Hate List (27 page)

We all blew up balloons for a few minutes and then Jessica said, “Meghan was talking about this party we’re all going to on
the twenty-fifth. It’s a barn party. Have you ever been to one?”

I shook my head and tied my balloon.

“It’s at Alex Gold’s farm. His parents are going to be in Ireland for two weeks. It should be pretty wild.”

“Last time I lost my shoes,” Meghan added. “And Jamie Pembroke totally got puked on. Remember that?” She and Jessica laughed.
“You should come, Val,” Meghan added. “It’s really a blast.”

“Yeah, come with,” Jessica said. She reached over and nudged my arm. “Everyone’s going to crash at my house.”

I pretended to think it over, to be excited about the invitation, but warning bells clanged so loudly in my head I could barely
think. It was one thing to come to a StuCo meeting with Jessica. To sit in the hallway with her at lunch. It was totally another
to go to a party full of her friends. I could only imagine what some of them might have to say about her bringing me there.
I could only imagine what Nick might have to say about me going. There was no way I could handle it.

But Jessica was looking at me so earnestly, so openly, I couldn’t turn her down without at least pretending like I’d asked.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try.”

Jessica beamed and even Meghan smiled a little. “Great!”

“What’s this?” Mrs. Stone asked from the doorway. She was still shrugging out of her coat and her nose was red from the brisk
wind that had come out of nowhere this morning.

“Surprise!” we all yelled in unison, and then the room erupted in hooting and cheers.

Mrs. Stone touched her chest and looked around the room, but she seemed to spend extra time looking at me, Jessica, and Meghan,
as we laughed, standing next to one another, bumping shoulders and chattering.

“What a terrific surprise,” she said, wiping the corners of her eyes.

“Sorry, girls, but you can’t sit here anymore,” Mr. Angerson said. “The builders will be coming and going through here.”

Jessica and I stood holding our lunch trays in front of us.

Builders had been in and out of the building all morning, hammering and pounding and running loud machines that made it totally
difficult to concentrate on anything. They were installing new doors on the classrooms—ones with no windows—and replacing
the glass on either side of them with some sort of bulletproof stuff. The doors that they were installing locked from the
inside whenever they were shut, which meant that if you had to use the restroom during class you had to knock to be let back
in. Of course, it also made it so that we were sitting in a little fortress of safety, just in case someone should make it
into the building with a gun or a bomb or something.

“Okay,” Jessica said. We looked at one another and then both turned and faced the cafeteria.

“C’mon,” she said in her old Jessica the Commander voice that I remembered so well. “You can sit with me.” She tossed her
hair confidently over one shoulder and hitched up her chest, walking boldly through the crowd.

My feet felt cold and heavy, but I followed her anyway. She led me to what I’d always known as the SBRB Headquarters and the
thought of it made me feel panicky.

“Hey guys!” Jessica said. She set her tray on the table and wrangled a couple of empty chairs in front of it. The chatter
at the table instantly died.

“Hey, Jess,” Meghan said. But her voice was very quiet, her face unsmiling. The moment at the StuCo meeting blowing up balloons
together could have just as easily been a hallucination. “Hey, Val.”

I tried to push my mouth up into a smile, but talking was definitely out of the question.

“I thought you sat in the hallway now,” Josh said. “With
her
.”

“Angerson put a stop to that, of course,” Jessica said. She sat, then turned to me. “Come on, Val. Sit down. Nobody will mind.”

Somebody made a
tch!
sound when she said that, but I didn’t catch who.

I sat down, focusing only on the food on my tray, but I knew there was no way I could eat. Suddenly the gravy looked like
brown jelly and the meat looked like plastic. My stomach was turning around like crazy.

“Hey, Jess, you going to the barn party?” someone asked.

“Yeah, we both are.”

“Both who?”

Jessica motioned to me with her fork. “I asked Val to spend the night with me that night.”

“No way,” Josh said in that big Josh voice.

“Yeah,” Jessica said. “What’s the problem with that?” I detected a hint of snotty in that voice—a sound I recognized all
too well. How many times had I heard it leveled at me?
What are you looking at, Sister Death? Nice boots, Sister Death. As if I’d be talking to your loser friends, Sister Death.
You got a problem? What’s your problem? Is there a problem, Sister Death?
Only this time it wasn’t directed at me, but at the friends she reigned over. I felt relieved and then immediately felt guilty
for being relieved. At that moment I couldn’t have told you who had changed more: Jessica Campbell or me.

“Actually I haven’t asked my parents yet,” I mumbled to Jessica. “I was going to ask this weekend.”

She waved me off, her attention focused on the other end of the table. Her eyes were slits, daring her friends to say something
to oppose me being there. She held her fork steadily in front of her. The mood at the table changed, turned uncomfortable.

Everyone was peering into their own trays and talk had quieted. Several of them were muttering just loud enough for me to
know that they were talking about me, but not what they were saying.

I did hear someone say: “Is she going to bring her notebook?” and another person laughed and answered, “Is she going to bring
a date?”

It was too much. Stupid of me to think I could fit in here, even after all this time. Even with Jessica on my side.
See what’s real
, that’s what Dr. Hieler wanted me to do.
See what’s really there.
Well, I could see what was really there now and none of it was good. It was all the same as it was before. Only before I
would have written down their names on the Hate List and run to Nick for comfort. Now I was a different person and I had no
idea what to do, other than run away.

“I forgot,” I said, standing up and picking up my tray. “I have to turn in a report for English before sixth period or I’ll
have to take a zero on the assignment. Duh.” I tried to laugh breezily, but my mouth felt dry and I was sure that when I talked,
things in my throat clicked.

I got up and carried my tray to the dishwasher’s window. I dumped the entire contents of my lunch into the trash bin and scurried
out of the cafeteria, vaguely hearing Dr. Hieler’s voice in my head—
If you keep losing weight, Val, your mom’s going to be asking about anorexia again
. I power-walked directly to the girls’ restroom in the Communication Arts wing and locked myself in the handicap stall. I
stayed there until the bell rang, promising myself that there was no way in hell I would go to that party.

I was sitting on my bed, admiring the new hot pink polish I’d painted on my toenails. I hadn’t painted my nails pink in so
long I doubted the polish was still good. It was all crusty around the neck of the bottle and had separated into two layers—pink on bottom with clear on top. It had even seemed pretty congealed, so I’d added a few drops of fingernail polish remover
to it and that seemed to do the trick.

Normally my mainstay was black. Or navy. Sometimes a hunter green or sick corpse-yellow. But once, a long time ago, it had
been pink. Everything had been pink. I think I burned myself out on pink. And then burned myself out on black. I’m not sure.

All I’m really sure about was that I had finally given in to my curiosity and dragged the old box of fingernail polishes long
since gone to the Pretty Pretty Princess Valerie in the Sky out from under the bathroom sink and set about painting my toenails
hot pink. It wouldn’t hurt anyone for my toes to be pink for a few days, right?

I was still waiting for them to dry—puffing out little breezes of air from my mouth without giving it any real effort—when there was a knock, real soft, at my door.

I leaned over and turned my stereo down. “Yuh?”

The door opened a crack and Dad stuck his head in. He grimaced in the general direction of the stereo, so I leaned over and
flicked it off.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

I nodded. He and I hadn’t spoken since the Britni/Brenna incident at his office a couple weeks ago.

He came into the room and picked his way across the floor like he was coming through a minefield. He pushed a pile of T-shirts
out of the way with his foot. I noticed he was wearing shoes. Running shoes. And jeans, a polo shirt. His casual, but still
going out, look.

He sat on the edge of my bed. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at my toenails. I curled them under instinctively
and immediately was worried that I’d messed up my painting job. I let them uncurl. Only one was marred. I used my thumb to
rub most of the polish off of it and then I stared at my foot, which suddenly looked so vulnerable and imperfect with the
one toe ringed in hot pink polish but bare on the inside of the nail. Like I’d started but had forgotten to finish being beautiful.

“New color?” he asked, which I thought was a really odd question coming from a dad. Were dads supposed to notice fingernail
polish on their daughters? I wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t something my dad would notice, and the very thought of it made me
feel uneasy.

“No. Very old,” I replied.

“Oh.” He sat some more. “Listen, Val, about Briley…”

Briley
, I thought.
Of course. Her name is Briley.

“Dad,” I started, but he held up a hand to stop me. I swallowed. Any sentence that began,
Listen, Val, about Briley
… was not going to be the start of a pleasant conversation. Of that I was sure.

“Just listen,” he said. “Your mother…”

He paused. His mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he wasn’t sure where to go from there. His hands sort of flopped
around in his lap. His shoulders slumped.

“Dad, I’m not going to tell Mom. You don’t have to do this,” I started to say, but he interrupted.

“I do,” he said. “I do.”

I was quiet then, my toes getting cold. I stared at them hard, expecting the hot pink to change to purple or icy blue like
a mood ring. Maybe corpse-yellow wasn’t so much of a thing of the past after all. I began to wonder who was the imposter,
the old Valerie or the new, something I felt over and over again after the shooting, as if I could change on a moment-by-moment
basis.

“I told,” he said finally. “I told her everything. Your mother.”

I said nothing. I wasn’t sure what to say. What could I say?

“She didn’t take it well, of course. She’s very angry. She’s asked me to leave.”

“Whoa,” I breathed.

“If it makes any difference to you, I love Briley. I’ve loved Briley for a long time. We’ll probably get married.”

It made a difference. But probably not in the way he’d hoped. I thought with dark satisfaction that I finally had a “stepmonster.”
Somehow, within the context of my life, it fit. I felt a tug of regret—having a stepmonster would’ve been something else
Nick and I would’ve had in common.

We sat there in silence for a while. I wondered what Dad was thinking, why he was sticking around. Was he waiting for absolution?
For me to say it was okay that he did this? For me to make some sort of magnanimous statement about accepting Briley into
my life?

“How long have you and… um…
she
… been together?” I asked.

He pulled his eyes up to look straight into mine. It might have been the only time I ever looked my dad in the eye and I was
surprised at how much depth I saw there. I guess I’d always seen Dad as one-dimensional. Never a thought that didn’t include
work. Never an emotion that wasn’t impatience or anger.

“This happened long before the shooting.” He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “In some ways the shooting brought your mother and
me closer. Made it more difficult to leave her. I’ve broken Briley’s heart a million times over the past several months. I
was set to move in with her over the summer. We’d hoped to have been married by now. But the shooting…”

He, like so many others, left the sentence hanging after those words, as if they explained anything and everything all on
their own. I knew what he meant, though, without him going on. The shooting changed everything. For everyone. Even for Briley,
who had nothing to do with Garvin High.

“I couldn’t leave Jenny alone after that. She’s gone through so much. I respect your mother and I don’t want to hurt her.
I just don’t love her. Not the way I love Briley.”

“So you’re going to do it,” I said. “Leave, I mean.”

He nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s only right that I do. I have to.”

I wanted there to be a part of me that raged against this.
No you don’t
, I wanted to scream at him.
No, you can’t!
But I couldn’t do it. Because the truth was, and we both knew it, he’d gone long, long ago. I’d just made him stick around
when he really wanted to be somewhere else. In his own weird way he was another victim of the shooting. One of the ones who
couldn’t get away.

“Are you mad?” he asked, which I thought was a really strange question.

“Yes,” I said. And I was. It’s just that I wasn’t so sure I was mad at him. But I don’t think he needed to hear that part.
I don’t think he wanted to hear that part. I think it was important to him to hear that I cared enough to be angry.

“Will you ever forgive me?” he asked.

“Will you ever forgive me?” I shot back, leveling my gaze directly into his eyes.

He stared into them for a few moments and then got up silently and headed for the door. He didn’t turn around when he reached
it. Just grabbed the doorknob and held it.

“No,” he said, without facing me. “Maybe it makes me a bad parent, but I don’t know if I can. No matter what the police found,
you were involved in that shooting, Valerie. You wrote those names on that list. You wrote
my
name on that list. You had a good life here. You may not have pulled the trigger, but you helped cause the tragedy.”