil and pray they won't notice me. But that just makes Madison suspicious. She knows me so well.

“Hey, something wrong, Lora?” she asks, peering at me as she punches the orders into the cash register. I ignore her and concentrate on keeping my head down and pouring foamy milk into the trio of paper cups. I can feel a cold sweat break out across my body as I top off the last one. It's almost over.
Please God, just let them take their coffees and go!

And then I hear it. One of the twin piranhas recognizes me. I can't tell if it's Brandi or Dylan, but it doesn't really matter, anyway.

“Look, Frog-face works here.”

My heart sinks into my shoes but I keep pouring, pretending not to hear.

Oh please, not here! Please God, just make them go away!

While the other twin laughs and says something mean about my clothes, I slump my shoulders down and curl my chin into my chest, trying to make myself smaller, smaller, smaller.

Please God, just let me disappear!

“At least we can't see her Payless Shoes from this side of the counter,” another voice says.

A small fire of shame starts burning inside my chest. It burns so badly I think I might faint from the pain. The fire quickly spreads to my face, making my eyes tear from the heat.

A second later, the sound of pennies hitting glass clatters in my ears.

“Here,” sneers the head piranha, “… just a little something extra, so you can splurge on your next trip to Value Village.”

Oh God, I hate them … I hate them … I hate them … I
hate them …

I peer up and watch through my hair as they saunter away with their coffees. And then I see Madison. She looks furious and her face is turning as red as mine feels — making for an interesting contrast with her bright green hair. It's probably taking all of her willpower not to say something to those girls. But she knows as well as I do that Mike will fire her on the spot for being rude to a customer. As soon as the last person in line has been served, she turns to me and begins demanding some answers.

“Why on earth did you let them talk to you like that, Lora?”

I shrug and stare at the stack of paper filters on the counter in front of me.

“I don't know why you stand for it,” she continues. “I mean, those girls were total bitches. Why do you take that crap?”

I shrug again, hoping my silence will be her cue to drop the subject. But she's persistent.

“That's Tabitha Freeman, isn't it? The hotshot lawyer's kid? And the others … they go to your school, right?”

I nod. Madison sighs.

“I don't know why you're still there. I mean, you hate school — why are you staying somewhere that makes you so sick? And besides, you're so smart you probably don't even need a diploma.”

I shake my head. Ever since Madison dropped out, she's been encouraging me to do the same. But I know dropping out isn't the answer to my problems. They don't give zoology degrees to dropouts.

“You're wrong. I don't hate school — I just hate the people in my school,” I reply softly. Then I think about Miss Wall and our lunchtime chats and her Shakespeare pills and have to add: “Well, most of the people, anyway.”

A moment later, Mike walks over and hands me a wet rag.

“The customers at table seven have complained that their table is dirty,” he says. “Froggett, go clean it!”

I look over. Table seven is where the piranhas are sitting. I let out a small whimper of agony as my stomach begins knotting up again. Reading the pain on my face, Madison grabs the rag from my hands.

“I'll do it, Mike,” she says, with a quick glance in my direction.

But he steps in front of her, blocking her way.

“No, I asked Froggett to do it. Are you deaf?”

Madison stares down at him. She's a full head taller than Mike and, unlike me, totally unintimidated by his arrogance.

“No, I'm not deaf. But it's
my
mess — I sat there on my break and forgot to wipe up. So excuse me, but
I'll
clean it.”

She steps around him and stomps off to clean the table before he can say another word.
You're an angel, Madison,
I think as I watch her go. I begin wiping down the steam machine, but less than a minute later, the sound of shouting fills the shop. I look back at table seven and see one of the twins yelling at Madison and pointing to her latte splattered all over the floor. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth and I raise my hand to cover it up. Even though Mike could never prove it, I know in my heart that my friend has exacted her revenge.

That's when one of the other piranhas catches my eye. It's the lead one, Tabby Freeman. She has a look on her face that I know all too well. There's no mistaking it. Despair — with a capital D — is radiating from her so strongly that I can see it all the way over here. For the smallest of seconds, I feel like I'm seeing myself in a mirror. Her pain is so ugly and raw and familiar, I have to look away.

But I can't help wondering:
Tabby Freeman is the richest,
most popular girl in the entire town. What can she possibly
know about despair?

May 1

tabby

My faucet doesn't drip anymore. I knew it was only a matter of time. Catherine doesn't like anything in her life to be less than perfect.

When I got home from school yesterday, there was a plumber with filthy fingernails and scuzzy jeans kneeling beside my bathtub and packing up his greasy wrench into his dirt-encrusted toolbox.

“Hi there!” he said as I walked in. His voice was gritty and deep and the smell of stale cigarettes hovered around him, stinking up the air in the room. When he stood up, he hiked up his jeans and raked his bloodshot eyes slowly over the length of my body.
Ew!
As upset as I was about losing my drip, I was even more upset about the dirty plumber in my bathroom. Couldn't Catherine have hired somebody a bit cleaner? As soon as he left, I ran to get Nanny and had her help me disinfect the tub.

Without my drip, it was so quiet in my room that night; so quiet, I thought I was going to go crazy. I finally ended up falling asleep listening to my iPod. It helped with the silence, but it didn't keep the dream away. And when Sam woke me up just before my crash landing, the iPod was playing “Fallin'” by Alicia Keys. Is that whacked or what?

Tonight I decide to try something different to fight the silence. Once I'm in bed, I reach for the remote and snap on the TV.
Ah, much better!
Relief falls over me like a warm rain. I rub Sam's ears and yawn. I'm exhausted and sore all over. Every muscle in my body is aching. I think I overdid it at the gym today, but I'm still trying to make up for eating that gross fettuccine alfredo the night of my birthday. My eyelids begin to droop, but I fight to keep them open. I'm afraid to fall asleep, afraid to have the dream again.
What will happen if Sam doesn't wake me
up in time?
I wonder.

I miss my drip.

I look over at the clock on my nightstand.

1:03 a.m.

Too late to call the twins. Their mother will have a cow if I wake her up this late.

But maybe they're online
.

Switching off the TV, I bounce out of bed, grab my laptop and fire it up. As soon as it's online, I send an IM to Brandi:

Hey B, r u awake?

I wait a minute. There's no reply.

Damn.

I send one to Dylan.

S'up D?

I wait again. Nothing.

I think for a minute and, after a small hesitation, send one to Derek. The end of the term is around the corner, after all. It's time to start giving him some hope.

Hey Der r u there?

I take a long, shaky breath and wait. If he's online, this might turn into an interesting night after all. Suddenly, I hear a bump and my ears prick up.

Are my parents home?

I hold my breath and listen.

A second later another bump … then another.

Oh no … what if someone's broken in?

Another bump.

I look behind me and see Sam thumping the mattress with his wagging tail. He's dreaming again. I let out a long breath. Being alone all these nights is turning me into a paranoid freak. Where the hell are Catherine and David? I can't even remember the last time I saw them. Four days ago … five days ago? I think back to that night at the restaurant.

There's been a lot going on at my office … some people have
been asking to see some of our old files,
David had said. For the hundredth time since that night, I find myself wondering who he was talking about. The police? The government? His accountants? Other lawyers? Whoever it was, I'm pretty sure it meant trouble.