Verna’s magenta cheeks and damp eyes. She tried to pay attention anyway, but it was hard. Because why should she care about his world if he didn’t care about hers.
After Bio came Art, and Art was jumping into a lake on a hot summer day, the first pain-free step after shaking the rock out of your shoe. When the bell rang, Jared was telling her about religious themes in The X-Files , so they walked out together, and then Verna made her way to the parking lot alone.
Where Justinian sat on the hood of Layla’s car with his arms draped over her shoulders, his fingers laced loosely together in front of her throat. Layla leaned between his legs, one languid finger tracing the faint blue veins on the back of his hand. “Verna Faith Elshere,” she said, with a lift of one carefully plucked eyebrow. “Was that a boy I saw you talking to, you slut?”
Verna’s cheeks grew warm. “He’s just a friend.” Trust Layla, she thought bitterly, to take the one decent thing in her day and turn it into something horrible. Even if she was joking.
Justinian jumped down from the hood of the car like a lanky, trench-coated cat. “I know that guy. He draws wolves.” If Jared’s voice had held a note of contempt, Justinian’s played the entire symphony.
This time, instead of dropping Justinian downtown, Layla drove home. The driveway was empty; their parents were gone. Layla put the car in park and turned around to look at Verna. “All right. Should Pastor Jeff or the Whore of Babylon inquire, I am studying at a friend’s house. I will not be home for dinner, because I was invited to eat with my new friend’s family. Should they inquire further, this friend’s name is—oh, let’s say Brittany.”
Verna glared at her. “I’m not going to lie for you. Tell them yourself.”
“I could tell them water was wet and they’d assume I was lying.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t lie so much, then.”
“Maybe you should lie more.”
“Well, I’m not going to start now. You can just forget it.”
“Such a sweet little lambkins,” Layla said. “Such an obedient little zombie.”
Justinian glanced at Verna in the rearview mirror, but said nothing. She wanted to wither up and blow away like a dead leaf. “I am not.”
“Prove it,” Layla said.
“Fine.” Verna grabbed her books and climbed out of the car.
By the time her parents came home, she’d changed her mind a hundred times but, in the end, she lied. Not because Layla wanted her to, but because she couldn’t listen to another huge screaming fight. Not tonight. She even invented a blue sweater for the imaginary Brittany to wear, thinking of the cardigan Calleigh had worn that day. Every syllable she spoke seemed to shine with untruth, but her parents accepted it.
After dinner, she wiped the table while her parents talked in the kitchen. As she listened, the arcs her rag made grew smaller and smaller and Verna grew smaller and smaller, too; because she had discovered, long ago, that if she was very small, people often forgot she was there. This was how she’d learned that the original manufacturer of the Price Above Rubies rings had employed eight-year-olds in his factories, and that when Toby slept on their couch for a month it was because the director of his sober living facility had found a fifth of vodka under his bed, and that there was a GPS transmitter hidden in Layla’s new car.
“A friend named Brittany, huh?” Mother said now.
“Who wears blue sweaters. Maybe we’re coming to the end of this thing, praise God.”
Mother, sounding dubious, said, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Verna heard a cabinet door open and close. She often prayed for the strength to stop eavesdropping, but God never gave it to her. Maybebecause the things she learned left her less baffled by the mysteries around her. How could a ruby ring cost less than four dollars wholesale? Why did Toby, who was in his twenties and an official grown-up, always have to be home by ten
After Bio came Art, and Art was jumping into a lake on a hot summer day, the first pain-free step after shaking the rock out of your shoe. When the bell rang, Jared was telling her about religious themes in The X-Files , so they walked out together, and then Verna made her way to the parking lot alone.
Where Justinian sat on the hood of Layla’s car with his arms draped over her shoulders, his fingers laced loosely together in front of her throat. Layla leaned between his legs, one languid finger tracing the faint blue veins on the back of his hand. “Verna Faith Elshere,” she said, with a lift of one carefully plucked eyebrow. “Was that a boy I saw you talking to, you slut?”
Verna’s cheeks grew warm. “He’s just a friend.” Trust Layla, she thought bitterly, to take the one decent thing in her day and turn it into something horrible. Even if she was joking.
Justinian jumped down from the hood of the car like a lanky, trench-coated cat. “I know that guy. He draws wolves.” If Jared’s voice had held a note of contempt, Justinian’s played the entire symphony.
This time, instead of dropping Justinian downtown, Layla drove home. The driveway was empty; their parents were gone. Layla put the car in park and turned around to look at Verna. “All right. Should Pastor Jeff or the Whore of Babylon inquire, I am studying at a friend’s house. I will not be home for dinner, because I was invited to eat with my new friend’s family. Should they inquire further, this friend’s name is—oh, let’s say Brittany.”
Verna glared at her. “I’m not going to lie for you. Tell them yourself.”
“I could tell them water was wet and they’d assume I was lying.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t lie so much, then.”
“Maybe you should lie more.”
“Well, I’m not going to start now. You can just forget it.”
“Such a sweet little lambkins,” Layla said. “Such an obedient little zombie.”
Justinian glanced at Verna in the rearview mirror, but said nothing. She wanted to wither up and blow away like a dead leaf. “I am not.”
“Prove it,” Layla said.
“Fine.” Verna grabbed her books and climbed out of the car.
By the time her parents came home, she’d changed her mind a hundred times but, in the end, she lied. Not because Layla wanted her to, but because she couldn’t listen to another huge screaming fight. Not tonight. She even invented a blue sweater for the imaginary Brittany to wear, thinking of the cardigan Calleigh had worn that day. Every syllable she spoke seemed to shine with untruth, but her parents accepted it.
After dinner, she wiped the table while her parents talked in the kitchen. As she listened, the arcs her rag made grew smaller and smaller and Verna grew smaller and smaller, too; because she had discovered, long ago, that if she was very small, people often forgot she was there. This was how she’d learned that the original manufacturer of the Price Above Rubies rings had employed eight-year-olds in his factories, and that when Toby slept on their couch for a month it was because the director of his sober living facility had found a fifth of vodka under his bed, and that there was a GPS transmitter hidden in Layla’s new car.
“A friend named Brittany, huh?” Mother said now.
“Who wears blue sweaters. Maybe we’re coming to the end of this thing, praise God.”
Mother, sounding dubious, said, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Verna heard a cabinet door open and close. She often prayed for the strength to stop eavesdropping, but God never gave it to her. Maybebecause the things she learned left her less baffled by the mysteries around her. How could a ruby ring cost less than four dollars wholesale? Why did Toby, who was in his twenties and an official grown-up, always have to be home by ten
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