neighborhood and they’re on scholarships. I just don’t get it. The other girls didn’t do anything to anyone. They’re just not rich.”
Her phone rang. She scowled at it and stood up to leave the room. “Hang on. I need to take this call, okay, honey?”
“Fine. Whatever.” I made sure she could see that I was pissy. This was starting to become a theme; she was always busy lately. And I really needed to talk to her just now. Why couldn’t she just let it go to voice mail?
“I’ll be right back. I promise.”
I wasn’t going to wait around. I went into my room and tried to focus on my reading for Comp, but I was allballed up inside with rage and sadness and confusion.
A few minutes later, she knocked on my door. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I said in exaggerated monotone.
“Don’t be mad at me, Willa. I’m sorry we got interrupted. It was—business.” She sat down on the edge of my bed and twisted her hands together. Now that I could see her closer I noticed that her sweatshirt was loose. Had she lost weight? And her skin looked dry and dull. Perhaps she was still adjusting to the Arizona climate. “So about these girls. Maybe you’re being too sensitive. Maybe it was just a joke?”
“I’m not,” I insisted. “And it wasn’t.”
“Well, maybe you should try to stick up for them, then. Tell the bullies that you won’t stand by and watch,” she suggested.
“It’s so much more complicated than that, Mom. I can’t just tell them not to do it.” She was trying to help, I got that—but I was frustrated by her simple answers.
“Why not? I saw a thing about this on TV and they said that bullying usually happens because everyone else just stands around and watches. It’s the bystanders that have to speak up.”
“This isn’t some Dateline special. Just forget it.” She might have been younger and cooler than most other mothers of kids my age, but she still sometimes acted like a clueless middle-aged adult. I was starting to regret that I’d brought it up with her at all. What could shepossibly say that would make the situation any easier? Nothing.
Time to change the subject. “Who was on the phone, anyway?” I asked. “Was that your art dealer?”
“Who? Just now? Yeah, he just wanted to touch base about another sale,” she said, chewing on her thumbnail.
“So that’s good news, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” she said absently. Then she picked up the shopping bags I’d dropped in front of my closet. “What’s all this? Did you go shopping again today?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. Lately I’d been stowing bags away so she couldn’t see them, but there was really no point in trying to hide it from her anymore. She’d see me wearing the clothes eventually. And maybe she’d already noticed the emptying safe.
I looked at the bag and thought of the new purchases inside it. The memory of the afternoon came flooding back, a sickening tint shading everything that had originally seemed fun and innocent. So this was what guilt by association felt like.
She looked at me with concern. “It’s a little much, Willa, isn’t it?”
Yes. It was. I could see that now.
The senior bonfire at Valley Prep was supposedly a tradition that dated from the school’s founding in 1952. Valley Prep was full of traditions that harkened back to a time when you could only get into this school if youhad a trust fund and your dad’s name was Biff. That was before they let people like Sierra and Mary and Alicia in.
It was them I thought of the day after I found out the truth about Nikki and Kellie. I was considering skipping the bonfire altogether. I didn’t want to spend another night partying while they were being tormented and laughed at. If that was what the Glitterati were about, I wasn’t going to be a part of it.
All afternoon and evening I’d stalled and stalled, taking a shower, painting my toenails, and brooding while looking out the window in my bedroom. But then there was Cherise to
Her phone rang. She scowled at it and stood up to leave the room. “Hang on. I need to take this call, okay, honey?”
“Fine. Whatever.” I made sure she could see that I was pissy. This was starting to become a theme; she was always busy lately. And I really needed to talk to her just now. Why couldn’t she just let it go to voice mail?
“I’ll be right back. I promise.”
I wasn’t going to wait around. I went into my room and tried to focus on my reading for Comp, but I was allballed up inside with rage and sadness and confusion.
A few minutes later, she knocked on my door. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I said in exaggerated monotone.
“Don’t be mad at me, Willa. I’m sorry we got interrupted. It was—business.” She sat down on the edge of my bed and twisted her hands together. Now that I could see her closer I noticed that her sweatshirt was loose. Had she lost weight? And her skin looked dry and dull. Perhaps she was still adjusting to the Arizona climate. “So about these girls. Maybe you’re being too sensitive. Maybe it was just a joke?”
“I’m not,” I insisted. “And it wasn’t.”
“Well, maybe you should try to stick up for them, then. Tell the bullies that you won’t stand by and watch,” she suggested.
“It’s so much more complicated than that, Mom. I can’t just tell them not to do it.” She was trying to help, I got that—but I was frustrated by her simple answers.
“Why not? I saw a thing about this on TV and they said that bullying usually happens because everyone else just stands around and watches. It’s the bystanders that have to speak up.”
“This isn’t some Dateline special. Just forget it.” She might have been younger and cooler than most other mothers of kids my age, but she still sometimes acted like a clueless middle-aged adult. I was starting to regret that I’d brought it up with her at all. What could shepossibly say that would make the situation any easier? Nothing.
Time to change the subject. “Who was on the phone, anyway?” I asked. “Was that your art dealer?”
“Who? Just now? Yeah, he just wanted to touch base about another sale,” she said, chewing on her thumbnail.
“So that’s good news, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” she said absently. Then she picked up the shopping bags I’d dropped in front of my closet. “What’s all this? Did you go shopping again today?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. Lately I’d been stowing bags away so she couldn’t see them, but there was really no point in trying to hide it from her anymore. She’d see me wearing the clothes eventually. And maybe she’d already noticed the emptying safe.
I looked at the bag and thought of the new purchases inside it. The memory of the afternoon came flooding back, a sickening tint shading everything that had originally seemed fun and innocent. So this was what guilt by association felt like.
She looked at me with concern. “It’s a little much, Willa, isn’t it?”
Yes. It was. I could see that now.
The senior bonfire at Valley Prep was supposedly a tradition that dated from the school’s founding in 1952. Valley Prep was full of traditions that harkened back to a time when you could only get into this school if youhad a trust fund and your dad’s name was Biff. That was before they let people like Sierra and Mary and Alicia in.
It was them I thought of the day after I found out the truth about Nikki and Kellie. I was considering skipping the bonfire altogether. I didn’t want to spend another night partying while they were being tormented and laughed at. If that was what the Glitterati were about, I wasn’t going to be a part of it.
All afternoon and evening I’d stalled and stalled, taking a shower, painting my toenails, and brooding while looking out the window in my bedroom. But then there was Cherise to
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