Little Black Lies by Tish Cohen Page B

of Mandy coming in a week and a half should thrill me. It really should.
    â€œSara?”
    Just then I smell smoke. The cigarette has rolled off the windowsill onto the carpet, and a fiery hole is spreading next to my desk. “Gotta go.” I snatch up the burning cigarette and stomp on the smoking carpet with the sturdy sole of my black shoe.
    Two bedroom fires in a week. I don’t even recognize my life anymore.

chapter 12
the crowned princess of calculus
    The following Monday, I plop down behind Carling in math class. Just as I do, she crosses her legs and I can see the edge of her underwear. They definitely aren’t Sunday’s; this pair is blue. And I’d bet my mother’s sweater they aren’t Friday’s, since today is Friday and conforming doesn’t seem to be Carling Burnack’s thing.
    Is it pathetic to admit how badly I want to know what day of the week she’s chosen today? It’s not that I’m pervy. I’m just still baffled by the Sunday-on-Tuesday incident and want to know if she has a system or if her choice is random. Because I would totally have a system.
    As I dig for a pen at the bottom of my backpack, there’s a commotion to my left. A bunch of kids are huddled over Griff, who is holding up his iPhone for all to see. If I lean forward, I can peek past his shoulder to get a glimpse of Poppy’s video for film class, which Griff took the liberty of secretly filming with his phone. I move close enough to see the tiny screen—it’s a long shot of a female Ant from behind. She’s in uniform, walking around the Store to the ominous music from the movie Jaws . Her face is never fully visible, but it’s pretty obvious from the floaty hair and skinny calves that it’s Isabella, and she’s uncharacteristically feeding from a bag of Doritos.
    Isabella stuffs a handful of chips in her mouth and the camera zooms in to catch her chewing. The kids in class roar with laughter when the word Reduce flashes on the screen and fades.
    â€œIzzers, I’ve never actually seen you eat,” squeals Carling.
    â€œGive me that!” Pouting, Isabella grabs for the phone but Griff pulls it away, laughing.
    â€œYou’ve got some wicked appetite.” Griff grins wide and I wonder if he has all his adult teeth yet. He wipes his dripping nose with his sleeve. “It’s making me hot.”
    â€œShut up, you sicko perv. You’re a miniature freak of nature.”
    Poppy walks into the room, sees what’s going on, and right away her face crumples. “That film’s copyrighted, Hogan! You can’t just air my work.”
    â€œI’m so gonna be your manager one day,” he says.
    Isabella says, “You aren’t allowed to just film me without my permission, Poppy! That’s not even legal.”
    Someone says, “Like that’s ever stopped her.”
    Poppy drops into the seat beside me, her breath coming in torrid little puffs. “Mr. Curtis is going to confiscate your phone if he sees it.”
    Sloane asks, “What day was this filmed, Izz? And why didn’t you share?”
    Video Isabella continues, picking up textbooks with greasy orange fingers. Everyone groans, deliciously disgusted, when Isabella turns to see if anyone is watching, then wipes her oily digits on the arm of a white shirt hanging on a rack. Seconds later, an unknowing younger girl takes the shirt, holds it up, and admires herself in a mirror. She doesn’t notice the orange streaks on the sleeve. The word Reuse pops up. Fades.
    â€œThat’s Griff’s big sister!” says a guy. “She’s tainted now.”
    â€œCome on,” says Sloane. “She lives with Griff. You think she’s not tainted already?”
    â€œIzz, this is so gross!” Carling says, laughing so hard she can barely get the words out.
    â€œI’m going to get you, Poppy,” says Isabella.
    Poppy squints at her.