Truth about Truman School (15 page)

“Amr!” I heard Zebby calling me between first and second period. “Amr, wait up!”

But I didn't wait. I had nothing to say to Zebby Bower. And eventually, she lost me in the crowd.

She tried to catch me again between third and fourth period, but this time I escaped to the bathroom.

I figured she'd be looking for me in the cafeteria, too, so I decided to go to the pool and swim laps during lunch. When I got out of the pool and went into the locker room, there was Zebby sitting on one of the benches between the rows of lockers.

Unbelievable! “This is the
boys'
locker room,” I informed her as I wrapped my towel around my waist.

“So?”

“So, you can't be in here.” Hanging out in the boys' locker room was bold, even for Zebby.

“Relax. No one else is in here. We need to talk, Amr.”

“I need to get dressed.” I shivered as I turned to unlock my locker. I took my clothes out and laid them on the bench next to Zebby, but she didn't make any move to leave.

I sighed. “Come on, Zeb. Go!”

“I know you're not milkandhoney,” she said finally. “I checked the history of the site. The fable was up there that morning, just like you said it was.”

Well, that was something, anyway. “So why didn't you check the history right from the start if you didn't believe me?”

“I don't know.” Zebby looked down at the floor. “I should have.”

“Yeah, you should have.” I pulled my shirt on, then sat down beside her. “I probably should have told you about that fable, too. I shouldn't have just taken it down without saying anything.”

“Why did you?” Zebby asked.

“I don't know. I was going to tell you, but I forgot. I just got so tired of all that milkandhoney stuff. That's why I took it down. Don't you get tired of it?”

“Of course I get tired of it. But when you run a newspaper, you can't just take stuff down because you're tired of it.”

“Are you sure? It's our newspaper; we can do whatever we want.”

“It doesn't always feel like our newspaper,” Zebby said, slouching down on the bench. “It feels like it's just this big gossip site about Lilly Clarke. How did that happen, Amr?”

I didn't have an answer.

“Did milkandhoney ever complain that you took the fable down?” Zebby asked. “Or did they ever try and put it back up?”

“No. I think they've been too busy getting their new site up and running. Did you see that ‘We Hate Lilly Clarke' website?”

Zebby nodded. “That's when I knew you couldn't be milkandhoney. It's too mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you really think
I
was milkandhoney?” Zebby asked.

“I wondered,” I said. “But I didn't really think so. Not until you thought
I
was. That made me really mad.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“Me, too.”

It was depressing how much of the Truth about Truman website was devoted to gossip about Lilly. That whole thing had sort of taken on a life of its own, and I wasn't sure what to do.

I always wanted the Truth about Truman to be a true and honest newspaper about middle school life. I wanted it to be something that everyone could relate to, and I wanted everyone to feel like it belonged to them, and they could post whatever they wanted without anyone telling them that what they were thinking or feeling wasn't okay.

And I guess in a sense, it was all that. People did feel comfortable posting whatever they wanted. I guess I had hoped that the stuff they posted would be a little more newsworthy than “Look! Lilly Clarke used to be fat.” Or “Oh, no! Lilly Clarke might be gay!”

Lilly hadn't been in school all week. Which was really weird because Lilly never missed school.

“I wonder what's wrong with her,” Cassie said during lunch.

“Maybe she's got some horrible, incurable disease,” Kylie said as she bit into her apple.

“She
is
a horrible, incurable disease,” Brianna muttered.

“Brianna!” I said, pretending to be shocked. “That's not very nice.” But then I sort of smiled.

“Maybe she's not coming back,” Cassie said.

“Maybe she's afraid to come back,” Kylie said. “You know, because she doesn't have any friends.”

“Aw, poor baby,” I said. “I wouldn't like school if it wasn't for you guys, but I'd still come to school. I'd just find other friends.”

“No kidding. What a loser,” Brianna said.

“So, who wants to come over after school and help me judge the We Hate Lilly stories we've received so far?” I asked.

Brianna grinned. “I think we
all
want to help with that, Hayley,” she said.

Everyone else nodded eagerly. Everyone except Kylie.

“What?” I asked her.

Kylie shrugged. “I was just thinking,” she said, stirring her salad around on her plate. “That We Hate Lilly website is supposed to be totally anonymous, right? No one knows it's our website. And most people don't even know who any of those screen names are.”

“So,” I said, wondering what she was getting at.

“Well, how are we supposed to give someone a prize if we don't know who they are and they don't know who we are?”

Leave it to Kylie to obsess about something like that.

“We'll figure something out,” Brianna said right away.

“Yeah,” I echoed. “We can email the winner or something.” Like Brianna said, we'd figure something out.

I overheard Lilly's friends talking about her during lunch. Nice. With friends like them, who needs enemies?

I wondered if it ever occurred to any of those girls that sometimes kids who are bullied just snap. There have been all sorts of articles about this in the news and on TV.

Sara Murphy and me, we're used to being picked on, but Lilly's not. Frankly, I wondered if she could take all this abuse. What if she freaked out and…did something really bad?

Was anyone else worried about Lilly? I wondered. Any of the teachers? Mrs. Horton? Did any of them even have any clue what was going on? Probably not. Teachers and counselors were usually the last to know anything.

I had a “slight recovery” over the weekend, but then got worse again on Monday. All in all, I missed three days of school. After three days, my mom may have figured out what was going on, because she wouldn't leave me alone with the thermometer in my mouth anymore. Which meant I couldn't hold it up against my light and make the silver stuff go up.

I tried to get her to go get me a drink of water, but she said to wait until after the thermometer was ready. And when it was ready, I suddenly had no fever.

“That's good news,” Mom said, shaking the thermometer down. “You can go back to school.”

“But I still don't feel good,” I moaned, clutching my stomach. “I don't think I can go to school.”
There was no way I could go to school!

Mom came over and sat down on the bed next to me. “Tell me what's going on, Lilly,” she said. “Why don't you want to go to school?”

“Because I don't feel good.”

“It seems like there's something else going on. You like school. You like being with your friends—”

Yeah, back when I actually
had
friends, I thought.

“Are you having some sort of problem with your friends?” Mom asked.

“No,” I grumbled. Because what I was having was more than “a problem.” It was a catastrophe. My friends didn't like me anymore.
Nobody
liked me.

“I just don't feel good,” I said. “Please, Mom! Can't I just stay home for one more day?” I really, really needed to stay home for one more day.
At least
one more day.

Mom pressed her lips together and frowned. “Not unless you can give me a good reason for why you need to stay home.”

“Isn't not feeling well a good enough reason?” I asked.

“Not after three days,” Mom said. “Not when I'm not seeing any symptoms. You say your stomach hurts, but you're not throwing up and you're eating well. If anything, you're eating more than usual. I really don't think you're sick, honey. I think there's something else going on.”

Even if I told her what was going on, she still probably wouldn't let me stay home. She'd tell me it would blow over, that my friends wouldn't stay mad forever. She wouldn't even get that they're not mad. There's a big difference between simply “being mad” and not liking someone anymore.

“Well, if you're not going to tell me what's going on, then you're going to have to go to school.” Mom stood up and yanked the covers off of me.

I yelped.

“Come on. Get up.” Mom went over to my dresser, opened my bottom drawer, pulled out a pair of jeans (even though I hardly ever wore plain old jeans anymore) and tossed them at me. She tossed me some socks and underwear, too. And finally a blouse from my closet. A blouse that didn't even look good with jeans.

“I want you dressed and ready to go in fifteen minutes!” Mom said firmly. Then she walked out of my room and pulled my door closed behind her.

I swallowed hard, then raised myself up to a sitting position.

Well, fine, I thought, reaching for my clothes. She could make me get up and get dressed. She could even drive me to school. But once I was there, she couldn't make me stay.