stronger than before.
“See you, Cassie!”
Cassie. I hate that nickname, and I always have. It sounds like a brain-damaged cow’s name. A flash of daring, and I speak up. “Cass,” I say.
“What?” Britney raises an eyebrow. The mechanical girls turn as one, their faces blank, waiting for their cue.
I clear my throat. “Cass. I like to be called Cass.”
Her eyes grow round with surprise, and then she turns slowly to Annika. They burst out laughing, and the whole group follows suit. “Byyyyye, Cassieeeeee!” They all say the hated name in unison and then dissolve into giggles. It stings, a burning shame on my cheeks, but I keep my head up.
“Cass?” Everyone stops laughing and looks at the source of the voice behind me. I turn around slowly. Drew Godfrey.
“Don’t you hate it when you smell something really horrible but you can’t figure out where it’s coming from?” says Annika.
“I smell it too,” says Britney. “Maybe a sewer backup?”
“Maybe.” Annika squeezes my arm, pulling me away from Drew. “Cassie, walk with us to homeroom?”
I hesitate. Drew’s face is pink from the exertion of hiking up the junior stairs, and I can see a light sheen of sweat on her upper lip. “Cass, can I talk to you a minute?” she says. So earnest. Maybe she doesn’t hear their comments.
“Come on, Cassie. It stinks over there.” Annika tugs me away.
“Or … maybe it’s you?” Britney raises one of her perfectly plucked brows, a smirk on her face.
“I—” I look back, and Drew waves her hand. She hears them.
“It’s okay, Cass. I’ll … tell you at youth group,” she says. “No big deal.”
I let Annika and Britney steer me away, but I’m torn. I can’t quite figure out what happened, what I should have done, how I could have fixed the situation. I don’t even like Drew, but I don’t like being a part of something hurtful, either. It’s one thing to call her the Shrew when I’m talking to Eric or Kayla, and it’s another thing entirely to make comments about how she stinks when she’s standing right there. Her sad little mud eyes follow me down the hall. I look back twice. Of course I do.
“Youth group? You go to youth group with that mess?” Britney gives me a fake-sad look. “I’d say her prayers aren’t working.” There’s something in her voice—some little tone that I don’t quite catch at the moment but that works in my head for hours afterward. Something that makes me suspect that Britney can’t quite figure out why she’s saying the mean things she’s saying, either. Like she’s scared of the idea of being a mechanical girl, squawking in concert. But maybe she’s more scared of the alternative, of being a girl without a personality. Without a crowd.
The tardy bell rings. Damn it. “Now I’ll be in lunch de-tention instead of newspaper,” I say. I don’t know why I have the one homeroom teacher who treats homeroom like it’s an actual class.
“Tell her you were helping me,” says Annika. “Tell her it was for the newspaper.”
“She doesn’t care.”
“Trust me.” Annika’s voice has a final sound of authority, and I can see how she gets what she wants around here. “See you at lunch, Cassie ,” she says with a sly smile.
17. If you could
see into your future …
“Mom is pissed. Family meeting, right now.” Dicey’s brown eyes twinkle with mischief—both at the prospect of getting me in trouble and at daring to say the word “pissed” almost within the hearing of my parents. And on a Wednesday right before church, at that.
I’m not going. Neither is Eric, and this is most certainly the topic of discussion at this impromptu family meeting. Not that you could call what goes on at our family meetings a “discussion.” Okay, so occasionally we’re allowed to ask questions, but it’s very clear that Mom and Dad are a united front, and any disagreement is quickly quelled by open displays of “Because I said so.”
I don’t
“See you, Cassie!”
Cassie. I hate that nickname, and I always have. It sounds like a brain-damaged cow’s name. A flash of daring, and I speak up. “Cass,” I say.
“What?” Britney raises an eyebrow. The mechanical girls turn as one, their faces blank, waiting for their cue.
I clear my throat. “Cass. I like to be called Cass.”
Her eyes grow round with surprise, and then she turns slowly to Annika. They burst out laughing, and the whole group follows suit. “Byyyyye, Cassieeeeee!” They all say the hated name in unison and then dissolve into giggles. It stings, a burning shame on my cheeks, but I keep my head up.
“Cass?” Everyone stops laughing and looks at the source of the voice behind me. I turn around slowly. Drew Godfrey.
“Don’t you hate it when you smell something really horrible but you can’t figure out where it’s coming from?” says Annika.
“I smell it too,” says Britney. “Maybe a sewer backup?”
“Maybe.” Annika squeezes my arm, pulling me away from Drew. “Cassie, walk with us to homeroom?”
I hesitate. Drew’s face is pink from the exertion of hiking up the junior stairs, and I can see a light sheen of sweat on her upper lip. “Cass, can I talk to you a minute?” she says. So earnest. Maybe she doesn’t hear their comments.
“Come on, Cassie. It stinks over there.” Annika tugs me away.
“Or … maybe it’s you?” Britney raises one of her perfectly plucked brows, a smirk on her face.
“I—” I look back, and Drew waves her hand. She hears them.
“It’s okay, Cass. I’ll … tell you at youth group,” she says. “No big deal.”
I let Annika and Britney steer me away, but I’m torn. I can’t quite figure out what happened, what I should have done, how I could have fixed the situation. I don’t even like Drew, but I don’t like being a part of something hurtful, either. It’s one thing to call her the Shrew when I’m talking to Eric or Kayla, and it’s another thing entirely to make comments about how she stinks when she’s standing right there. Her sad little mud eyes follow me down the hall. I look back twice. Of course I do.
“Youth group? You go to youth group with that mess?” Britney gives me a fake-sad look. “I’d say her prayers aren’t working.” There’s something in her voice—some little tone that I don’t quite catch at the moment but that works in my head for hours afterward. Something that makes me suspect that Britney can’t quite figure out why she’s saying the mean things she’s saying, either. Like she’s scared of the idea of being a mechanical girl, squawking in concert. But maybe she’s more scared of the alternative, of being a girl without a personality. Without a crowd.
The tardy bell rings. Damn it. “Now I’ll be in lunch de-tention instead of newspaper,” I say. I don’t know why I have the one homeroom teacher who treats homeroom like it’s an actual class.
“Tell her you were helping me,” says Annika. “Tell her it was for the newspaper.”
“She doesn’t care.”
“Trust me.” Annika’s voice has a final sound of authority, and I can see how she gets what she wants around here. “See you at lunch, Cassie ,” she says with a sly smile.
17. If you could
see into your future …
“Mom is pissed. Family meeting, right now.” Dicey’s brown eyes twinkle with mischief—both at the prospect of getting me in trouble and at daring to say the word “pissed” almost within the hearing of my parents. And on a Wednesday right before church, at that.
I’m not going. Neither is Eric, and this is most certainly the topic of discussion at this impromptu family meeting. Not that you could call what goes on at our family meetings a “discussion.” Okay, so occasionally we’re allowed to ask questions, but it’s very clear that Mom and Dad are a united front, and any disagreement is quickly quelled by open displays of “Because I said so.”
I don’t
Similar Books
