quiet snap of the closet door shutting behind him coincided with the whoosh of my bedroom door over the carpet as Mom poked her head in the room.
“Almost ready?”
“Yeah, I’ll be down in a few.”
We were almost home-free when she stopped and turned around. Her eyes narrowed on my rumpled outfit. “Didn’t you wear that yesterday?”
“Yeah.” I laughed nervously. “Fell asleep studying. I’m not dressed, yet.”
“Well, you better hurry or you’re going to be late.”
After she was gone, I rooted through my dresser for something else to wear and heard a long, drawn out “Cluuuuuueleeeeesssss,” come from inside my closet.
I burst out laughing and had to slap a hand over my mouth to avoid drawing my mother back in.
After what was probably the fastest shower known to mankind, I threw on some random ass outfit and flew out the front door. Mom was still sitting at the kitchen table with her tablet and coffee when I left, but Dad’s car was gone. She wouldn’t be far behind us and then Elijah would be free to go. I felt a little guilty leaving him up there in my cramped closet all alone, but what choice did I really have?
***
“What happened to you?” I hadn’t even made it to my locker yet when Angie pounced, Carrie hot on her heels.
“What?”
Her eyes darted down to my outfit, which, yes, consisted of sweats I usually reserved for gym class and Saturday mornings at home and an oversized tee, but it wasn’t like wearing sweats to school was against the dress code or anything.
“I was in a rush.”
“Rylie.” Angie pulled me aside like this was some kind of private crisis intervention. “Don’t you care that people are going to see you like this?”
I got the distinct impression that she was more concerned with the fact that people were going to see me with her like that.
“Image is everything. How people see you is how they treat you. Do you really want everyone to start treating you like some kind of . . .” her gaze traveled my outfit again with a look of disgust, “hobo?”
“I don’t really give a crap what you or anyone else thinks about my damn outfit, Ang.” If this was going to be such an issue for her, I didn’t need her anyway. I was happy in my moment until she came along and ruined it.
“That’s the problem. You don’t care about anything anymore.” Carrie was the last person I expected to hop onboard the judgmental bitch train. “You haven’t been to the gym in weeks, you don’t hand in homework, you don’t participate in class, and . . .” she dropped her voice, “people are starting to talk, Ry. Your eyes are always red and you’re always hanging around with those stoner losers.”
“They’re not losers, Carrie. They’re my friends.”
“ We’re your friends!” Angie insisted.
“Not if you’re going to be such raging bitches about it.” Why had I never seen what stuck-up, conceited jerks they were before now?
“We’re not trying to be—”
“No, Car. She’s right. We’re bitches. She completely ditches us for a whole new set of ‘friends’.” Angela actually used air quotes as though the people I hung out with couldn’t possibly be considered my friends. “And we’re the bitches. Let’s go. I hope your new friends visit you when you end up in juvie. Or, hey, maybe you can share a cell.”
Angela spun on her three inch heel and tossed her perfectly cropped golden locks over her shoulder. Carrie hesitated, but in the end she followed with sad, dark eyes that came dangerously close to making me feel bad about what I’d said. Angie was a bitch. I never realized how very much like my father she was, determined to get what she wanted and uncaring of who she had to step on to get there. Bitch .
Carrie? Not so much. But she’d still chosen Angie. She was supposed to be my best friend, and instead she’d gone behind my back to judge me and my decisions. God forbid I did some things for myself for a change. Why was everyone so
“Almost ready?”
“Yeah, I’ll be down in a few.”
We were almost home-free when she stopped and turned around. Her eyes narrowed on my rumpled outfit. “Didn’t you wear that yesterday?”
“Yeah.” I laughed nervously. “Fell asleep studying. I’m not dressed, yet.”
“Well, you better hurry or you’re going to be late.”
After she was gone, I rooted through my dresser for something else to wear and heard a long, drawn out “Cluuuuuueleeeeesssss,” come from inside my closet.
I burst out laughing and had to slap a hand over my mouth to avoid drawing my mother back in.
After what was probably the fastest shower known to mankind, I threw on some random ass outfit and flew out the front door. Mom was still sitting at the kitchen table with her tablet and coffee when I left, but Dad’s car was gone. She wouldn’t be far behind us and then Elijah would be free to go. I felt a little guilty leaving him up there in my cramped closet all alone, but what choice did I really have?
***
“What happened to you?” I hadn’t even made it to my locker yet when Angie pounced, Carrie hot on her heels.
“What?”
Her eyes darted down to my outfit, which, yes, consisted of sweats I usually reserved for gym class and Saturday mornings at home and an oversized tee, but it wasn’t like wearing sweats to school was against the dress code or anything.
“I was in a rush.”
“Rylie.” Angie pulled me aside like this was some kind of private crisis intervention. “Don’t you care that people are going to see you like this?”
I got the distinct impression that she was more concerned with the fact that people were going to see me with her like that.
“Image is everything. How people see you is how they treat you. Do you really want everyone to start treating you like some kind of . . .” her gaze traveled my outfit again with a look of disgust, “hobo?”
“I don’t really give a crap what you or anyone else thinks about my damn outfit, Ang.” If this was going to be such an issue for her, I didn’t need her anyway. I was happy in my moment until she came along and ruined it.
“That’s the problem. You don’t care about anything anymore.” Carrie was the last person I expected to hop onboard the judgmental bitch train. “You haven’t been to the gym in weeks, you don’t hand in homework, you don’t participate in class, and . . .” she dropped her voice, “people are starting to talk, Ry. Your eyes are always red and you’re always hanging around with those stoner losers.”
“They’re not losers, Carrie. They’re my friends.”
“ We’re your friends!” Angie insisted.
“Not if you’re going to be such raging bitches about it.” Why had I never seen what stuck-up, conceited jerks they were before now?
“We’re not trying to be—”
“No, Car. She’s right. We’re bitches. She completely ditches us for a whole new set of ‘friends’.” Angela actually used air quotes as though the people I hung out with couldn’t possibly be considered my friends. “And we’re the bitches. Let’s go. I hope your new friends visit you when you end up in juvie. Or, hey, maybe you can share a cell.”
Angela spun on her three inch heel and tossed her perfectly cropped golden locks over her shoulder. Carrie hesitated, but in the end she followed with sad, dark eyes that came dangerously close to making me feel bad about what I’d said. Angie was a bitch. I never realized how very much like my father she was, determined to get what she wanted and uncaring of who she had to step on to get there. Bitch .
Carrie? Not so much. But she’d still chosen Angie. She was supposed to be my best friend, and instead she’d gone behind my back to judge me and my decisions. God forbid I did some things for myself for a change. Why was everyone so
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