“You got one six months ago,” I snip back, and I’m done. I was in a shit mood earlier and Morgan is adding to it.
“Wow.” She reaches for her purse. “Still fighting with Edge, huh?” She casually goes through it looking for something. With her long, manicured nails, sporting a perfect pink color, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes.
It’s like a lightning bolt strikes me—as she goes to light up in the teachers’ restroom, it dawns on me that I don’t like her.
Morgan is the most popular girl in high school. I’ve worked hard to become her best friend. And all that time, I’ve spent hours and years doing things that, at the moment, kind of make me sick.
“Hello?” She snaps her fingers in front of my face and I slap her hand away. Turning to look at myself in the mirror, I can barely stand my reflection. Not that my image is bad, far from it. Yet somewhere, I lost myself or my way.
Blinking, I rub beneath my eyes to wipe away some of the eyeliner, which ran a little. I’m copying the Elizabeth Taylor-Cleopatra look this week. Next week I’ll try something else with my eyeliner. My dark chocolate hair is shiny and healthy. Edge loves to run his hands through it, so I keep it long.
I’m petite, which sounds way better than “short.” But to be honest, I love being small. It feels good standing next to Edge who is now close to six three.
I glance at Morgan. Her long blond hair needs about four inches taken off. Too much bleaching has made it look brittle and trashy. Add her big, fake, pink bubble gum lips and the whole thing looks stupid. I don’t care that it’s all the rage to get your lips injected so that you can look like Angelina Jolie; some people shouldn’t do it. Morgan’s one of them.
She probably thinks she looks like Paris Hilton with fucked-up lips.
I cock my head. Why the fuck am I friends with her?
“Check, bitch. I can’t look.” She goes to hip bop me. I glare back and she must sense I’m not in the mood for her games.
Her eyes narrow. “You’ve become a real drag. It’s not my fault you don’t have the guts to tell him about Homecoming.”
I hate her.
She’s right, and I still hate her.
“Fine,” she whines. “If you’re not gonna fuck Edge… fuck Troy. You’d better get some dick soon.” She smiles, and her big white teeth remind me of a vampire: a blond scary monster with fake everything, even her brain.
I’m sick of her, and I despise Edge at this very second. He’s been missing in action again. Ever since we started our senior year, he’s here less and less.
Jason, Axel, and David all graduated last year. It’s becoming obvious he doesn’t even care if he gets a diploma.
Meanwhile, all I’ve been doing is working my ass off to get all A’s. I’m in so many stupid groups I have no time for anything. I know he blames me for not wanting to spend time with him, but I’m planning for our future since he seems incapable.
Stupid club. It’s the bane of my existence. Always has been, but now it’s taken a hold of Edge in a way that is scaring me.
He’s full-on involved with the Disciples. I complained last night on the phone and he said I have no one but myself to blame. See? I hate him.
Every time we fight, he tries to pin it on me, saying that he’s giving me space. I’m not stupid. What do I need space for?
I know he still hasn’t forgiven my dad for that horrible day. Even though so much time has gone by, we can’t seem to move past it.
I take a breath and close my eyes as I chant in my head, He loves me. Our love is pure and true. I do this many times a day. It seems to calm the sense of doom in the pit of my stomach. Lately I’ve been scared, and I hate that more than anything.
And now, it’s freakin’ Homecoming.
Morgan’s right. I have been avoiding him. I need to tell him that I’ve been nominated queen and I’m 99 percent sure that Troy will be king. Christ, with as little as I see him, would he even care?
Yep, I despise my life. It’s spiraling in a direction that at one time I coveted but now…
I want Edge. I want to be with him, not sneaking into the teachers’ lounge bathroom because Morgan thinks it’s cleaner to check if she’s pregnant again.
I look down at my ring finger. My nail polish is chipped. “You know,” I say, “there is such a thing as birth control. Like, you’re not a car. You can’t go get abortions like oil changes.” It’s mean and not even Morgan deserves that, but I can’t help myself.
She’s way too happy. I mean what the fuck? I would be hysterical. She should be hysterical. Instead, she’s fixing her makeup and hair.
She turns and we face each other as her eyes sweep my face. “You”—she points her stupid finger in my face and I swear I visualize myself biting it off like a dog with rabies—“don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” She moves in closer. Her Lancôme perfume almost makes me turn my head. But no fucking way. We stare at each other.
“If you don’t look and tell me what the fucking pregnancy test says, I’ll tell everyone your little secret.” She turns and leans her skinny ass on the counter as she crosses her ankles in her heeled boots.
My face burns. “I have no secret.”
She smiles and again, I wonder why I tried so hard to become her best friend. “I know you’re a virgin. I also know someone as hot as Edge is not. So…” She lets her awful voice trail away and I swear to God I’m having a hard time trying to catch my breath.
She said it. My ears are ringing. I need to defend myself, Edge, our relationship but at the moment, all she does is voice my greatest fear.
“Cat got your tongue, Dolly?” she sneers. “See, we all have our shit. At least I’m honest with mine.”
I can’t speak. I don’t trust myself not to start crying and ask her what she knows or strangle her. But neither of those are options.
So instead, I look down at the stupid pregnancy test. Not pregnant.
“It’s negative.”
She looks over at me, then smirks. “Perfect.” She straightens her skirt.
“Morgan?” I say slowly as the blood flows back into my brain. Picking up the stick, I dangle it in her face. She backs away as I let it drop into the garbage can.
“Next time you think to give me advice”—I move close to her, barely coming up to her shoulder, but the mood I’m in, I could take on the world—“Just remember that my parents don’t have money like yours, but what they do have are guns, knives, and shovels.” I turn and wash my hands.
“What the hell does that mean?” she snarls, yet it lacks her usual aggressiveness.
I look up and smile at her in the mirror… and almost laugh because it’s better than sobbing. No matter how much I’ve tried to distance myself from my past, from the club, they follow me, and today, well, today I guess I’m my father’s daughter.
“It means”—I turn and grab a paper towel and dry my hands—“I’m not the one. Don’t talk about Edge or anything to do with us. Ever. I’ve seen things that you can’t even dream of.”
“Please, you can’t possibly think you can get away with threat—” Her eyes go huge as I move close to her again.