“Oh, god.” My laugh feels yanked out of my body, and for a second I think I’ll never feel anything but sadness and anger again. I’m not capable of strutting at all, much less in such a confident manner.
“Let’s get out of here,” James says.
I take a step toward my first period class.
“No, Kat, out of here,” she says.
“Like skipping?”
“More than like it,” she says. “Come on.”
She links her arm through mine and steers me down the hallway. Since the first bell hasn’t rung, people are milling about everywhere, including in front of the school. James and I blend in until we’re magically not on school grounds anymore.
I think about our lunch table, right in the center of the courtyard. Last year, James and her boyfriend, Logan Sidana, sat in the two most prominent spots, but since Logan graduated this past spring, Matty and me sat in the center, with James right at my side. I’m not someone who set out to be popular, and in a school as big as Magnolia Park, literal popularity might not actually be possible anyway. It feels like some leftover idea from old movies about teens and like it has less to do with my actual life.
But the thing is, you can’t even go outside to eat lunch without seeing us and our crowded table of athletes and top students and couples who get crowned prom king and queen. So where does that leave me today? And for the rest of the year?
Today, I feel safer when Magnolia Park High School is behind us. It’s like out here, Matty’s still mine, and I’m no table’s centerpiece.
“Do you want to talk about it?” James asks gently.
“Matty fucked Elise Penderson.”
James flinches when I say the f-word, because I do not say the f-word.
“When I was in Indiana. Or maybe when I was in Ohio. Maybe both.”
“Yeah,” she says. “That’s what I heard.”
“When?” I ask. My heart thuds like it also spots all the worst possibilities. “Right before you found me today? Did people know before I knew? Did you know? Did you know and, like, not tell me?”
“No, geez,” she says. “I’m not sure of the exact timeline. I think Elise might have told people. I had literally just heard, so I was coming to find you. And then I ran into Sofia and she told me about the fight.”
“Why are you yelling at me right now?” I ask.
“Kat, I’m not,” she says, and I realize she’s right. Her voice is raised just the slightest bit, but that’s so rare from James it might as well be a scream.
Or maybe I can’t judge anything right now.
“I’m sorry.” I lean my head against her shoulder as we walk down Keystone Street. My heartbeat seems OK now, despite my heartbreak. “Everything just feels out of control. I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes I kind of hoped Matty and I might be together forever.”
“It doesn’t sound stupid,” she says. And why would it to James? Her parents fell in love in high school and they’re still the happiest couple you could imagine.
“I mean, I at least assumed we’d be prom king and queen.” I’d already pictured the crown glittering in my curls and how handsome Matty would look as he led me to the dance floor.
“It’s a fair assumption.”
“I can’t believe this is our first Friday as seniors,” I say. “We were supposed to go out tonight.”
“We were?” James asks.
“No, me and Matty,” I say. “His parents are going out tonight so . . .”
“So it’s more that you were supposed to stay in tonight?” James asks with a smirk. Her mouth quickly straightens out. “I’m sorry. I somehow forgot for a moment.”
“Me too,” I whisper. I try to imagine it, Matty and me in his bedroom, but instead of my face, it’s Elise’s.
“What do you want to do?” she asks.
“A burger.” I realize it as I say it. “The biggest cheeseburger you can dream up.”
“I thought you were vegan now,” James says.
“Well, yeah, but me and Matty . . .”
James grins. “Dump a vegan, eat a burger?”
I’m not sure it counts as dumping someone when they betray you first, but I guess I did technically break up with him. I dumped Matty Evans, the bicycle-riding, hybrid-driving, violence-protesting vegan.
And it might only be eight o’clock in the morning, but suddenly the only thing I can think of is the taste of red meat.
I’m home, alone, when Dad walks into the house that evening. Since we got back from Indiana without Luke, this is our new normal. Our new new normal, because you can’t have your mom gone for only two years and be completely used to her absence already.
I can’t, at least.
“Your school called me,” Dad says as he puts his bag down on the counter. Mom used to pack a lunch for him every day, and at night he’d carefully take out all the empty reusable containers and load them into the dishwasher. Now I don’t know what Dad eats during the day. His bag only carries his laptop to work and then home again.
“What about?” I ask.
“Nice try,” Dad says, and I remember that I skipped school today. This morning feels so long ago, and the decisions made like someone else’s. “I covered for you. Figured you had a good reason.”
I nod. “Matty and I . . .”
“Sorry,” Dad says, though his posture’s different now. It reminds me of when I wrote tampons on the weekly grocery list for the first time after Mom was gone. Dad’s so great at so many things except when he remembers I’m a girl with girl feelings and girl needs and a whole girl life.
I don’t understand why that has to be a scary revelation.
“I’m sorry I skipped.” I try to sound innocent even though Dad probably hasn’t forgotten that I used to skip school sometimes even when I wasn’t going through a major life crisis. Before Mom was gone, I didn’t worry so much about rules. I barely even thought about them at all.
“It’s fine.” His back is already to me as he roots around in the freezer. “How about this lasagna thing? It’s got those soy bits in it you like so much.”
“I’m eating meat again,” I say.
“Oh, yeah?” He turns around and grins. “That’s my girl.”
“Don’t be so happy,” I say, but I haven’t seen him smile like this in a while. I realize I’m smiling right back at him. “I’ll still eat the lasagna.”
“No way,” he says. “Not until times are more desperate, at least. Can I take you out to dinner? Or is it too embarrassing to be caught with your old dad on a Friday night when your friends are all doing parties?”
“‘Doing parties’?” I giggle. “Dad. You can’t possibly think that’s how normal people talk.”
“I never claimed to be normal,” he says. “Come on.”
“I have to change,” I say, because once James and I finished eating burgers at Carl’s Jr., we came back here and I traded my new flowered romper for a tank top and old baggy yoga pants. The romper had been the favorite thing I’d bought during back-to-school shopping, but now it’s tainted by Matty and the rest of today’s events.