Of All the Stupid Things (19 page)

I wrap my arms around my waist. Short puffs of breath cloud in front of my face. She wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t. But I can’t think of any other reason for Whitney Blaire to be at the gym.

Whitney Blaire

I SEE THEM WHIPPING AROUND A CORNER IN HER convertible. It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a polar bear, and still they’re driving with the top down. The evil munchkin tramp is laughing and Tara looks like she’s having the time of her life. Happier than I’ve seen her in a very long time.

I take a big spoon of sugar-free Rocky Road and swallow it. The coldness rushes up my head as a nut scratches my throat. I choke. David turns around and slaps my back a couple times.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” I take another spoonful and this time savor it. “It’s just brain freeze.”

“We can go inside if you’re cold.”

I glance at the parking lot. I see a blonde head and a black head. In a few seconds, they’ll probably see us. I link an arm around David’s and lead him away.

“Nah, it’s part of the fun.” And then to prove it I take another bite and put on a brain-freeze face.

David does the same and I laugh.

That’s when I realize they’re watching us. I don’t look, but I can feel Riley’s laser eyes trying to burn a hole in my back. I act like I don’t know they’re watching. In fact I pretend I’m suddenly the one having the time of my life.

I let out an evil laugh.

David raises his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. But I say it with a smile.

David catches on. “Oh, go on, tell me.”

“No, it’s mean.” I stall.

“So?”

I look around quickly for something to make up on the spot. I lower my voice and use my chin to point at a few guys in front of us. “See them over there? Don’t you think the one in the blue looks a bit like a Pokémon? With that cheesy grin and his hair sticking up like two ears?”

David snorts. “Nah, Pikachu is much cooler looking.”

I force out a laugh. I can still feel the evil munchkin tramp staring at me. Part of me wants to turn around and give her the finger, but that makes her win all over again. I pretend to look at some guy’s snot-nosed kid, just so that she won’t know that I know she’s watching me. I haven’t forgotten our catfight, and I’d give anything to find someone that will rip that horrible hair right out of her skull like she did to me. She’s won too many times. She’s already taken my best friend away. I figured that out when I saw them drive off together that day at the gym.

“Whitney?”

I blink a couple times and realize David is looking at me. I have no idea what either of us said last. I smile at him, pretending to be half embarrassed.

“Wait, what were we talking about?”

He gives me a playful push and goes on talking. I laugh. I pretend everything is okay. I pretend that we haven’t lost Tara to the dark side.

Pinkie

TARA IS DRIFTING AWAY. SHE’S NOT TAKING RIDES WITH me to school. I think she’s avoiding us, but when I ask her about it, she pats me on the back and says no. She says she’s busy with her training and since Riley is an athlete she can relate to her more at the moment. But Tara has always been an athlete, and that never stopped her from hanging out with us. I almost wish she was still with Brent, because even then, she still found time to be with her friends.

I call out to her between classes. “Tara, wait up.”

She stops and waits for me. We walk to our next class together. She doesn’t say anything, so I feed her the line I’ve been practicing. “So you know it’s Angela’s birthday in a couple days, and she decided, crazy I know, that she wants to try water polo this winter, so I was thinking of getting her some equipment and stuff, you know like a mallet or whatever—”

Tara laughs. “You really don’t know anything about water polo, do you?”

She’s right, I don’t, but I use it to my advantage. “You see? I don’t even know where to start. So I thought maybe you can help me. Pick out the things Angela might need.”

Tara, still amused, nods. “Well, there’s no mallet in water polo, that’s for sure—but we can look at some balls or caps. So when do you want to go?”

“Whitney Blaire has detention today, so what about tomorrow?” I answer quickly.

Tara frowns. “I’m busy tomorrow. Why not today? Just because we’re going shopping doesn’t mean
she
has to join us. It’s not like
she’ll
buy anything at the sporting goods store.”

I look at Tara before I speak. It isn’t like her to be so mean, but I let it slide for now. “Of course she doesn’t have to join us, but it’ll be nice if she does. Remember the last time we went to the sports store and we started playing on the yoga balls, but I kept falling off?” I chuckle, although at the time I had been very embarrassed. Tara doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Look, if you want my help, I’m free today. If not, then you two can go by yourselves any other time. Ask for Billy—he’ll help you.”

Tara heads to the classroom. What have I done wrong? Is it something I’ve said, because for Tara to act this way is just not right. I take hold of her arm and pull her aside.

“What’s going on? Are you and Whitney Blaire fighting again?” I’ve asked a version of that question many times in the ten years we’ve been friends. Usually Whitney Blaire says something without thinking and Tara, who really is more sensitive than she likes to pretend, gets upset and doesn’t speak to Whitney Blaire for a few days. When I’ve asked the question before, Tara has always said she was fine and then kept quiet. This time she doesn’t.

“Took you long enough to figure it out, didn’t it?”

I’m speechless for half a second. “But Tara, what happened?”

Tara walks into the room without saying a word. Now that is more typical Tara behavior.

For the first time in my life, I write and pass a note during class. It’s just while we’re watching a Spanish cartoon, but it’ll be hard to explain if I get caught.
What’s going on between you and Tara?
I send it to Whitney Blaire. She scribbles a response that I get back a few seconds later.
beats me. i thnk tht bch hs blakmald hr. wnts da hol wold on hr syd.
I sigh. I should know by now that Whitney Blaire’s grudges don’t disappear quickly. I write back:
Are you sure you didn’t say or do anything that she might have taken the wrong way?

Ms. Ramirez gives us a suspicious look, but Whitney Blaire smiles innocently as she writes the note. In the darkroom, Ms. Ramirez doesn’t notice when Whitney Blaire passes the note under the desk to the person in front. Meanwhile, I’m sweating bullets thinking that Whitney Blaire is about to get her second detention of the day. (The first one was for writing crude stuff on the boys’ bathroom wall about Riley. I didn’t see it, but I’m sure it involved leaving Riley’s number and address.)

The note gets to me a few seconds later. Ms. Ramirez doesn’t even look my way. Whitney Blaire once said that I could get away with murder because no one would suspect the “model” student. I’m not so sure about being a model student anymore. After all, I’ve snuck out of school to go to an amusement park (though that wasn’t why I snuck out), I’m practically dating a teacher (if he ever calls me), and now I’ve started passing notes in class. I read Whitney Blaire’s new note:
lnch. w’ll gt hr B4 she sits wth da bch
. I crumple the note and wonder if that is the best way to find out why Tara is avoiding us.

I look over at Tara. She seems fine; she’s laughing at the cartoon (she doesn’t have a TV at home so whenever she sees a show she’s glued). Maybe there isn’t anything wrong. Maybe I’m just overreacting again. Or more likely still overreacting. Maybe Tara is just having bad PMS. Maybe she’s not as over Brent as she pretends she is.

Tara is walking and laughing with Riley when I spot her heading to the cafeteria. They don’t have any classes with each other, so I’m surprised that they’re already walking together.

I take a deep breath. “Tara, can we talk, please?”

Tara’s shoulders drop and she has this expression that says “go on.”

I look over at Riley. I try to send her a message that I want a moment alone with Tara. Riley doesn’t receive the hint. I turn back to Tara and pretend Riley isn’t there.

“Please, Tara, tell me what’s going on? Was it something I did? Or Whitney Blaire? Please, because whatever it is, I’m sure we didn’t mean it and are really sorry. Tell me why you don’t like us anymore.”

Tara growls. “It’s not you, but why don’t you ask
her
?”

I look behind me. There is Whitney Blaire with her arms crossed. “Ask me what?”

Tara steps forward. “Where were you two weeks ago last Friday?”

“Two weeks ago? I was here. At school. What are you getting at?” Whitney Blaire asks.

“Where did you go after school?” Tara specifies.

“Two weeks ago last Friday we were going to have our girls’ night,” I step in. “But you didn’t make it, Tara.” But we all know that wasn’t the only thing that happened that day. It was also the day Tara caught Brent in the car with someone else. At least, Tara and I knew that’s what happened that day. I don’t know about Whitney Blaire. She’s not good with dates, but I can’t say anything at the moment.

“But before going to Pinkie’s, you were at my gym. Weren’t you?”

For a second I think Tara is going to shove Whitney Blaire in the chest like they do in the movies. Instead she just gets really close.

Whitney Blaire is the tallest of us, and with her heels, she towers over Tara. But Tara is the strongest girl I know.

“Girls, what do you say?” I put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Frozen yogurt for everyone? My treat?”

They both push my hand away. I look over at Riley, but she doesn’t say or do anything. If they start fighting, I can’t do anything; I don’t have a drink in my bag. I wish David were here, but he didn’t come to school today.

“
Your
gym?” Whitney Blaire points a finger. “If it wasn’t for
my
father, defending the developer in court,
your
gym wouldn’t even be there.”

Tara shifts a bit closer. Even though she has to look up to meet Whitney Blaire’s eyes, she’s the one that looks more intimidating. Tara always keeps things under control, but right now, I have never seen her so angry. “I don’t know why I even bothered rescuing you from that tree. You’re so spoiled, I bet you only did it for attention,” Tara says.

“Shut up,” Whitney Blaire huffs.

“Girls, please,” I plead, but they don’t listen.

Tara gets an inch from Whitney Blaire and hisses, “Get out of my face. Go run back to Brent.”

Whitney Blaire turns red with confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I forgot that with your IQ things need to be spelled out.”

I gasp. “Tara!”

“Screw you!” Whitney Blaire says. For a second I think she’s talking to me, but then I realize she doesn’t even know I’m there. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know anything about me and you certainly don’t know anything about your little backstabbing friend. She’s the one you should be mad at.”