Unfriended (19 page)

BROOKE

WE MET UP
at the wall before school to figure out what to do next. Lulu was scared the principal might get involved, because pretty much the whole school was buzzing about Truly and what had she done and whether everybody should hate her. Rumors were flying that she was a flirt, a fake, a teachers' pet, a liar, and a slut.

She had stopped responding to what people were posting about her online, stopped even untagging herself. I thought that was probably the wise thing. Natasha thought it was practically an admission that it was all true. “Wouldn't you say no, otherwise?” she asked.

We weren't sure.

“Maybe her parents took away her computer,” I said. “As a punishment or to protect her. You said they're really strict.”

“They are,” Natasha agreed.

“I thought it was all mostly just kidding around,” Evangeline said. “When did it shift into this mess?”

I looked away from my friends toward the traffic circle. Hazel was getting out of the backseat of a big shiny black car. She slammed the door shut behind her and didn't say good-bye to whoever was driving her. With her head tipped down toward her pile of books, she skulked toward the front door of school, which was a straight line past us. Her hair was dyed blue now, and she had a ring on every single finger, including thumbs.

I reached out and poked Hazel in the back. When she turned around, I crossed my eyes at her, like I had in the selfie I'd sent her. “Hey,” I said. “That would be fun.”

“What would?”

I could feel Natasha beside me, her hands on her hips, scowling. “What you said,” I told Hazel. “Hang out without death or funerals, sometime.”

“
Would
it be fun, though?” Hazel asked. “Really?”

“Good point.” I laughed. “How about
minimal
death and funerals?”

She smiled. I think it was the first time I've seen her fully smile. Her face actually lit up. I grabbed my bag. “Come on,” I said to Hazel. She tilted her head sideways at me, like she was weighing the offer, and then sighed. We walked into the building together.

“You're way weirder than anybody gives you credit for,” Hazel said to me as we got to the door. “Including yourself.”

“You're probably right,” I said. “I need to own it.”

“Takes courage,” Hazel said.

“Oh, no,” I said. “Courage? Forget it.” We were passing my locker but I kept walking with her toward the creepy C stairway, where her locker is.

“Speaking of which,” Hazel said. “Did you see the stuff online about Truly?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Hard to know what to think.”

“She's actually really nice,” Hazel said.

“Didn't she basically dump you to be friends with me?” I had to ask.

“She did,” Hazel said. “That stung.”

“But you're defending her?”

“I've discovered some things about people,” Hazel said. “Some difficult truths. My grandmother is dying.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” I said.

“Whoops, we were going for less death,” Hazel said. “Whoops.”

I laughed a little, but then apologized again.

“No, it's fine,” she said and flashed a small smile. “My point was, although I love her, my grandmother is a loathsome woman.”

“Oh.” None of my friends would ever use the word
loathsome.

“I can see her flaws, I've realized, and yet have some compassion for her nevertheless.”

I nodded. “And, same with Truly?”

“Yes. More, in fact.” We stopped walking. Hazel leaned against a locker at the end of the row. “She said a weird thing the other night. Not Truly. My horrid Grandee. In between criticizing nurses and torturing other patients, she told me she wanted to give me some advice.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Exactly. She said I should always try to act a little nicer than I feel.”

I nodded.

“Good advice, right?”

“Yeah, actually,” I said. “It is.”

“Of course when I asked Grandee why she didn't follow her own advice, she insisted she did. Which means I guess she feels even
less
nice than she acts. Which is almost impressive.”

I laughed. “She sounds awesome.”

“They'll all say
kids these days,
you know.”

“Who?”

“The parents, teachers, all of them. The principal.”

“When your, sorry, when your grandmother dies?”

“No,” she said. “Actually I suspect she'll live forever, out of spite.”

“Oh.”

“I mean about the online bullying of Truly. Also of Natasha.”

She unlocked her lock with the tiny key on her shoelace necklace.

“They'll all be like, ‘Kids should stop texting and being online. Get them off this horrible site or the other horrible site and everything will be fine.'”

“‘They should go outside and play,'” I agreed. “‘Wholesome stuff, like when we were kids and everything was good!'”

“Exactly.” Hazel dumped all her books into her locker. “But it's not about the social media. It's us. We all suck.”

“We do,” I agreed.

“My grandmother is a bully about how my mother dresses. My mom is a bully about how my father chews. My dad is impossible about my hair. We didn't invent it. Is my point.”

Over at our lockers, my friends were shooting me quizzical looks. What was I doing by C stairs?

“I just thought maybe we were better than that,” Hazel said.

“Better than . . . ?”

“Than being nasty to each other about nothing nonsense, just from habit. Or boredom.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“Testing our power,” Hazel said. “We think we're being righteous, but . . .”

“Exactly!” I said. “You try to do the right thing, but maybe you end up making the situation worse.”

“You didn't,” Hazel said. “It's not your fault, what happened after you kicked Natasha out of your lunch table. You were right to do it. That e-mail she sent Truly was cruel.”

“How . . . wait, how did you know . . .”

“I'd rather not say for now, if you don't mind,” she said. “I'll tell you eventually, I swear on Sweet Pea's memory. But for today let's just say a lot of this is my fault.”

“Yours?” I asked. “No way. You're completely an innocent bystander, here.”

“No,” she said. “Far from. But, if I could ask one favor of you?”

“Sure,” I said. “What do you need?” My mind was spinning.

“Get everybody to ease up on Truly. She doesn't deserve the pummeling she's getting. Well, nobody does. Probably not even Natasha, though I'd steer clear of her for sure. But the rumors about Truly flirting with the boys? Including Clay? All lies. I swear. And she never posted one mean thing about Natasha.”

I nodded. “I believe you. I'm not sure what I can do, but—”

“Golda Meir once said, ‘Don't be humble; you're not that great.'”

“I like that.”

“You have power around here, Brooke. Don't deny it. You can tip the dynamic a little toward kindness.”

“Follow your grandmother's advice?”

She nodded. “Especially if you wear a scarf.”

What?
“Um, okay.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean, I'll try.”

“I know.”

“Hey, Hazel?”

“Yes?”

“Did Sweet Pea ever come to you in a dream, to fly?”

“Not yet,” Hazel said, flashing that full-face-illuminating smile again, for a millisecond. “But hope, like my grandmother, springs eternal.”

CLAY

I WALKED OUT
of math first period hating myself. I had done all the homework, for real. I didn't look up the answers until after, and then worked through why I got them wrong until I understood them. In a movie of my life, I'd rock the quiz today, right? After the montage of me sitting at the kitchen counter and at my desk, on my bed, on my floor, frigging wrestling algebra to the mat? I wasn't distracted by the Internet even once. It's true. My parents made sure of that. But still, I didn't give up. I didn't decide,
Screw them, if they think taking away my stuff will make me get better grades I'll show them the opposite is true
. Well, I considered that. But I went the other way. I worked my butt off. But still when I turned over the paper on my desk for the math test this morning? Bzzz. None of it looked even familiar. Thanks for playing.

So I wasn't looking where I was going, is why I almost bumped into Brooke. She grabbed me by the sweatshirt sleeve and dragged me toward the C stairwell. “What's wrong?” I asked her. “Besides basically every answer I just . . .”

She was yanking me up the stairs toward the locked door of the third floor, where we're completely not allowed to go.

“Hey,” I said. “You okay?” She was breathing fast, her chest going up and down. I forced my eyes away because I didn't want to be a goon, but man, it was not easy because, seriously, she was making me feel all kinds of weird.

“What's
up?”
I asked.

“Did you . . .” Brooke leaned against the wall. “Have you seen Truly?”

“Sure,” I said. “Wasn't she in math just now?”

“Yes. Did you see how pale she looked, and, like, haunted? Everybody needs to take a step back, don't you think? Ease up on her? Stop spreading lies about her?”

“Jack told me about that,” I said. “He said it was all lies, too.”

“I know it is,” she said. “Are you not online at all?”

“They took away my phone,” I admitted. So humiliating. “And my computer.”

“So you weren't texting with Truly last night?”

“I've never texted with her in my life!”

“So then what were—”

“You don't have to believe me, but I totally studied last night. I did. And then, well, I don't see how I could get above a fifty on that quiz. And that's if she gives
show your work
credit and likes the little extra where I wrote down the definition of algebra. Do you know what
algebra
means?”

“I don't care,” Brooke said.

“Me neither. Davidson hates me. And I'm obviously an idiot, no matter how much I study. After this, my parents are gonna take away my, I don't know. Bed. Pants. Arm.”

She shook her head. “You should ask your dad to go for a run with you.”

“Right. For company? How much of a loser am I? He doesn't even run—”

“A fever,” she said. “I know. But, like, you could say, here's something easy for me, but it's hard for you. And then you could be like, studying for me is like running for you. It doesn't come easy. I'm trying but it's hard. And then maybe he'll get it.”

I couldn't say anything. I just stood there, where we weren't allowed to be, and if we got caught we'd be suspended. I'd get drop-kicked out of my family for sure if that happened. But there was not one spot on earth I wanted to be instead of right there in the pee-stinking dark C Stairwell landing, with Brooke. She got it. She got
me.
Not that I'd be asking my dad to come run with me anytime soon, though the image of that was hilarious. Just, yeah. How does she just
know
 . . . but she was still talking and I'd lost track again.

“It started out like normal stuff, joking around,” Brooke was whispering. “And then it got bad, fast. Really bad. And the thing is, I think it's actually at least partly my fault.”

“Your fault?”

Brooke nodded. “Despite what Hazel just said, which was so confusing, because . . .”

As she talked a voice inside my head was grunting,
Grab her grab her.
Which was completely weird and inappropriate. I was like,
Shut up stupid caveman grunty voice! What would I even do if I grabbed her? Like, knock her down? Hug her?
The voice ignored me and just kept grunting,
Grab her grab her!

So meanwhile I was forgetting to pay attention to what my very upset best friend who never gets upset about anything was saying at all.

“. . . was the right thing to do, but maybe it wasn't,” she finished.

“So wait,” I said, trying to focus. “What exactly did you do wrong?”

“I was trying to shut down the Drama, and I think I made it worse. Clay . . .”

“What? I was listening!”

“Do you think I'm . . . weird?”

“Deeply,” I said.

She stared at me. I thought maybe she was going to punch me. But instead she put her hands on my waist. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Then she pulled me close and kissed me full on the mouth.

What?!

Her lips were so soft. I took my hands out of my sweatshirt pockets where they'd been lodged like a couple of rocks between us and circled Brooke's back with my arms. Pulled her closer. Kept kissing.

I guess she's the one who pulled away because I seriously would've stayed there kissing her until spring, without coming up for air or even a sandwich.

“Wow,” I said.

“I don't know if you like me, that way,” she said. “And we're friends, which I don't want to wreck, but I, the thing is?”

“Brooke . . .”

“I like you,” she said. “Like,
that way
. So. There it is. And, so, whatever. I'm owning it. You can say no. Of course. And we'll just, that's fine. It'll be weird and then it won't or maybe it'll always—”

“Brooke,” I interrupted.

“What?”

“I do like you. I've . . . yeah. Me, too.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay, then.”

We didn't know what to do then, either of us, so we just stood there awkwardly until finally I said, “We should, um . . .”

“Yeah,” she said. So we started down the stairs. We were late for social studies and of course my math problems were still a bunch of broken parts, unreunioned. But my fingers brushed against Brooke's as we rushed down the steps, so for at least that one second, maybe a bunch more, everything felt really incredibly okay about my entire . . . situation.