only going so he can get some,” Robbie said.
I stared at him. “How the hell would that make me feel better?”
“I don’t know.” Immediately after, Robbie added, “Maybe he likes her for real or something. That’d be better, right? I mean, it was his idea to go to hers to party. I could see him going out with her for a long time. He’s seriously the type that would marry a high school girlfriend. I can picture it now—a glimpse into his life produced by TSN, him and Heather on a couch with three kids and a rescued Rottweiler saying that they fell for each other over a Broadway show.”
I gritted my teeth. “Robbie? Do me a favor?”
“Yeah. Sure. Anything.”
“Stop talking.”
“But—”
“Just stop.”
I turned my back to Robbie. I didn’t want to think about Heather going on a date with Durrell when I was supposed to be going to that show. Durrell probably disliked musicals as much as I disliked him at that moment, though that dislike would fade. Durrell was too cool to stay angry at. He probably didn’t even know I liked her. After all, I didn’t exactly tell him when he asked. If I had, he probably wouldn’t have bothered. He had integrity.
So why didn’t I tell him, “Actually, I like her. A lot,” when I had the chance?
I hugged my arms around my waist. I thought about Miss Maroney telling me to make my characters fall in love. For a moment, I pretended my arms were Heather. That we weren’t best friends so we could get together.
Yeah, right.
10
H eather wasn’t at her locker Monday morning. She didn’t answer any of my texts either, not even the ones where I asked how the show was. I didn’t like using my cell during school, even though most of the kids at Briar Rose did without consequence—I guess that’s a perk of a private school geared for young professionals—but I peeked right after World Civilizations IV. Nothing.
I glanced toward Robbie’s locker. He kept his head ducked, jerking out a textbook before heading to his next class. Beneath hooded lids, his eyes were flat and lifeless as buttons. He hadn’t been himself—not that I was any expert on what that was anymore—since the knife incident. He wouldn’t talk to me; and yet more than once, trapped so close in our room, I’d been startled out of daydreaming or some menial task, certain he’d been screaming at me.
Turning off my phone, I went to my next class.
Calculus was easy. I liked having foolproof formulas to work on. I was able to think about other things as I filled in the numbers and figured out the solution. I wanted to think about the dolphin people in my story, or maybe start a new one.
Instead, I thought about Robbie.
Identical twins were supposed to share so much, but we might as well have not been related. Sure, we came from the same split egg, but we were water and oil. We looked the same under a rolling boil, but we didn’t mix.
If he were thinking about hurting himself, would I even know? A hundred times already I’d convinced myself he was fine, that if he wanted me to stick my nose in his business, he’d say something. I’d pretended everything was okay when Robbie laughed, ignoring how plastic his smiles could be.
“Is everything all right?”
My teacher, Mrs. Benedict, stopped by my desk. I looked around, unable to remember what I was just working on. It took staring at the pencil I gripped tightly to realize that I hadn’t stopped after the nine assigned problems, but went through the next few pages of work as well.
“Yeah, sorry.” I felt the sting of something acidic in my throat. “Um. Just . . . a lot on my mind.”
“If you need a moment . . .” Her voice trailed off. Mrs. Benedict wasn’t a kind woman by disposition. She was always fair to me and basically left me alone because I did what I was told and did well on exams, but she was never as warm as she was now. It was kind of pathetic that my teachers were more concerned about my well-being than my own
I stared at him. “How the hell would that make me feel better?”
“I don’t know.” Immediately after, Robbie added, “Maybe he likes her for real or something. That’d be better, right? I mean, it was his idea to go to hers to party. I could see him going out with her for a long time. He’s seriously the type that would marry a high school girlfriend. I can picture it now—a glimpse into his life produced by TSN, him and Heather on a couch with three kids and a rescued Rottweiler saying that they fell for each other over a Broadway show.”
I gritted my teeth. “Robbie? Do me a favor?”
“Yeah. Sure. Anything.”
“Stop talking.”
“But—”
“Just stop.”
I turned my back to Robbie. I didn’t want to think about Heather going on a date with Durrell when I was supposed to be going to that show. Durrell probably disliked musicals as much as I disliked him at that moment, though that dislike would fade. Durrell was too cool to stay angry at. He probably didn’t even know I liked her. After all, I didn’t exactly tell him when he asked. If I had, he probably wouldn’t have bothered. He had integrity.
So why didn’t I tell him, “Actually, I like her. A lot,” when I had the chance?
I hugged my arms around my waist. I thought about Miss Maroney telling me to make my characters fall in love. For a moment, I pretended my arms were Heather. That we weren’t best friends so we could get together.
Yeah, right.
10
H eather wasn’t at her locker Monday morning. She didn’t answer any of my texts either, not even the ones where I asked how the show was. I didn’t like using my cell during school, even though most of the kids at Briar Rose did without consequence—I guess that’s a perk of a private school geared for young professionals—but I peeked right after World Civilizations IV. Nothing.
I glanced toward Robbie’s locker. He kept his head ducked, jerking out a textbook before heading to his next class. Beneath hooded lids, his eyes were flat and lifeless as buttons. He hadn’t been himself—not that I was any expert on what that was anymore—since the knife incident. He wouldn’t talk to me; and yet more than once, trapped so close in our room, I’d been startled out of daydreaming or some menial task, certain he’d been screaming at me.
Turning off my phone, I went to my next class.
Calculus was easy. I liked having foolproof formulas to work on. I was able to think about other things as I filled in the numbers and figured out the solution. I wanted to think about the dolphin people in my story, or maybe start a new one.
Instead, I thought about Robbie.
Identical twins were supposed to share so much, but we might as well have not been related. Sure, we came from the same split egg, but we were water and oil. We looked the same under a rolling boil, but we didn’t mix.
If he were thinking about hurting himself, would I even know? A hundred times already I’d convinced myself he was fine, that if he wanted me to stick my nose in his business, he’d say something. I’d pretended everything was okay when Robbie laughed, ignoring how plastic his smiles could be.
“Is everything all right?”
My teacher, Mrs. Benedict, stopped by my desk. I looked around, unable to remember what I was just working on. It took staring at the pencil I gripped tightly to realize that I hadn’t stopped after the nine assigned problems, but went through the next few pages of work as well.
“Yeah, sorry.” I felt the sting of something acidic in my throat. “Um. Just . . . a lot on my mind.”
“If you need a moment . . .” Her voice trailed off. Mrs. Benedict wasn’t a kind woman by disposition. She was always fair to me and basically left me alone because I did what I was told and did well on exams, but she was never as warm as she was now. It was kind of pathetic that my teachers were more concerned about my well-being than my own
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