How It Ends (7 page)

By the time I walked into the library, I was a mess. And it didn't help that Scott wasn't there. I was just starting to panic when I felt a tug on my backpack. I turned and flashed him a beaming smile . . . only to find Charlie standing where Scott should have been.

“Wow,” he said, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “It's good to see you looking so . . . happy. We miss you at lunch.”

I looked at him sideways. “Really? I figured I was kind of annoying, always hanging around last year.”

“You were never annoying.”

“Kevin
told
me I was annoying. Daily.”

Charlie's face broke into a lopsided grin. “Kevin finds everyone annoying. I thought you were great.”

His smile was contagious, and I laughed, remembering how exasperated Kevin used to get.

“Anyway,” Charlie said, clearing his throat, “I just wanted to give you this.” He slipped a thin booklet out of his binder and held it up.

“A comic book?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “I don't read those, remember?”

“Oh, I remember your stubbornness, Ms. Snobby Reader. But do you remember how I said one good comic would change your mind about that? Besides, this isn't just any old comic. I wrote this one.”

“Seriously?” I asked, taking it from him. “It looks so professional.”

I flipped it open to take a look, but his hand shot out and settled over mine. “Don't read it now. I mean . . . save it for later. When you have time. We can, uh, talk about it later.”

I nodded and slipped the book into my bag, rattled by the feeling of his hand and the intensity of his voice. “You look different,” I blurted.

He shrugged. “I grew my hair out a bit,” he admitted.

“And got some new clothes,” I said, like a complete moron. “I mean . . . not that there was anything wrong with your old clothes . . .”

Charlie gave a low chuckle that made me blush. “You're as smooth as ever, Jess,” he teased. “But you do have a point.” He leaned in closer and looked around before whispering, “Don't tell anyone, but my mom picked out my clothes last year. I decided it was about time for that to stop.”

“Much better,” I choked out, trying not to notice the way his T-shirt stretched across muscles that had definitely not been there last year. What the heck was wrong with me?

“I have to admit that I did have help. Have you met Jody yet?”

I shook my head as Scott walked through the library doors. I felt like my heart was going to implode.

“She's new this year, and she decided that Kev and I needed fashion interventions. You should come hang out with us again—I think you'd really like her.”

I opened my mouth to reply just as Scott stepped between us. “Hey, Jess,” he said, completely ignoring Charlie. “You ready?”

I nodded and shot an apologetic look at Charlie, who was blinking at us in confusion.
No worries,
I said to him in my head.
I can hardly believe it myself.

Scott put a hand on the small of my back and propelled me toward the tables in the far corner of the library. “Let's sit back here where we can talk without Adamson kicking us out.”

I walked ahead of Scott, consumed by the warmth of his hand. When we reached the back desks, he pulled it away, leaving my whole body feeling cold and abandoned. I perched on the chair next to him and fumbled with the zipper on my bag. “Where should we start?”

“Can we go back to the first unit and go over that test? I totally bombed it.”

I smiled up at him and got lost in his eyes for a second.
Mental note: Do not make direct eye contact.
I pulled out my textbook and started talking, and everything else fell away. No lie, I was on fire. I started explaining about the differences between plant and animal cells, and it was like I was channeling Bill Nye the Science Guy. I just couldn't stop talking, and it was all
good.

When I finally came up for air, there were just minutes left in the period. We'd been working steadily for more than forty-five minutes, and we both looked a little dazed.

“Thank you so much, Jess,” he said in a voice so sincere it almost made me cry. “You're really,
really
smart.”

And the best part? He wants to do it again!

The entire day felt so completely surreal that I probably shouldn't have been as shocked as I was to find Larissa Riley waiting for me at my locker at the end of the day. It was like falling down the rabbit hole.

I've known Larissa since second grade. We bonded in Saturday morning figure-skating class, where we endured the harsh criticism of Coach Grant and consoled each other over hot chocolate after class. We had sleepovers every weekend, sat beside each other at school, and spent every recess wandering the playground, making plans for the future. Larissa had dreams of becoming a famous actress, and I planned to be a writer.

When Courtney moved to town in sixth grade, we had long, serious discussions about welcoming her into our group. We sat at my kitchen table with a huge piece of chart paper and listed the pros and cons. Courtney was magnetic, with long blond hair and a razor-sharp sense of humor. She had quickly become the class clown and prom queen all rolled into one. Those were all pros. We'd been a team of two for a very long time, though, and that was a powerful con. Eventually we decided to invite Courtney to a sleepover, and we officially became a group of three.

I've often wondered about that day at the kitchen table. If we'd decided not to befriend Courtney, would my life have turned out differently? Would Larissa and Courtney still have become best friends, leaving me behind? And would Larissa still have turned her back on me and laughed along with the others when Courtney declared me an outcast?

“Hi, Jess!” The present and past folded over each other dizzyingly as Larissa tucked a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear and beamed at me, looking disturbingly like her second-grade self.

“Hi . . .” I reached out for my lock, only to realize a second too late that she was standing right in front of it. I let my hand drop and looked at a spot just over her left shoulder. No matter how much time passes, I still feel that same knife of betrayal in my stomach every time I see Larissa.

“I was just wondering . . . I mean, I'm having a party, and I thought you and Annie might want to come.”

I had this weird sensation that I was on one of those prank TV shows where they film you with a secret camera. “Oh! . . . Um . . . When is it?” I didn't want to go. I couldn't think of any reason why Larissa would invite me over except as some cruel joke.

“A week from Friday. It's not, like, a huge deal or anything. My parents will be there. But I thought it would be fun. I was sort of hoping we could all be friends again. You know, move on from the past?”

I forced my face to look puzzled, as though I didn't know what she was talking about. As though it had escaped my notice that she'd dumped me as a friend as soon as Courtney declared me uncool, and as though the whole Lezzie Longbottom thing had never happened. “Sure! That would be great! But Annie and I have plans that day. This totally sucks, but my parents are having this thing, and—”

“Larissa!” Annie came bounding up at the exact wrong time.

“Hi, Annie!” Larissa's smile was genuine, and I could feel things slipping away from me.

“Courtney told me all about the party!” Annie said, linking her arm through mine. “We'll be there for sure. I'm so ready for a party.”

“Jess said—”

“It's that Friday two weeks before Halloween,” I interrupted with exaggerated dismay. “We can't make it,
remember?
”

Annie wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “Why not?”

“My parents are having that
thing.
”

“Whatever,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Your mom is totally chill. She'll be fine with us going to a party instead.” Annie turned to Larissa. “Don't worry—I'll talk to Mrs. Avery. We'll be there for sure.”

On the way home from school, I tried to make a joke out of the whole misunderstanding. I wasn't ready to believe that Annie might actually
want
to go to Larissa's.

“I so cannot believe you didn't get my signals about the party.”

“What are you talking about—signals?”

“The
signals!
You know, my parents' plans . . . I was trying to give us an out.”

Annie stopped walking. “Why would we need an out?”

“You're playing with me, right? This is Larissa Riley we're talking about. The girl who's been tormenting me since middle school and has never so much as said hello to you before today. Do you actually believe anything good could come out of this invitation?”

Annie put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at me mockingly. She looked far too much like my mother at that moment. “You're paranoid,” she declared.

“You're delusional.”

Annie adjusted her backpack and started walking, not even checking to see if I was following. “I don't know why you have to be like this, Jessie,” she lectured. “You're always so damn suspicious. If you just stopped being such a pessimist, maybe you'd find that there are lots of people at school who actually want to be your friend.”

I snorted and immediately wished I could take it back. Annie just picked up her pace. I had to run to catch up to her. “I just don't understand why you would want to go to a party with a bunch of people who you yourself have called phony.”

“That was before I got to know them.”

“Since when do you know them?”

Annie stopped abruptly and I nearly crashed into her. “I keep thinking about how we've both complained that no one at school looks beyond appearances—that people just judge before they get to know anyone. That's been our biggest complaint about Courtney and her friends, right?” I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally. “Well, don't you think we've been doing the same thing? We've talked shit about Courtney and Larissa all year, laughing at their Facebook pages and making fun of them. But when you think about it, we were totally judging them without getting to know them.”

“Maybe for you, but I've known them long enough to—”

“Come on, Jess! You're judging people by things they did back in
middle
school. That's not fair!”

I wanted to tell her that what's not fair is being mocked every day. What's not fair is girls writing nasty things in your notebook when the teacher isn't looking and crank calling your house after school. What's not fair is being laughed at for everything from your weight to the clothes you wear. But Annie was looking at me like I was a stubborn child, and I could sense the futility of trying to make her understand. Annie has never been bullied. She has always belonged.

“I just think you're going to be disappointed when you find out the truth about them.”

“Then let me be disappointed. But don't be mad at me for making friends with people.”

“I'm not mad, Annie. I just don't want to go to the party.”

“And that's fine. But I
do.
Will you be upset if I go without you?”

“I guess not,” I mumbled, blinking back tears.

She grabbed my hands, her voice pleading. “We're two separate people, Jessie. It's okay that we don't do
everything
together.”

Her words were knives raked along my skin. I could hear the goodbye in every syllable. I knew the day would come when Annie would ditch me for more popular girls. It was Larissa all over again.

I pasted a smile on my face. “You're right, Annie. I'm wrong.”

She let out a yelp, her arms spread and her eyes to the sky, as though looking for divine guidance on how to deal with me. “I'm not being
mean
here, Jess. Normal people have lots of friends. They hang out with all sorts of people. You can be my
best
friend without being my
only
friend.”

I know she's right. I know I shouldn't feel threatened just because she wants other friends. But I can't help myself. I've known all along that Annie could be doing cool things with cool people instead of wasting her time with me. I can't shake the terrible feeling that this is how it will end.

I turn to the side and check out my reflection.
Disaster.

I've always had a love-hate relationship with clothes. I can't seem to find a style that's all my own, and I hate the feeling of pretending to be someone I'm not. The best I've done here is my all-black angry-teenager look—a look that pretty much summed up how I felt at the beginning of the year, when I was mourning my old life. But those clothes feel wrong now. Like they're not a reflection of
me
anymore.

Which is why I'm standing here in the only nonblack outfit I own that still fits—a rather tragic floral skirt and matching sweater. I look like something out of the preteen fashion section of a Target flyer.

I'm fighting back tears and contemplating skipping Larissa's party when Sophie materializes in my doorway. “Martin says be ready in twenty minutes.” Her eyes barely touch on me as she delivers the message.

The minute she steps out of the doorway, I realize that I need her. “Sophie?”

There's a long pause before her face reappears, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Ye-es?”

“Can you . . . help me?”

“Help you do what, exactly?”

I almost tell her to forget it. Sophie and I will never be friends, and asking her for help is downright painful. But I have to admit that Sophie has
style.

“I'm going to a party tonight, and I have no idea what to wear,” I blurt out, gesturing at my outfit and gritting my teeth against her slow smile.

“So you're finally ready to abandon your doom-and-gloom angsty look, are you? This will be fun, giving you a makeover.” She crosses her arms over her chest and cocks her head to the side. “A few questions first.”