TWO

 

P R E S E N T   D A Y

 

CARL IS EAGER to catch up, but we both have to get to different classes. We hastily compare schedules and learn that we share the same lunch period, and plan to meet up then. My next four classes pass slowly. I feel slow in general, because of my medicine, but I'm grateful not to be panicking. None of my teachers make me do that thing where they ask you to stand up and introduce yourself. Say a few things about yourself. I couldn't be more thankful. What could I possibly say?

Everything about myself has been stripped from me.

I'm neither a tomboy nor a cheerleader. My friends aren't my friends anymore. In fact, they're my enemies. I don't like football anymore. I hate it. And everyone who thinks it's the axis the world revolves around. My boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - is my worst fucking nightmare. I've done nothing over the last nine months but cry, read, cry, listen to music, and cry. Oh, and have panic attacks. I'm sure that would all make for an inspiring introduction.

As I walk around the building to the parking lot where I agreed to meet Carl, I wonder how the past few years have changed her. No one is the same person at eighteen  they were at twelve. I don't suspect she's much like my girl friends from back home - ex girl friends. The girls who, for all of last year, I tried so desperately to fit in with. As much as any innate tomboy really can, anyway. Those girls like boys, and cars, and football, being popular, and trying to become more popular - an exceptionally empty ambition in a town whose social scene is barely big enough to accommodate cliques at all. But empty or not, right now, all I want to do is figure out who the "cool kids" are here, and avoid them like the freaking plague. I hope Carl is more of an outsider type. The truth is I could use a friend, but I don't think I could handle a clique, and definitely not the popular clique.

But deep down I know Carl is no loner. She's always been friendly, and she's pretty damn gorgeous, too. The last time I saw her, her naturally blond hair hung down to her waist, but now it's cut to her shoulders in a more contemporary style. Unlike me. My auburn hair still hangs long, and I rarely style it into anything other than its natural boring waves. When I saw her this morning, Carl was wearing eye shadow, liner, the works, and she did an expert job of accentuating her bright green eyes. I used to wear makeup to school. Used to spend twenty full minutes on it every morning. Now I wear concealer, and sometimes mascara and lip gloss, and that's just to draw attention  from the bags under my eyes from not sleeping. But nothing more than that. I don't want to seem like I’m trying. When people think you're trying, they think you're looking for something. And I'm looking for nothing.

When Carl shows up, she's flanked by another girl with blond hair, but it's definitely not natural, and neither are her pink dyed tips. They both smile warmly and Carl hugs me again.

"This is Tina. Tina, Rory," Carl introduces.

"Hi," I murmur, but Tina pulls me in for a hug just like Carl did. Not what I expected. I tense and hold my breath until she pulls away.

"Great to meet you, we only have forty three minutes for lunch. Diner good with you?" she says a mile a minute.

"Uh, sure." I fall into step behind them as we head to what I assume is one of their cars.

"We get to leave campus for lunch?" I ask. My old school made us eat in the cafeteria.

"Seniors only," Carl explains, "but most juniors leave too, once they get their license. The school isn't especially strict about it."

I'd forgotten that they don't get their license until seventeen in New York. Sucks for them.

Just as Carl clicks open her Audi A4, a pack of guys pushes its way through the stream of students, which parts for them like they're the chosen people on exodus from Egypt. Like I have a built-in sensor for him, my gaze shifts straight to Sam. The pack's obvious leader. Tucker - who also happens to be exceptionally good looking - is with them also, as are the four others with them. Predictable. Though none of them have anything on Sam. I don't need to ask where they fall in the high school hierarchy. One of the guys jabs Tucker with his elbow to get his attention before he turns and jogs over toward us. Tingles of anxiety lace the soles of my feet, shooting upward through my limbs, spiking my heart rate.   

Tina doesn't see him approach before he grabs her, yanking her arm to pull her against him. She lets out a startled gasp.

I react.

I drop my backpack and seize his arm to unlatch him from my new friend.

"Get the hell off of her!" I hiss.

He stills. Tina stills. I retract my hand.

Finally, I notice Tina's other arm - frozen in its outstretched position, fingers affectionately caressing his cheek.

And again, I'm mortified. He wasn't attacking her. He's probably her goddamned boyfriend!

"I... I'm sorry," I murmur pitifully.

"Rory, this is my buddy Andrew. He and Tina are together." It's Sam speaking. Sam has somehow made it over to us and has his hand set gently on my shoulder. "Andy, maybe you shouldn't sneak up on your girl like that," he adds with another of his lighthearted chuckles.

It's a kind thing to do. He's trying to make it seem like mine was a reasonable reaction. Like I'm not crazy. But instead of feeling grateful, I'm annoyed. I don't need him to make me feel normal. I'm not normal. And I've already accepted that I never will be again.

Andrew is still freaked out by my outburst, but he's gentleman enough to pretend otherwise. He tells me it's nice to meet me - though I know his meeting me was anything but - and shakes my hand, which I suffer through. I hate the archaic tradition. Who wants to have a strange man touch their hand? Lately I've avoided the gesture whenever possible, but after my freak-out it's the least I can do. Andrew turns back to hug Tina and whisper in her ear with a smirk. She giggles. I quickly glance around, relieved  that only us, a few people directly around us, and Sam's pack even noticed my outburst.

But then I see a group of girls standing around a white BMW. There's no questioning where they fall in the high school hierarchy either. They are the popular girls. They are who I used to be. My old friends. My enemies. And the tall skinny one with the skimpy skirt and the ten pounds of makeup is nothing short of glowering at me. She flips her long, chemically straightened, black hair with practiced attitude. I swallow nervously before I realize where her gaze is locked, and it's not just on me - it's on Sam's hand on my shoulder. I quickly shrug out of his grip and he frowns at me.

"We've gotta go. Lunch," I explain.  

I take care not to meet Sam's eyes, but his black wool coat gapes open and fully visible is his fitted tee shirt and jeans, and I realize that focusing on his body isn't any less distracting. His physique is clearly defined even through his clothing. Is that normal? No wonder Queen Bee over there was glaring at me. Befriending Sam is definitely not the way to stay off of that group's radar, which is currently my prime objective. I don't want the popular girls to know who I am. That is not the way to stay invisible.

And then Tucker is here. "Cap," he greets. "I see you're still hogging the new girl. Hi, new girl, I'm Tuck."

I say nothing.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Rory, this is Tuck, Andrew, Marshall, Dave, and Luke." He gestures to each man as he introduces them. Marshall and Dave laugh and playfully elbow each other. "Guys this is Rory, she's new."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Tuck says mock formally.

Carl's arm slides around me and she pulls me toward the car. "Okay, Tuck, leave her alone. Can't you see she's way out of your league?" she teases.

Tuck presses his palm to his chest like he's been mortally wounded, but his eyes crinkle with an amusement.

"Aw Carl, princess, you know you're the only woman for me!" Tuck calls as I climb into the back seat behind her. Carl rolls her eyes, but I don't miss the way her lips twitch a she fights a smile, before hopping into the drivers' seat.

****

 

The diner is no more than a five minute drive. Over lunch, Carl catches me up on life. From what she describes, I deduce that while she and Tina are not part of the clique with Queen Bee, they're nowhere near outcasts either. Obviously, Tina is dating one of the popular guys and Carl explains that while she and Tuck have never been in any kind of serious relationship, they've hooked up several times and they clearly like each other. Apparently Tuck is just a pathological flirt, as Sam had said, and I shouldn't take any of it personally. It's his way of being welcoming. He's harmless.

There's that word again. But I know better. Of course he's harmless. Everyone is harmless. Until they're not. Robin used to be harmless too. I don't say any of this to Carl though.

"So how do you know Cap?" Tina asks. I blink back at her in confusion.

"Who?"

"Cap. Sam Caplan. Cap."

"Oh. I don't really. I was just late to my first class and he found me in the hallway," I explain.

"Lucky bitch," Tina teases, and she and Carl both laugh.

I may be a lot of things, but lucky isn't one of them. Bitch, maybe.

"Did you see Chelsea give her the death glare? When Cap came over in the lot?" Tina says to Carl with a hint of mischievous amusement.

"No. But it doesn't surprise me. It bugs her enough that he ignores her when she tries to flirt with him, and now he gives a girl some attention? It must be eating her alive!" They both giggle hysterically as if the idea of pissing off Chelsea, whom I assume is Queen Bee, is the best thing ever. I really don't blame them, everything about her screams "mean girl", but the fact that I'm the thing pissing her off - that makes me a target.  

"Did they date?" I ask.

"In her fucking dreams... their families are friends, though," Carl replies. "Cap doesn't really date. He has this 'no girlfriends in high school' rule - Tuck told me. He hooks up, but the girl he used to hook up with graduated. She was older. I think Chelsea thought she'd get her chance this year, but he just ignores her and it drives her crazy. And now that she saw you two together-"

"She didn't see us together. And he wasn't giving me attention. He was just being nice. Because I'm new. He was... introducing me," I shrug and try to ignore my friends' skeptical looks. "What?!" I finally snap. Carl and Tina exchange a look.

"Maybe I'd believe that if Cap was the type to just randomly chat up some new girl. I mean, you've seen him!" Carl says excitedly.  

I frown. She makes him sound conceited. I hate that. But something about it rings false. Sam didn't seem that way at all to me. At my expression Carl continues.  

"No I didn't mean it like that. It's not that he's full of himself. I think he just gets sick of girls falling all over themselves. Tuck says he just doesn't like attention. They're best friends, you know. If Cap wants a girl, he'll let her know. And he'll get her, believe me." I have no doubt. "The rest of it, it's just annoying I think. I mean, take Chelsea - they've been friends since we were all kids, and then suddenly we're in high school and he can't be around her without her trying to flirt with him in one way or another."

"Poor him," I murmur. It comes out sarcastic and the girls laugh. I mean it to sound that way, because for it to be earnest would sound silly. To pity someone because they get too much positive attention from the opposite sex. But the truth is I kind of know what Carl means. Not to that extent, of course. I've certainly never had boys falling all over themselves, but I understand unwanted attention. "But really, I was just having trouble finding the class, it was really nothin'," I assure them.

"And again, maybe I'd believe that if you weren't, like, freaking hot," Tina counters. I throw a french-fry at her and laugh.

"I'm not," I insist.

"You kind of are," Carl murmurs and I can see she's being genuine. I roll my eyes.

Okay, I know I'm not ugly, but I'm definitely not "like, freaking hot". Especially now that I'm dressed down and practically makeup free. Maybe I should lose the lip gloss.

****

 

The rest of the school day continues uneventfully. Most of the students leave through the side entrance as it's adjacent to the student parking lot, but it's also where the gym is, and the locker rooms. Rationally I know that football season is long over, and that there are plenty of people out and about in the hall that leads to the locker rooms, but my therapist says I should avoid triggers as best I can, and high school locker rooms are definitely a trigger. I make my way through the main entrance and around the perimeter of the building, like I did for lunch, and by the time I get to my car, almost everyone has left. I hop into my jeep and drive straight home to get started on my calculus homework. I'm already behind. Tomorrow I'll have to ask Mr. Frank if he has any extra help hours or tutoring.             

The good news is that my AP English class is working on just about the same list of books I'd been reading back in Linton, and the ones that weren't on the old syllabus, I've already read on my own. At least that's one thing that'll make life easier. Hey, you take the good where you can find it. Or at least that's what I try to tell myself.

The next morning I make it to first period - which is now homeroom for the next ten minutes - with time to spare. Carl has saved me a desk next to her near the back and I'm grateful for it. We chat for a few minutes before the bell rings. I try not to stare when Sam walks in, but the kid is just freaking gorgeous. I try to be inconspicuous about it, and realize I'm not the only one. Most of the girls in the class are trying to steal glances at Sam. I can see why he might find it annoying, but really, who has a "no girlfriends in high school" rule? Idly I wish Robin had had that rule, but stop myself. I'm not supposed to dwell on past events I can't change. My therapist would chasten me for even thinking it.

I steal one more glance at Sam, who's simultaneously texting on his iPhone and chatting with the guy he introduced yesterday as Dave, before the teacher, Mr. Frank, walks in as the bell rings. The students settle, and just before he turns to face the smart board, Sam peeks back at me and half smiles. For a moment, I think I imagined it, but then Carl nudges me with her elbow and mouths, "see!"

I don't see really. He's just barely acknowledged me.

I don't tell her the real reason Sam was nice to me yesterday. Why he's acknowledging me today. I don't tell her  he caught me freaking out in the hallway and popping drugs barely in time before I hyperventilated and passed out. Which is what happened the first time an attack hit about ten months ago. I don't tell her he's only being nice because he thinks there's something wrong with me. Because he knows there's something wrong with me. Because he pities me.  

Pity.

It's funny how things change. Nine months ago I'd have welcomed it. It would have been a nice change from the accusations and scorn. If they pitied me it would have meant they believed me. Now, I don't want pity. I want to pretend like none of it ever happened. That was the whole point of moving across the country. That no one would know. But while Sam may not know what happened, he's witnessed the scars. Not the physical scar, but the emotional ones. And those are far deeper.

****

 

Over the next few days I fall into a routine. Classes, lunch with Carl and Tina, more classes, homework, reading, and declining invitations for any other social activities. When Friday rolls around, it becomes more difficult to use excuses about having to have dinner with my mom to get out of hanging out after school. Everyone is going to a party at Andrew's tonight. It's the kind of thing I'd have been excited about a year ago. But now, I decline.

When I mention it to my mom over dinner, she gives me that look. That sad, pathetic look that reflects that I am just a shell of my former self. But I also see her own self-pity, reminding me how much this has all hurt her too, and I make the snap decision to try and alleviate some of her pain.

I decide to go to the party.  

I don't spend much time getting ready. After all, I don't want to look like I'm trying. If I can hang out for a little while - at least until Mom goes to bed - she might think I'm recovering in some way. That I'm on the road back to normal.

I wait in the living room for Carl to pick me up, aware that my mom is watching me closely, searching for signs that I'm not ready for this so she can order me to stay in. But I know that isn't what she wants. What she wants is to find the unlikely reassurance that I'm starting to be okay. So I give it to her.

Plastering on my "everything is okay" fake smile is too much right now, so I make every effort just to keep my lips from slipping into their default frown. Two honks let me know that Carl is here to pick me up. I don't panic, but I am shaking with anxiety.