More than Friends - Monica Murphy (7 page)

“My situation is different,” she says, but I shake my head and she goes silent.

“Not really. All three of you have this messed up friendship. You do realize that, right? Sneaking around behind each other’s backs, messing around with each other. You were never honest with Dustin or Em and they weren’t honest with you either.” I hesitate, then decide to go for it. “From the way I see it, you’re all equally guilty.”

Now Livvy won’t even look at me. “Shouldn’t we get to school before the first bell rings?”

Sighing loudly, I put the Toyota in drive and pull back onto the road. We remain silent the rest of the car ride and when we arrive at school a few minutes later, Livvy climbs out of my car without a backward glance, slamming the door so hard the entire car rattles.

Great. Now I’ve pissed off the only friend I have left. But I had to say it. Had to point out that what she’d done with Dustin was just as bad as what Em did with Dustin. They’re all guilty, especially Dustin, yet the girls are so mad at each other. Why didn’t they see the part he played in this?

Contemplating the entire situation was better than focusing on my own problems, so I wallowed in the Livvy/Dustin/Em/Ryan love triangle/square as I walked through the parking lot, weaving through the cars, ignoring everyone I passed by. Not that they paid me any attention. Though I swear I hear a low whistle and when I glance over my shoulder, I see Tuttle following a considerable distance behind me.

Ugh.
I glare at him, wishing I had laser eyes—a wish my younger brother Trent makes on an almost daily basis—before I turn and practically run into the senior building.

I dash into the first girls’ bathroom I see to hide from Tuttle and compose myself. Of course, there’s Brianne Brown and Em staring at their reflections in the hazy mirror, both of them glossing up their lips so thick I wrinkle my nose, imagining how sticky that must feel.

“Oh look, here’s Little Miss Perfect,” Em says, turning to face me wearing a smirk. “Where’s your best buddy?”

“You mean
your
best buddy?” I say pointedly.

Brianne sends me a withering look in the mirror’s reflection. “Give it a rest, flute player.” Her face brightens. “Hey, does that give you an advantage with blowjobs, sucking on a flute all those years?”

Both girls laugh and I go to the empty sink next to them to wash my now shaky hands. Man, I hate drama. I’m the least confrontational person on the planet, yet I keep running finding myself mired in it. “For your information, I didn’t play a flute, I played the clarinet.”

They’re still giggling and rolling their eyes. “There’s a difference?” Em asks innocently.

I should be the bigger person and do what I’ve wanted since our run in. “Hey Em, I wanted to apologize for what I said to you yesterday.”

Em’s mouth pops open into this almost comical O shape. I turn off the faucet and dry my hands, waiting for her to say something, but she remains quiet for so long, Brianne nudges her in the side with her elbow.

“What the hell are you talking about anyway?” Brianne asks me.

“That’s between Em and I,” I say solemnly.

Brianne rolls her eyes, but Em watches me carefully, like she’s waiting for me to give her the punch line.

“You actually mean it, don’t you,” Em finally says.

I nod and stand a little straighter. “I’m owning my shit. And that was a shitty thing I said to you yesterday.”

“It was.”

“And I totally made it up.”

“I figured.”

Now I’m quiet, waiting for her to apologize for that stupid picture she posted, but instead she hooks her arm through Brianne’s and leads her out of the bathroom without saying a word. I deflate the second the door swings shut, bracing my hands on the edge of the sink and staring at my reflection.

That was…hard. I don’t like confrontation. But I apologized and I didn’t melt while doing it either. I’m going to be okay.

Maybe, eventually, we’ll all be okay.

I’m hiding out in the back of the library during lunch, munching on baby carrots dipped in ranch while reading my American Government and Institutions notes in prep for the quiz later this afternoon when I suddenly feel someone standing beside my table, looking right at me.

Glancing up, I fully expect to find Livvy there, contrite and full of apologies, but it’s not Livvy.

It’s Em.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft. She tucks a chin-length strand of highlighted golden blonde hair behind her ear and looks around before her gaze meets mine once more. “Um, can I sit down?”

I shrug and she pulls the empty chair next to mine out, plopping her skinny butt on it. I continue eating my carrots, pointing at the open snack bag as an invitation and she takes one, dips it into the tiny plastic cup full of ranch dressing and pops it into her mouth, chewing loudly.

Something you can’t avoid when you eat baby carrots. They have major crunch.

“Ms. Donahue is going to be pissed if she catches you eating in her library,” Em says once she swallows.

Ms. Donahue has run the school library probably longer than all of us have been alive. She’s terrifying. “I’m not scared.”

“Rebel,” she says, nudging my shoulder with hers.

Blowing out a loud breath, I turn to look at her. “What’s up?” There’s no reason for her to sit by me in the library. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Emily Griffith in the school library even once.

“I wanted to thank you, for the apology,” she whispers, glancing around as if she wants to make sure no one is near. “That, uh—meant a lot to me.”

“I felt awful all last night, thinking about what I said to you,” I admit.

Em raises her eyebrows in real surprise. How I can tell, I’m not sure, but I can. “Really?”

I nod my answer.

“Well, I guess I appreciate you feeling bad?”

“I’m not normally a mean girl,” I tell her. “Seriously. This is so not my style. I’m quiet. No one pays attention to me at school. Not usually.”

“Right. But maybe you have a secret. That maybe under the good girl exterior is a bad girl on the side who goes by the street name Stella in the House?”

I burst out laughing, clamping a hand over my mouth when I hear Ms. Donahue reprimand me with a low, “Quiet!”

The front desk is nowhere near where we’re sitting, but Ms. Donahue has no qualms in silencing people wherever they’re at.

“Stella in the House?” I ask Em, still wanting to laugh, but Ms. Donahue will probably kick me out.

Em shrugs. “I thought it sounded good.”

“You are so weird.”

“So are you. Hiding out in here when you could be hanging out in the quad with Jordan Tuttle.” She sighs and shakes her head.

Why oh why does everyone mention his name to me? We’re nothing. “He doesn’t want me hanging out in the quad with him.”

“You sure about that? He’s always looking around like he lost something. I’m starting to believe he’s always looking for you,” Em says.

My heart trips over itself at her words then I tell myself to get over it. “Give me a break.”

“I’m totally serious.” She looks totally serious too.

“Well, he’s not interested in me like that.” I look away, wishing I wasn’t interested in him like that either.

“His loss.” She grabs another baby carrot and pops it into her mouth, crunching loudly. “Nominations are announced today in fifth period,” she says once she swallows.

Great. That’s right after lunch, and Tuttle’s in that class with me. Is he going to be in a celebratory mode once he hears he’s been nominated?

Because he so has. It doesn’t matter how much he denies it’ll happen, it’s happening.

“Think you’ll get nominated?” she asks.

“
Me?
” I actually scoff. “No freaking way. That’s for the popular girls.” I pause, studying her. “You might get nominated.”

“Yeah, right. For biggest school slut? Definitely.” Em laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Hey, I need to go. But can you, um, tell Livvy hi from me? And that I miss her?”

Aw. This makes me feel bad, especially after all the horrible things Livvy said about Em.

“Sure.” Depends on if she’s still talking to me or not, considering I probably made her super pissed with our earlier conversation.

“You’re lucky,” Em says, her gaze becoming unfocused. Distant. As if she can see something I can’t. “You still have Livvy. Hopefully she doesn’t burn you too hard.”

Her cryptic message makes me want to ask Em lots of questions. Questions she might not want to answer.

“Okay, gotta go.” Em takes yet another baby carrot before she turns and starts to walk away. “See ya later, Stella!” she yells, making Ms. Donahue offer up an almost desperate “shush” in answer.

I say nothing. Decide it’s best to savor the moment rather than pick it apart and end up driving myself crazy with all the
what ifs
spiraling through my head.

I
walk into English like I’m about to face a firing squad. Slow and reluctant and ready to duck and run at the first opportunity. The relief that hits me when I realize Tuttle isn’t in the classroom almost makes me sag to the floor, I’m so grateful. I fall into my chair, drop my backpack at my feet and smile at Mrs. Meyer when she makes her appearance at the front of the class.

The next fifty minutes should pass fairly easy without Tuttle around to distract me. When the bell rings, Mrs. Meyer immediately starts talking about our group projects.

“Okay, guys, this is going to be so much fun! Here’s what we’re going to do. I want each of you to create diary entries in the voice of famous literature characters,” she explains. “These characters need to have an established relationship. Whether it’s mother and son, close friends, bitter enemies, or even
lovers.
”

And with that last word, all the boys go, “Ooooh.”

They’re so mature.

“I want you to really get into the feelings these characters are experiencing. Their deepest, darkest thoughts and secrets, I want to see it all on the page. I don’t want to influence your choices, but I’d love to see a variety of relationships portrayed.” Mrs. Meyer starts passing out a sheet of paper to each of us. “This is a list of famous literary characters for inspiration. You can choose someone from the list, or you can come up with your own. I just need to approve each couple first before you can proceed with the project.”

Great. My partner isn’t even here. How are we going to choose our characters? Maybe I could do it on my own and not even give Tuttle the choice. He’d deserve it for not showing up today.

I glance over the list, smiling when I see Moby Dick and Captain Ahab.

“Do you seriously want us to write diary entries in the point of view of a whale?” someone asks incredulously.

Mrs. Meyer laughs. “I thought it might be interesting.”

My gaze snags on one particular couple and I bite my lower lip, contemplating the idea.

Romeo and Juliet.

Star-crossed lovers at their finest. A tale of passion and sadness and lust and loyalty and, overall, young, tragic love. That could be...exciting. But would it be smart to work on a romantic project with Tuttle? Or would that only end up driving me crazy?