Dangerous Girls

“You.” Coach finds me skulking at the back of the crowd, still in my regular uniform. “What’s your name?”

“Anna,” I mutter, my eyes fixed on the blue linoleum. “Anna Chevalier.”

Coach looks me up and down. “Is there a reason you’re not dressed yet?”

I look around, catching Lindsay’s eye. The challenge in her expression is clear. “I . . . forgot my clothes,” I say, my shoulders hunched in defeat.

Coach tuts impatiently. “Don’t think you’re getting a free study pass. I want an essay on the importance of preparation on my desk by the end of the period.”

I nod, trying to ignore Lindsay’s victorious grin as the rest of the girls file out, leaving me alone in the locker room with a faintly rancid scent in the air.

• • •

The essay is easy enough. I settle into a plastic chair in the Coach’s office down the hall, and soon I’m back to scribbling lyrics in my battered red journal and wondering what other fresh hells Lindsay has in store for me this semester.

“Hey.”

I turn. A blond girl is in the doorway, pressed and precise in her polo shirt and sports skirt. Elise, I remember from French class. She looks around cautiously at the mess of lacrosse sticks and yoga mats. “Are we supposed to wait in here till the end of class?”

I nod, quickly tucking my notebook away. Not quickly enough.

“ ‘You want a revelation’ . . . That’s Florence and the Machine, right?” Elise asks, seeing the lyrics scribbled on the cover.

I don’t answer. She’s friends with Lindsay, or at least part of that clique—I’ve seen them around school, their ponytails swishing in unison. Elise is one of the quiet ones. She didn’t join their teasing in the locker room before, but she didn’t stand up for me either.

“She played a show here last month, but nobody else likes them, and my parents wouldn’t let me go alone.” Elise looks rueful.

“I went,” I tell her, remembering the night I snuck out for hours and nobody even noticed I was gone. “She played two hours, it was amazing.”

“No way!” Elise’s reply is the sound of pure longing. She wanders closer. “You’re Anna, right? Did you just move here?”

“No,” I answer, still careful. “Transferred. From Quincy.”

“Oh.” Elise looks at me curiously, and I feel myself tense up, waiting for a cutting remark or some bitchy fake advice, but instead she looks almost sympathetic. “You’re lucky,” she finally offers. “A girl last year, Lindsay, used tuna fish. Stunk out the whole place. Guys were saying . . . Well, you know.” Elise shrugs. “I think she transferred in the end.”

“Sure,” I agree, sarcastic. “I’m lucky.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” Elise looks quickly toward the door before adding, “She’s a bitch.”

I don’t take the bait. I know how this works: Anything I say now could be used against me later, spun and filtered through the high school gossip chain until I’m the one attacking poor, innocent Lindsay.

“It’s okay,” Elise adds, as if reading my mind. “We’re not friends. I mean, we hang out, but . . . you know.”

I give another vague shrug. “What about you?” I change the subject. “Why are you sitting out?”

“I have a midterm after lunch.” Elise wanders restlessly over to the window. She pulls herself up to sit on the wide ledge, looking out over the neat lawn. “I figured, if I lay the groundwork now, it looks more convincing when I get out sick.”

“Smart.”

She shrugs, swinging her legs to tap out a staccato rhythm against the wall. “If I don’t get an A, my parents will send me back into tutoring.” She sighs, looking out the window again. “Because a B in American Lit will really wreck my entire life.”

I don’t reply, and pull out my math textbook, but after a few moments, I can still feel Elise’s stare burning into me. I look up. “What?”

“Nothing, I just . . .” Elise bites her lip and glances again toward the door before asking, “You want to get out of here?”

“Where to?”

“Downtown, maybe? We could take the T, get a coffee. We’d be back by the end of lunch.”

“I thought only seniors were allowed off-campus.”

“We wouldn’t get caught,” Elise promises, her eyes bright now. “Everyone does it.”

“Have you?” I ask.

There’s a pause, then she shakes her head. “Not yet. But that’s only because they won’t go with me,” she adds quickly. “Lindsay never breaks the rules. Except, you know, the ones about being a decent human being,” she says with a slight grin.

“I don’t know. . . .” I’m still suspicious, looking for her angle, but Elise hops down from the window ledge.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. And if they ask where you were, just say you were helping me. The teachers here love me, I never do anything wrong.” Her voice twists on the last words, something almost like regret, and the familiar sound is enough to make me pause. I never do anything wrong either—I’ve never taken the chance. Other girls skip out for shopping trips, and birthdays at the beach, loudly planning their exploits right beside my locker without a second glance. But me? I’m too careful for that. I’ve never skipped so much as a study period in my life.

I’m still wavering when another girl bursts in, breathless and flushed. “Elise, oh my god, are you okay? Coach wouldn’t let me check on you until we’d run laps.”

Elise laughs. “Relax, Mel, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Melanie’s eyes are wide with concern. She’s petite, with glossy dark hair and delicate features, and she reaches up to test Elise’s temperature. Elise ducks away,

“Mel, I’m fine! I was just faking to get out of the Lit test.”

“Oh.” Melanie pauses. “Right!”

“Me and Anna are going to ditch, go get a coffee downtown,” Elise tells her before I can object. “Want to come?”

For the first time, Melanie’s gaze slides over to me. She blinks, as if trying to place me, even though we’ve had at least six classes together since I arrived. “But we’re not allowed.”

“So?” Elise beams.