wearing orange, holding up a white sign with some numbers scribbled on it, and a deranged twinkle resides in her eyes. Oh gosh,
blue
eyes. Like mine.
I close mine tight. Tears threaten the edges with a burning touch, but I fight them back.
“Shut it off,” I plead. “Shut it off!”
Turcott shoves me and presses his phone against my cheek so the voice comes through even louder. I fidget, not daring to move, but hardly able to keep still. It doesn’t make sense how the news possibly found out, or why they’re bringing it up now. I want to morph and become the cinderblock. To slink under the floors and hide.
“Marian Crenshaw is secure in Shady Heights’ Penitentiary. She appears to be unrelated to her husband’s stroke. Stunning new evidence shows that Nolan—”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Todd’s voice comes over Turcott’s shoulder, and before I know it my space is my own again and Turcott gets shoved into Virgil.
I take long, slow breaths and shake my hands, trying to release tension. It doesn’t work. Hurt, frustration, and shame build up inside of me like pressure in an aerosol can. No doubt it’s all over Facebook and Quizper by now. I don’t even want to see how many notifications I have this time.
“You think I want your pizza-faced girlfriend?” Turcott says. Like I need that now, too. I hate acne.
I sink against the lockers. Judging by the glares being slung at me, the whole school knows. My life is over. And my audition—what’s the point?
Todd hands me my backpack, his brow compressed with something like pity. Wet hair twists around his ears, and he smells like soap. “You okay?”
His tender tone stings. I nod, but I won’t look at him. Just at his battered DC’s.
“Hey,” Todd says, drawing me to his side. Oddly enough, his welcome embrace doesn’t comfort me. “Don’t listen to whatever that loser said to you. People don’t know the real you.”
I scuff a trembling hand across my cheek. “They will now.”
“What?” He pulls away so he can see my face.
I press my lids closed. I’ve never said the words to another soul before. Sure, he already knows because his mom asked a lot of questions when we first moved in next door. But we’ve never really talked about it.
“He’s such a jerk,” I say instead.
“Let him be,” Todd says, puffing back up again. “I could kick his butt any day of the week.”
He spools me into a hug, but I push away. It doesn’t fix the fact that the whole school knows my mom killed someone. I swallow a lump in my throat and try to avoid the crowd of cheerleaders whose glowers remain on me as they pass.
“I’m ready to tell you. What you wanted to know,” I say. I take a minute to inhale his scent, mingled with the perfume and BO in the hall. I should have told him about my house—about the ghost, and the bloodstain—sooner. I should have texted him or something right after it happened.
“Your room?” he asks. “And the floor thing? It’s got to be that. I already know you watched Barney as a kid, Pipes.”
I let out a weak chuckle, but the reminder of our long friendship only makes me feel worse.
“Out with it, or I’m gonna be late to Spanish.”
I don’t get why he’s not jumping down my throat about it anymore. “Why aren’t you more upset?”
“I figured Joel was pretty pissed after he caught us,” Todd says with a shrug. “And I’m sure you’re worried about the au-dish today. You said you’d tell me. I’m going with that.”
I sniff, but close up inside as the bell rings. Lockers slam, kids shout and yell over the uproar. Todd bobs his head, an indication that he wants to hear it, but doesn’t want to be late to class either. This isn’t something that can be rushed. I have to figure out how to even say what I need to say.
Todd’s finger tilts my face up to him. My stomach flutters at his fingertips on my cheek. “If it’s about your mom,” he says, lowering his hand. “It
blue
eyes. Like mine.
I close mine tight. Tears threaten the edges with a burning touch, but I fight them back.
“Shut it off,” I plead. “Shut it off!”
Turcott shoves me and presses his phone against my cheek so the voice comes through even louder. I fidget, not daring to move, but hardly able to keep still. It doesn’t make sense how the news possibly found out, or why they’re bringing it up now. I want to morph and become the cinderblock. To slink under the floors and hide.
“Marian Crenshaw is secure in Shady Heights’ Penitentiary. She appears to be unrelated to her husband’s stroke. Stunning new evidence shows that Nolan—”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Todd’s voice comes over Turcott’s shoulder, and before I know it my space is my own again and Turcott gets shoved into Virgil.
I take long, slow breaths and shake my hands, trying to release tension. It doesn’t work. Hurt, frustration, and shame build up inside of me like pressure in an aerosol can. No doubt it’s all over Facebook and Quizper by now. I don’t even want to see how many notifications I have this time.
“You think I want your pizza-faced girlfriend?” Turcott says. Like I need that now, too. I hate acne.
I sink against the lockers. Judging by the glares being slung at me, the whole school knows. My life is over. And my audition—what’s the point?
Todd hands me my backpack, his brow compressed with something like pity. Wet hair twists around his ears, and he smells like soap. “You okay?”
His tender tone stings. I nod, but I won’t look at him. Just at his battered DC’s.
“Hey,” Todd says, drawing me to his side. Oddly enough, his welcome embrace doesn’t comfort me. “Don’t listen to whatever that loser said to you. People don’t know the real you.”
I scuff a trembling hand across my cheek. “They will now.”
“What?” He pulls away so he can see my face.
I press my lids closed. I’ve never said the words to another soul before. Sure, he already knows because his mom asked a lot of questions when we first moved in next door. But we’ve never really talked about it.
“He’s such a jerk,” I say instead.
“Let him be,” Todd says, puffing back up again. “I could kick his butt any day of the week.”
He spools me into a hug, but I push away. It doesn’t fix the fact that the whole school knows my mom killed someone. I swallow a lump in my throat and try to avoid the crowd of cheerleaders whose glowers remain on me as they pass.
“I’m ready to tell you. What you wanted to know,” I say. I take a minute to inhale his scent, mingled with the perfume and BO in the hall. I should have told him about my house—about the ghost, and the bloodstain—sooner. I should have texted him or something right after it happened.
“Your room?” he asks. “And the floor thing? It’s got to be that. I already know you watched Barney as a kid, Pipes.”
I let out a weak chuckle, but the reminder of our long friendship only makes me feel worse.
“Out with it, or I’m gonna be late to Spanish.”
I don’t get why he’s not jumping down my throat about it anymore. “Why aren’t you more upset?”
“I figured Joel was pretty pissed after he caught us,” Todd says with a shrug. “And I’m sure you’re worried about the au-dish today. You said you’d tell me. I’m going with that.”
I sniff, but close up inside as the bell rings. Lockers slam, kids shout and yell over the uproar. Todd bobs his head, an indication that he wants to hear it, but doesn’t want to be late to class either. This isn’t something that can be rushed. I have to figure out how to even say what I need to say.
Todd’s finger tilts my face up to him. My stomach flutters at his fingertips on my cheek. “If it’s about your mom,” he says, lowering his hand. “It
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