A Girl Called Dust (9 page)

“Fletcher!”

His
gaze traveled back to our house. “I have to go. He’s watching.”

I
turned to see my father on the porch, watching us. When I turned back around,
Fletcher was already running down the street as if he couldn’t get away from
our house fast enough. I felt guilty because I had talked Fletcher into coming
over when he really hadn’t wanted to, and my family hadn’t even given him a
chance.

“I
want you to stay away from that kid,” Dad said when I made it back to the
porch. I wasn’t going to argue with him, but there was no way he was going to
keep me and Fletcher apart. I wanted to ask him why he had gotten so angry, but
the hardened look on his face told me to drop the subject.

Back
at the table, Mom fished out the rolls Fletcher had touched from the bread
basket, and Paige and Quinn laughed so hard they struggled to breathe. “Wow,
your only friend is a mental defective,” Paige said once she finally managed to
speak.

At
that moment I wished what Fletcher had said about my parents was right, because
if Mom and Dad weren’t my parents, then Paige and Quinn weren’t my sisters.

Monday
Fletcher acted as if nothing had happened the day before, and I was glad because
I wanted to forget the whole fiasco. I’d spent the rest of my Sunday night
working on my language arts assignment—a persuasive essay. The essay could be
about anything, but we had to try to convince someone to do or think something.

Mrs.
Amparo stood at her podium. “We’ll start at the tail end of the alphabet this
time. Mr. Whitelock, you’re up first.”

I
took a deep breath. Fletcher reading assignments out loud often ended in him
being laughed at because he always said or did something completely off the
wall. I hoped he didn’t embarrass himself, not that Fletcher was ever
embarrassed, but when people laughed at him, I was ashamed for him.

Fletcher
stood at the front of the room, holding his paper in front of him. People
snickered, sitting on the edges of their seats, waiting for the show. As usual,
Fletcher didn’t appear to notice or care.

He
cleared his throat. “Title. Why I like dust and why you should too.”

By
then the laughter was more evident. Mrs. Amparo rapped on her desk with a
ruler. “Enough.”

Mrs.
Amparo wasn’t one to be played with, so immediately the laughter stopped and
Fletcher continued. “When people think of dust, they think of the dirt that
accumulates on objects and surfaces. This type of dust seems trivial and
unimportant, but there are different types of dust. Many types of dust are
beautiful and special. One kind is fairy dust. Obviously fairy dust is used by
fairies and possesses magical properties. Fairies use fairy dust to do
incredible things.

“Another
type of dust that is very beneficial to us is gold dust. Gold dust is fine
particles of gold. It can be very valuable and beautiful. And then there’s
stardust . . .”

By
then everyone struggled to hold in their giggles as Mrs. Amparo looked around
disapprovingly. They weren’t laughing at Fletcher’s words but laughing because
they knew he was doing it for me.

“Class,”
Mrs. Amparo warned, and the laughing stopped a little.

Fletcher
went on and on about the different types of dust and the wonderful things they
do. I probably should have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t. I thought the fact
that he had dedicated his essay to making me feel better was sweet.

During
lunch, Fletcher and I sat at an abandoned picnic area we’d discovered on the
other side of the school. It was far away from the cafeteria and the restrooms,
so it was deserted. We had to leave a minute or two before the bell rang to
make it to class on time.

I
sat on the table close to Fletcher as we both devoured turkey sandwiches.
“Thanks for what you did in class today.”

Fletcher
nodded. “I just wanted you to know that all dust is not a bad thing. But I
still think if it bothers you, you should say something so they’ll stop.”

That
would never happen. They’d called me Dust for over two years now. I’d grown
used to it anyway.

The
words Fletcher had said earlier during his speech were etched in my mind. “Did
you mean those things? What you said?”

Fletcher
looked at me. “Of course I did. I wouldn’t have said them if I hadn’t meant
them. Mrs. Amparo only gave me a B though. Maybe I wasn’t persuasive enough.”

At
that moment, I couldn’t help myself. His lips were just too pink and
perfect—looking as if they were begging to be kissed. I leaned in and pressed
my lips against his. His lips were soft and warm. He didn’t pull back or flinch
with disgust. I pulled away first, looking at him hopefully.

He
watched me for a moment and then looked down at the remainder of his sandwich.
“Arden, I can’t love you.”

Despite
Fletcher rejecting me once again, I went to sleep dreaming of fairy dust.

Part 2

What I Really Am

Chapter Ten

We had been in school for six weeks, and
fall was in full force. Most kids had moved on from the crayfish fiasco,
although some felt obligated to bring it up from time to time when there was
nothing better to talk about.

Bailey had somehow fallen back into
Lacey’s good graces, and she and the other bees acted as if nothing had ever
happened, but that was typical of Girl World.

Needless to say, I was stunned on Monday
afternoon when Bailey joined Fletcher and me for lunch in our private lunch
area.

“Hey guys,” she said a little too
cheerfully. She plopped herself on the table, leaving me sandwiched between her
and Fletcher.

I was busy gnawing on a piece of beef
jerky I had brought from home, and I suddenly wished it was something else
because I must have looked like some kind of animal. Much to Mom’s dismay, I
had developed a taste for the stuff, and it had replaced my beloved trail mix.
She told me I looked like a cow when I ate it.

“Hey, Bailey,” I said.

Fletcher shoveled spaghetti into his mouth
and ignored Bailey as usual. For some reason, he had never liked her. She
seemed to bug him more than Ranson did, and she had never done anything to him.
It was confusing, but I was resigned to the fact that there were just some
things I would never understand about Fletcher Whitelock.

“What are you doing here?” Fletcher
mumbled finally. It might have sounded rude, but I had been about to ask the
same thing. After the day I swallowed a crayfish, Bailey not only ignored me,
she actually changed directions when she saw me coming her way as if I had some
kind of contagious disease. Maybe she thought I was going to swallow her too.

Bailey opened the plastic container of her
salad. “I just wanted to catch up with my girl.” She glanced at me from the
corner of her eye. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

Why was she acting as if our separation
happened by accident as opposed to her making things the way they were? “What
do you want, Bailey?”

She stabbed her fork into a tomato that
looked like it had seen better days. As a matter of fact, all the veggies in
her salad looked to be on their last legs. “I miss you, Arden. I really do. I
know we kind of took separate paths and made new friends, but we’ve been
besties since the second grade. We shouldn’t just cut each other off like that.
It’s not right.”

I couldn’t keep my jaw from dropping.
“Bailey, are you kidding me? We’re not friends anymore because you like to
pretend that I don’t exist. Don’t put that on me.”

Her cheeks reddened. “You’re right, and
I’m sorry. Hey, want to have a sleepover this Friday night at your house? It
would be just like old times.”

I was tempted to decline just to teach her
a lesson, but I hadn’t had a sleepover since the one I’d had with Bailey in the
eighth grade. As usual, I had no plans other than working on a dress. Sometimes
Fletcher was around on the weekends, and other times he was nowhere to be
found. He didn’t even answer his phone most of the time. When I asked him what
he had been doing, he would say he’d spent the whole weekend binge watching
some show on Netflix.

Bailey gave me a timid smile. At least she
was trying, and the least I could do was meet her halfway. She had been a good
friend to me once, and I missed having a girl friend. Aside from that, Mom
would be ecstatic, and pleasing her had been almost impossible those days.
“Sure. It’ll be fun.”

I was already picturing us talking about
boys late into the night. Pigging out on snacks and doing each other’s hair and
nails like we used to.

“Great,” Bailey said, closing up her
salad. “Listen, I gotta run. I’ll see you Friday night. I can’t wait.”

Before I could say anything, she was
striding away from the table, no doubt heading back to Lacey. Fletcher watched
her over his shoulder. “Don’t get your hopes up about that one,” he said.

Maybe he was right, but I wrote his
comment off as jealousy. Sometimes I thought he didn’t like Bailey because he
wanted to be my only friend.

Before my much-anticipated sleepover with
Bailey, I had to endure another therapy session with Scarlett. This one seemed
to go on forever, probably because I wanted it to end before it began, but it turned
out to be . . . eventful. Okay, it was downright horrible, and I was pretty
sure Scarlett would never want to see me again. We had a fight because she
spent the whole time acting like I was some kind of stupid pushover.

“You seem to be in a good mood today,” she
remarked as I lay across her comfy couch. I was busy finding more ways to die
in that room, but I didn’t feel like going into the death thing that day. I was
getting my friend back. I told her all about Bailey and our sleepover. For some
reason, Scarlett didn’t seem happy for me. She looked at me and pursed her
lips.

“What?” I asked. “You’re the one who
wanted me to make new friends.”

“I did. New friends, and that’s not
exactly what Bailey is.” Scarlett paused for a moment. “I’m a little concerned
about your neediness when it comes to her.”

I sat up. “Excuse me? My what?” I had been
called a lot of things, but never needy.

“Your neediness. You seem to be desperate
for some kind of attention from people who have told you they can’t give it to
you.”

Why was she making me sound like some kind
of loser begging for love? That wasn’t what I was doing, was it?

“So,” Scarlett continued. “Let’s talk
about Bailey. She’s spent over two years ignoring you for no good reason,
according to you. Now she wants to hang out, and you just take her back with no
questions asked?”

My cheeks warmed. “Bailey messed up, but
if she wants to fix things, it’s my choice whether or not I want to forgive
her. We were best friends for seven years. She was more like a sister to me
than my real sisters are, so I can’t just write her off that easily. It’s not
like I have a crowd of people banging on my door wanting to be my friend.”
Okay, maybe that sounded needy.

Scarlett typed something on her laptop
while not taking her eyes off me. How did she do that? “I’m not saying you
shouldn’t give her a chance, Arden. I just want you to think and be aware. How
should a real friend treat you? People can’t use and take advantage of you
unless you let them.”

I shrugged. No one was taking advantage of
me, and I wanted her to stop speaking to me as if I were stupid.

“Do you still have a crush on your friend
Fletcher?”

I shuddered. I hadn’t told her about
Fletcher, but I had written about him in my journal. She must have read more of
it than I thought. Why did I have to write down everything? “A little, but I
know it can’t happen.”

“There you go. Fletcher was very
forthright and honest with you. He told you that he didn’t see you in that way,
so why haven’t you moved on?”

“You say it like it’s so easy. I can’t
just shut off my feelings. And Fletcher didn’t say that he didn’t like me like
that, he said he couldn’t. He’s not capable.”

Scarlett gave me a small smile. “Do you
really believe that? That he’s incapable of loving someone. Humans just aren’t
built that way.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. Scarlett had
never met Fletcher, and if she had, she would have noticed immediately that he
actually was wired differently and very well could have been telling the truth.
Of course I hadn’t told her how Fletcher had healed himself that day in front
of Gerdy’s, but if she knew about that, she might believe what I was telling
her.

Scarlett put her laptop to the side. “I
want you to put things in perspective when it comes to Bailey and Fletcher,
that’s all.”

I was over Scarlett trying to turn me
against the only people who wanted to hang out with me. She had no idea what it
felt like to be me. “I think we should end this session early.”

Scarlett watched me over her purple-rimmed
glasses. “Arden, you can’t do that.”

I jumped up from the couch and slid my
backpack over my shoulders. “Watch me. Maybe I need to find a new shrink. One
who knows what the hell they’re doing.”

“Arden—”

I stormed toward the door, already pulling
my phone from my dress pocket. I needed Dad to pick me up early.

Somehow Scarlett moved a lot faster than
me and threw herself against the door. “Arden, please. I want you to take a
deep breath and have a seat.”

I shook my head. “I’m never sitting on
that couch again. How much are my parents paying you to judge me and my
friends? You don’t even know them.”

“No, I don’t,” Scarlett admitted, “but I’m
going on what you tell me about them.”

Stop, Arden. Scarlett is your friend and
she’s helped you through a lot of stuff. She doesn’t deserve this. But I didn’t
stop. “You’re a crackpot scam artist. Maybe I should become a psychologist too.
You get paid a fortune to sit around and talk out of your ass.”

Her face crinkled with hurt. I wanted to
take the words back immediately, but words can’t be taken back. Besides, the
look on her face told me that the damage had already been done. Why was I so
angry? I rarely felt that way. Was it because she was right about Bailey and Fletcher?

I had two options. I could calm down,
apologize, and carry on with the session, or I could stand my ground and leave.

“Move!” I shouted, and she slid out of the
way, slamming the door behind me after I left.

Mom was head over heels that night. You
would have thought she was going to be hanging out with Bailey and me. She
hadn’t even mentioned how I’d stormed out of my therapy session. When Dad had
picked me up, he looked slightly disappointed. “Scarlett can’t help you if you
don’t let her do her job,” he’d said, and that was the end of it.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Mom asked as she
stirred brownie batter in a bowl. Of course I didn’t eat brownies, but they
were Bailey’s favorite. “Just be normal, and things will work out.”

“Yeah, Mom,” I muttered, but I was happy
simply because she was.

Bailey arrived at seven, and we’d ordered
Chinese since we’d had pizza the night before. Mom let us eat upstairs,
promising to bring the brownies up when they were done.

In my room, I turned on some music, and
Bailey and I curled up on my futon. She looked around the room. “You’ve
redecorated.”

I had. Once I started high school, Mom let
me paint my walls a grayish-blue, and everything else, including my bed
comforter was white. It didn’t look like a typical teenager’s room, but it was
my space, and I liked it.

I bit into my eggroll, not sure what to
say to her. There had been a time when Bailey and I never stopped talking. We
gabbed from one subject to the next, talking over each other and barely taking
a breath. Now things were quiet and awkward.

“So,” Bailey said, putting her plate to
the side. She’d barely eaten anything. “What’s going on in your life?”

I shrugged. “Not much. Just school. I’m
still making my dresses and hanging out with Fletcher. That’s about it.” Great.
I must have sounded like the most boring person alive.

Bailey nodded. “I don’t think Fletcher
likes me. He’s a weird dude. What do you guys do together?” She narrowed her
eyes slightly, and I could tell she was asking me if Fletcher and I were more
than friends. I wished.

“We just talk. Do our homework together.
He goes with me to buy fabric. Just stuff like that. We’re only friends.”

Bailey looked me up and down like she
didn’t really believe me. “You should get out more. Hang out with other people.
This is high school. You’re supposed to be having fun.”

“I have fun.”

Bailey smirked. She could always tell when
I was lying. “Yeah, when was the last time you went to a party?”

I looked down at my plate. I hadn’t been
to a party since the eighth grade, so I didn’t bother answering her question.
What kind of loser went through high school without going to one single party?

Bailey moved from the futon to my bed. She
picked up my stuffed bear, the one I hid my Prozac in, and hugged it to her
chest. I hoped she didn’t feel the pills stuffed inside. They would be hard to
explain. She made a sad puppy dog face. “It’s all right. This is only our
junior year, and the year’s still young. You can turn things around.”

Could I? I couldn’t see my last two years
of high school being any different from the first two. “I don’t go to parties
because I don’t get invited to any. Lacey hates me, so everyone else does.”

“Everyone doesn’t hate you, Arden. They
just don’t know anything about you. As for Lacey, well, you just have to ignore
her.” Her eyes widened. “Trista’s throwing a huge Halloween party. You’re
coming with me.”

The thought of even going to a party made
my head swim with anxiety. “Trista won’t mind?”

“Who cares? I’m going to tell her I’m
bringing you, and that’s that.” She grabbed her phone from where it was
charging on my nightstand and gasped. “I should change. Be right back.”