Chapter 12

Hunter and I went in opposite directions after lunch. I had English and he headed to calculus, stuffing his homework into his backpack when the bell rang. The last third was left blank, and I asked him if he would get in trouble, but he just shrugged and informed me he had a perfect score for his homework so far.

I hadn't expected his prediction to come to fruition so soon, but when I followed the crowd through the double doors leading to the east wing, Margo and Casey stood slightly beyond them, waiting for me. Casey inspected her face in a small compact mirror while Margo glanced around the hallway. It was too loud, but I could practically hear her high heels clicking back and forth against the linoleum floor. When she spotted me, she stilled. I had known Margo would be unhappy with me, but her expression far surpassed unhappiness.

"What the fuck was that?" she asked.

Casey shut her compact mirror with a sharp snap, her eyes widening—it was clear she hadn't been briefed on the conversation. Like me, she probably thought they were waiting for me to walk to class.

I scanned the people who passed us, hoping one could provide me with a reasonable answer. "What, Margo?" I asked, sounding as tired as my mom when she worked too late.

"Hunter?" She flinched at the sound of her own voice, his name an embarrassing secret she hadn't meant to utter in a crowd. She stepped closer, towering over me, as she lowered her voice. "Hunter freaking Thomas?"

I folded my arms across my chest and did my best not to shrink from her. "I can be friends with him."

"Friends? Is that what you guys are?"

"Yeah, so?"

"He has mental health issues," she said.

My arms were lined with cuts, but yes, Hunter was the sole person with mental health issues at our school. "What do you care?"

Casey stood between us, eyes wide as she glanced back and forth between the two of us. "Alice," she started to say, trying to reason with me, but Margo and I ignored her.

"I care because you're my friend," Margo said. But despite the words, she used a tone I was familiar with, reserved for those so far beneath her they were practically underground.

"That's not why you care," I scoffed. "You just don't like when people do things without your permission. You hate not being able to control everyone, even your so-called friends."

Her eyes widened. "You know what? Fine. I don't know why I care anyway. You've spoken more words to your new friend in a single day than you've spoken to us in years. You used to be my best friend, but you're not even here anymore." She gestured at the hallway around us. "You might sit with us at lunch or stand at my locker, but you don't actually bother to maintain any sort of friendship. And to be perfectly honest, I was getting sick and tired of dealing with your moodiness all the time, so forget it. Have a good time with your new psycho, but don't come crying to us when he gets himself admitted again."

She started to turn away, pulling Casey with her, but I stopped them, voicing a sentiment I hadn't even realized I harbored. "You haven't been a friend to me either. You weren't there, Margo. You weren't there when I needed you."

She paused, staring at me, and I could tell by her expression that her thoughts drifted to the same place as mine. "Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "Save your sob story for someone else." And then she did walk away, Casey's arm tucked beneath hers. But she wasn't as put together as usual. She walked too fast, and her purse dragged behind her, the weight of it hitting the backs of her knees as she stalked off.

I stood rooted to the spot as people pushed past me. Margo, Casey, and I had become different people, people who had clearly outgrown one another. But it still stung—a surprising amount. If I was being honest, my banishment was long overdue, but I hadn't expected our friendship to end so abruptly. Some part of me had expected the slow drift when they realized I'd never be the same person I was in seventh grade, alive and vivid as I locked lips with Jeremy Van den Berg in the back of the dingy roller rink with neon lights and too much saliva. I had been the first one to kiss a boy, and their questions were endless. We'd squished into Margo's bed that night, and I hadn't felt nauseous as I recalled his lips on mine. I remembered beaming at the ceiling, assuring them it was as addictive and wonderful as everyone said.

I followed after them, but I kept my distance, and for the first time, I noticed the shift as Margo and Casey strutted through the hallways. They didn't have the right of way, but they always seemed to occupy the precise middle of the hallway, and while I had to fight my way through the crowd, it parted for them. I contemplated skipping English and faking a stomachache so I could lie down in Mrs. Baker's office for the rest of the day, but I resolved to stop being a baby as I climbed my way to the second floor. That, and I had chemistry next to Hunter's physics class after English.

When I walked into English, Margo and Casey had settled into their usual spots. A few people in the first row glanced at me in passive interest, their curiosity carrying from the cafeteria, but I kept my head lowered as I made my way through the middle aisle. I set my bag on the back of my chair, and Margo startled from her conversation with Casey.

"You cannot be serious." She glared at me, and the entire room grew silent as a ripple of heads turned in our direction.

My eyes shifted to the front of the room, but Mr. Kinney wasn't at his desk yet. "This is my seat, Margo."

She shrugged. "Not anymore."

My face grew hot as I stood there. I tried to sit anyway because everyone was watching, but she stuck her foot through the square space on the back of my chair, her high heel blocking me. When I looked back at her, incredulous, her grin was cruel.

"Suzanne!" she called as Suzanne walked into the classroom. Suzanne stilled, looking around the room as if there might be another Suzanne she somehow wasn't aware of, who not only went to our school but was also in our English class.

"I saved you a seat," Margo said, without taking her eyes off me.

Suzanne stared between us in utter confusion.

"Really?" I muttered, but instead of answering, Margo lifted one shoulder a mere centimeter, her lips curled into a smile.

Suzanne approached us, her face so hopeful that I rolled my eyes. When she stopped in front of me, she looked prouder than she did reading the announcements every morning. "Excuse me, Alice." Her head tilted to one side, her smile more obnoxious than Margo's.

When I didn't move, she pushed past me, and Margo slid her foot off the chair, allowing Suzanne to sit. Once seated, she pushed my bag off the chair, and it slumped to the floor. I stared at her and then Casey, who held my gaze for a moment before biting her bottom lip and looking away.

I bent forward to pick up my bag, and my face throbbed as I scrambled to the front.

Mr. Kinney strode into the classroom as the second bell rang. "Alice, find a seat." He flipped through a stack of papers on his desk, and when I didn't move, he pinned me with a stern stare. "Alice?" His mouth was firm as he gestured to an open seat in the back corner of the classroom.

I nodded, my throat dry, before clambering to the back as everyone watched.

I tried to focus on Mr. Kinney throughout class, but I couldn't help periodically glancing at Margo. She leaned forward and whispered to Suzanne as though they were best friends. At best, Margo tolerated Suzanne, but my fingers still tightened around my pencil.

Margo's auburn hair shone bright and confident down her back. Her fingernails were painted royal blue, and I remembered the same hand in mine, both of us nervous as we walked into our first middle school dance together. And I remembered her grinning pink face as we jumped and danced, giggling into each other whenever a boy came too close.

I felt the sudden overwhelming urge to cry, but it wasn't just because of Margo. Her laughter carried across the classroom, and I realized how much of a stranger she'd become.

Though she was there, right in front of me, Margo wasn't the same. And neither was I.