Rhymes With Witches (16 page)

Pammy, wistful as hell:
You're sooo lucky. And it couldn't have happened to a nicer person, that's what everyone's saying. So … is it awesome?

It
was
awesome, especially when I steeled my nerves and approached Nate Solomon over by the bar.

“Um … hey,” I said, smoothing my skirt over my thighs. If this Bitch thing was really working—really and truly and not just pretend—then Nate would respond.

He stayed focused on the task at hand, which was stabbing a hole into the bottom of his beer can with a pen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

His eyes strayed to me, and the beer slipped from his hands. Foam fizzed from the gash.

Mike Miller chortled. “Beauty, man. Smooth move!”

Nate turned red, and my head buzzed with the unrealness of
it. He dropped his beer
because of me
. He was blushing
because of me
.

“Shut up,” he told Mike, bending down and snagging the can. He pitched it into the trash.

I giggled, and Nate grinned self-consciously. He wiped his hands on his jeans and stepped toward me. My body tingled.

“You're Jane, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You, uh, want to shotgun a beer?” He gestured at Mike, who, having pierced the bottom of his can, was now pressing the hole to his mouth and guzzling away. “When you pop the top, it comes pouring out.”

“Oh,” I said.

“We have pony beers, if you're not ready for full-size.” He ducked behind the bar and produced a beer in a six-ounce miniature can. Then he plunked a really big beer beside it, twice the size of a normal beer. “Or we have tall boys, too. Want to try?”

“No thanks,” I said. “But I'll watch you.”

“Yeah? All right, cool.” He grabbed the tall boy, and Mike tossed him the pen. With sure aim, he punctured the aluminum. He drew the hole to his mouth, popped the top, and chugged.

“Rock it!” called Mike.

“Dude!” cheered another guy.

Nate's throat was long and taut as he swallowed. When he lowered the can, Schlitz glistened on his upper lip.

“Ice bonus,” Mike said. He strode to the bar and slapped Nate a high five.

Nate wiped his mouth with his forearm, then checked to make sure I'd been watching.

My skin warmed with excitement.

But the best part of the evening came later, after most everybody had left or passed out. Mary Bryan steered me to the back entrance of the warehouse, and we went outside into the cool night air. Keisha and Bitsy, too. Just the four of us. An iron ladder scaled the brick wall, and I followed Mary Bryan when she started climbing.

“Ooo, I can see Jane's knickers,” Bitsy said as she climbed up behind me.

“Shut up,” I said. Me, to Bitsy. I was heady with glory.

On top of the roof, we leaned against the metal housing of the air conditioning unit and reviewed the evening. Trucks rumbled by on a nearby thoroughfare, their headlights jogging over street signs. Occasionally they made the building shake.

“That was a very good time,” Mary Bryan said.

Keisha wrapped L'Kardos's jacket more tightly around herself. “L'Kardos told me he loves me,” she said softly.

“Keisha!” Mary Bryan squealed. She gasped and grabbed Keisha's hand.

“Took him long enough,” Bitsy grumbled. But she reached
over and wiggled Keisha's knee. “That's fantastic, Keisha. He's dead yummy, and you know I don't lie.”

“That's great,” I said shyly. I thought about Nate's strong arms, but kept them to myself. “He seems really nice.”

Keisha smiled. She rested her cheek against his jacket.

“Well, nothing nearly so exciting for me,” Bitsy said. “Keisha gets a big romantic moment, and what do I get? A grope on the sofa and Brad's tongue down my throat.”

“Ew,” Mary Bryan said.

“Not to worry. I gave him the boot.”

“Bitsy!” Mary Bryan exclaimed. “Are you serious?”

Bitsy shrugged. “I'm well shot of him. Anyway, I've got my sights on Ryan Overturf. Talk about yummy. Did you see those trousers he had on?”

“‘Those trousers'?” Mary Bryan teased. “Anyway, no, because Pammy Varlotta was using them as a cushion for most of the night. I'd say you've got your work cut out for you, Bitsy my luv.”

Bitsy snorted. “What a butter cow.”

“Only Ryan really does seem to like her.” Mary Bryan giggled. “Guess you'll have to wear a retainer and talk with a lisp like she does. Apparently that's what he goes for.”

“Is that why she talks like that?” I asked. “She has a retainer?”

“It's on the inside of her teeth so you can't see it,” Mary Bryan explained.

“Don't be mean,” Keisha said.

“What? Saying someone has a retainer isn't being mean.”

Bitsy stretched, an expansive, hands-over-head movement that pulled her top up to reveal her tummy. She let her arms flop down. “I think I'm up to the challenge of Pammy Varlotta. If not, there are always other ways.”

“No,” Mary Bryan said, feigning shock. “Don't tell me you'd break your fixation just for the sake of Pammy.”

“As I said, I highly doubt it will come to that.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “What fixation?”

“More like vendetta,” Mary Bryan said.

“Could we please not ruin the evening?” Keisha said.

“And did you hear?” Bitsy went on. “Stuart's on probation from football, all because of some ridiculous complaint she made. Pompous slag.”

“Who?” I said, totally confused. “Pammy?” Then something clicked in my brain. Stuart, complaint, pompous slag … “Wait a minute. Are you talking about Camilla Jones? How Stuart harassed her that one day?”

“What do
you
know about it?” Bitsy asked.

I should have been warned by her tone. Instead, I was glad of the chance to contribute. “Well, not a lot,” I said, hoping to sound offhand. “But I was there, that's all. And I went with Camilla to tell Mr. Van Housen.”

“So you ratted Stuart out?” Bitsy said.

My stomach dropped. I looked from face to face.

“Um … do you guys not like Camilla?” I asked. “Is there something I'm missing here?”

There was a pulse in the air. Mary Bryan's eyes flew to Bitsy, and then she quick-laughed and said, “What? We like Camilla.”

“Except when she's a right little prat,” Bitsy said. “Which is always.” To Mary Bryan she said, “You brought it up, so don't act all innocent.”

“Hey, don't put it on me!” Mary Bryan protested. “I have no problem with Camilla. I like her fine.”

Clearly, she didn't. Clearly, none of them did. Which baffled me, given Camilla's loner status. I was surprised they even knew who she was.

Then I thought about Camilla some more, how she was the one person who didn't worship the Bitches like everyone else. Was that what this was about?

“Anyway, I didn't rat Stuart out,” I said. “I just, you know, said that Camilla was telling the truth. That Stuart did what she said he did.”

Bitsy made a derisive noise. Mary Bryan ducked her head and fiddled with her hair. Keisha gazed at the rooftop, but as usual, she didn't speak.

“Camilla was just standing there,” I explained. “He pinned her against a locker and …” I looked at each of them. “Come on, you guys. It was bad.”

Mary Bryan lifted her head. “It's just … well, you were kind of right. Bitsy's not really one of Camilla's fans.”

I held out my hands, palms forward. “Neither am I, I swear!” I said. As the words spilled from my mouth, I realized they were true. Until this very moment I'd thought I liked Camilla. Sort of. I'd admired her, at any rate, for being true to herself in a dog-eat-dog world. Only now that admiration was gone, replaced with … ickiness.

Just like the ickiness I'd felt toward Alicia, that day in the cafeteria.

Oh, shit.

“Did one of you guys …” I started. “Bitsy, did you …”

Bitsy arched one eyebrow.

I decided I didn't have a question after all. I had a heart-pounding feeling of having done something wrong, although I
hadn't
, so I pushed forward with my story. “Anyway, Mr. Van Housen pretty much blew her off. He acted like she was a huge nuisance.”

“Yeah?” Mary Bryan said. She turned to Bitsy, like,
Did you hear? Isn't that great?

I tried to do better. “She was all whiney, like, ‘Wah, wah, wah, poor me.' And Mr. Van Housen was all, ‘All right, girls. The matter will be taken care of appropriately.'”

“She's a—what'd you call your friend the other day?” Bitsy said. “A toad. A slimy, bug-eyed toad.”

“I know,” I said. “I mean, if she would just … be less aloof or something. But she doesn't even make the effort.”

Bitsy's mouth twisted. “Everything she gets, she deserves.”

Mary Bryan stared at her fingernails.

“Next time stay out of her way, right?” Bitsy said.

I nodded. “Sure. Of course.”

“And if she gives you any problems, come to me. I'll make sure she doesn't bother you.”

“Leave it alone, Bitsy,” Keisha said.

“I'll leave it alone when I want to leave it alone,” Bitsy shot back.

“Guys,” Mary Bryan pleaded.

“What, now
you're
going to get on my back, too?”

“Just … stop. Okay? This is Jane's night. We don't want to spoil it with things that don't even matter.”

Mary Bryan turned to me and smiled unconvincingly. “Did you have fun? Was it everything you thought it would be?”

“Um … yeah. It was awesome.”

“For real?” Mary Bryan said. “You're not just saying that?”

I pushed Camilla from my mind, because despite it all, the glow from the night still remained. I wasn't going to let her ruin it. “Well, I don't want to sound stupid, but …”

“You won't sound stupid.”

I blew out my breath. “It was just really nice, because I think everyone liked me. Even when I acted like an idiot.”

No one spoke. It was as if they were letting my words float down around them.

“Yeah,” Keisha said at last. “It feels good, doesn't it?”

Mary Bryan leaned against me. She rested her head on my shoulder.

“Well done, you,” Bitsy said, her venom gone. “Well done, our Jane.”

I dreamed about second grade, when Mom signed me up to be a Junior Bird Girl. We made thumbprint owls and microwaved s'mores. On the last day, to symbolize flying from the nest, we were blindfolded one by one and led into a circle of fellow Bird Girls. I folded my arms over my chest as I was passed from girl to girl, feeling their small hands on my shoulders and back. First they whispered bad things about me:
You're too skinny. You smile too much. You suck at math.
Then came the good things:
I like your barrettes. You're kind to animals. Your hair is so soft.
I remembered their fluttering touch. The sensation of taking flight.