This Is Me From Now On (9 page)

“What for?” she asked, not looking at me.

“I don't know. Because she's in Paris.”

“Evie,” Francesca said. “Please. Living in Paris is not so bloody tragic.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant. And I'm utterly fine with her living wherever she wants. I don't even
like
veggie burgers.”

“What? I wasn't talking about veggie burgers.”

“No, actually I think you were,” she said, fixing the button on her collar. Then suddenly she changed the subject. “By the way. Did you notice the stationery?”

“Not really.”

She handed me the letter again. “Look at the top. The monogram.”

I stared at it. But all I saw was . Like the towels in her aunt's bathroom. “What about it?”

“SP,” Francesca said patiently. “Like Espee. Samantha Pattison, Stephanie Pierce. Same initials, Evie. Isn't that such a fascinating coincidence?”

I glanced at her. “Fascinating in what way?”

“Oh, we haven't figured that out yet,” she answered, smiling.

When we got to school, Lily and Nisha were sitting on the grass. Lily was talking to Can You Please Pass the Syrup, but as soon as we plopped down, he got up and ran away.

“You okay?” Lily asked me immediately. “Hi, Francesca.”

“Okay about what?” Francesca asked cheerfully.

“Nothing,” I muttered. “It's totally unimportant.”

“Well,” Lily said. “Actually, Evie. Something just happened, but Nisha says you probably don't want to hear it.”

I pretend-smiled. “Yeah? Then I probably don't.”

“It's about Evie's crush, isn't it?” Francesca asked. They
stared at her. “Didn't she tell you? I'm psychic about these things.”

“Psychic,” Nisha repeated. “Right.” She turned her back to Francesca and rolled her eyes at me. “Gaby's telling everyone that Kayla and you-know-who are going out.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?
Your heart is being smashed like an empty soda can and that's all you can say about it?”

“Shut up, Neesh,” Lily scolded. She looked at me with best-friend eyes. “Listen, Evie, we're totally here for you. So if you want to talk—”

“Thanks.”

“But maybe now isn't the best time.” She blinked once in the direction of Francesca, who was adjusting her faux-fur collar.

“Actually,” I said slowly, “Francesca knows the whole thing. Not that there's anything to know.”

Nisha's eyes flashed. “Um, Evie? Can I talk to you a minute? In private?”

I followed her to the big maple tree in front of the building.

“Okay,” she said in a small, pinched voice. “Francesca knows
about Zane
?”

I nodded.

“How?”

“I'm not sure. She kind of just figured it out.”

“Because she's psychic, right?” Nisha shook her head. “How could you do that, Evie? Not talking to us, but telling
Francesca
?”

“I didn't tell her anything,” I insisted. “And anyway, Nisha, however she knows about it, it's not such a terrible thing.”

“Meaning?”

“I don't know. I just wish you'd give her a chance. And Lily, too.”

She gaped at me. “Oh, excellent. So we're the problem here?”

“That's not what I said.”

“You said—okay,
implied
—we're being mean to Francesca. Who suddenly knows your deepest, innermost feelings. Unlike your two best friends, who you've completely shut out.”

“I'm really sorry,” I said in a tight voice. “I don't mean to shut you out. It's just that I'm not really comfortable talking about the Zane situation.”

“Yeah, we've noticed. How come?”

“I don't know. Because it's embarrassing. And you guys won't leave me alone about it.”

“But you
are
comfortable sharing it with Francesca, right?
Why?
”

You know how when you break a glass, it shatters all over the floor? It felt like there were a majillion glass bits in my throat. “I'm not sharing it with Francesca. I swear.”

“She's such a fake. I know you think she's so cool and fun and sophisticated —”

“Just shut up, Nisha. Please.” Now my eyes were starting to sting. “Okay, you want to hear the truth? I'm really, really upset about Zane. I feel exactly like what you said, a smashed-up empty soda can. And I can't
also
deal with all this jealousy about Francesca.”

She flinched. “Oh. And that's what you think this is about? Jealousy?”

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. “Yes,” I said softly. “I do.”

“You don't know anything, Evie,” she said in a choky voice.

And she turned and ran across the grass to Lily.

By Morning Homeroom there were three big news stories circulating on the seventh-grade Hard Team:
KAYLA GOING OUT
WITH ZANE! EVIE HEARTBROKEN! EVIE FIGHTS WITH BFF NISHA
! It was amazing. I don't know if people were texting one another in the hallway or communicating by telepathy, but by the time I took my seat, it seemed as if everyone was totally updated. “Zane's a jerk,” Katie Finberg whispered in my ear, which was a nice thing to say, I guess, even if it was completely wrong. And right before morning announcements, Gaby came over to my desk. “Hang in there,” she said sweetly. “I'm sure it'll all work out with Nisha.”

I waited for her to do her car-alarm laugh, but she didn't. Because she wasn't teasing; she was actually feeling
sorry
for me. And my throat was so sore from not-crying that I couldn't even answer her. Besides, even if I could, what would I say:
You're right, Gaby, this fight was meaningless
? Because how did I know that? We'd never actually fought before. (Argued, teased, annoyed, but never
fought.
) And where was Nisha, anyway? I looked around the room. She was sitting near the door with Lily, and she was all hunched over and shaking her head, while Lily was rubbing her shoulder and saying something private. When I looked at them, Lily caught my eye and smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile or even a sympathetic smile. It was a sad smile, a you-really-hurt-Nisha's-feelings smile, as if
I
was the one who'd
caused all this bad feeling. And hadn't just this morning been Crushed by a Crush, which they'd both seemed to have completely forgotten.

Right after Homeroom was Art. I just sort of sloshed my hands around in the papier-mâché juice and pretended to work, while Nisha and Lily talked quietly with Mr. Rafferty, then took stations on the opposite side of the studio. In the middle of class Espee speed-walked into the studio and whispered something to Mr. Rafferty. I could tell that Francesca was bugging out her eyes and grinning at me, but I kept my head down and acted like I didn't even notice.

The rest of the morning was boring and normal and totally endless, although the good news was that I never had to sit LilyEvieNisha and have them ignore me, which would have been just about unbearable. But at lunch I had to make a quick decision: Was I going to avoid Nisha and Lily and sit with (for example) Francesca? Or was I going to plop myself down next to my two best friends and apologize, even though I couldn't figure out what to apologize for?

The truth was, I really, really wanted to apologize, because I needed all this bad feeling to go away. Immediately. And I guess I could have made some kind of generic
comment like, “I'm sorry I hurt your feelings,” or, “I'm sorry we had a fight.” But something inside me just couldn't do it. If Lily and Nisha were my best friends, I told myself, they'd realize how hurt I was, and how unfair they were being. About Francesca. And the Attic Project. And Zane. And of course me. Apologizing would be like saying none of it even mattered. But it did.

So instead of going to the cafeteria and apologizing (or not-apologizing), I found myself doing a very weird thing: I knocked on Espee's door. Not to talk about any of this, but just to have her look at me with her calm, pale, incredibly smart eyes. (I didn't even need a sparkle; I just needed a normal look.) This was her lunch period too; I knew that from a couple of days ago, when we'd begged to be a trio.

“Come in,” she called in a friendly voice, so I opened the door and walked into her room.

She was sitting at her cluttered desk, eating strawberry yogurt and listening to some faraway-sounding New Age music. It was funny how the music made it seem like this wasn't even a classroom, like I was walking into her own private boudoir. Which was, by the way, the complete opposite of Samantha Pattison's, all crammed with books
and spidery plants and exotic-looking travel posters.
COME TO EXCITING ANDALUSIA
, one of them said, and I thought:
How exactly did Espee wind up in this (as Francesca put it) dreary little suburb? Did she see a poster that said
COME TO EXCITING BLANTON
? And took it literally?

And did she really have a deep, dark secret that was keeping her here?

Was Francesca right?

“Evie,” Ms. Pierce said, staring right into my face. “Everything okay?”

“Yes! I just wanted to ask about the San Francisco Earthquake. I was wondering if you could recommend some secondary sources for my Attic Project.”

Phew,
I thought.
That sounded like English.

She put down her plastic spoon. “Oh, yes. You're working with Francesca. How's that going?”

“Great.”

“That's wonderful. I had a feeling you two would be an excellent team. I guess all you needed was a little push.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you know, teachers chat about their students. The way students chat about their teachers.” She smiled as if we were sharing some kind of private, juicy secret.
DO
NOT BLUSH,
I yelled at myself. “And what I heard from Mr. Womack was that you were in a bit of a rut last year. I mean socially.”

“He said that?” Now I was definitely blushing. Because how could he say that about me? If anybody was in a rut, it was Mr. Womack.
The Legacy of Ancient This. The Legacy of Ancient That—

“Anyway,” she said sweetly, “I'm glad it's all working out for you. And I can't wait to see your Attic Project. Now, about the earthquake.”

She got up from her desk and walked to the back wall of her classroom where there was a giant bookcase. Then she started taking down a whole bunch of old-looking books. “Here's a good one, here's one that has several excellent photos, here's one you should get a copy of from the school library—”

The whole time she was talking, her back was to me. And suddenly I did a terrible thing.

I'm not sure why. Maybe I was just so crazed from everything that had happened this morning. Maybe I was upset about the “little bit of a rut” comment. Maybe I was curious about the so-called deep, dark secret. Maybe all of the above.

Anyway, whatever the reason, this is what happened: I peeked at Espee's computer screen.

Which said:

As soon as Francesca took her seat next to me in Spush, I grabbed her arm. “I have to tell you something,” I said in this squeaky helium-voice. “Can you meet me at dismissal? In front of the school?”

“Of course.” She scrunched her forehead at me. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. No.”

Then Nisha and Lily sat down and started whispering to each other, so I opened my Spush notebook and blindly copied what Espee was writing on the whiteboard:
Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.
By the time I finished writing the word “happiness,” I could tell that Nisha was
peeking at me. So I tried to give her a serious smile, not an everything's-cool-what-a-nice-day smile, which would have been totally fake, obviously. But all she did was turn away and slump into her seat.
Well, at least I tried
, I told myself, not that it made me feel any better. And I would have tried again, except she avoided eye contact for the entire period.

When school was finally over for the day, I sat on the front steps waiting for Francesca, my mind scampering around like Topaz or Tourmaline. All of a sudden, someone was sitting next to me.

And it wasn't Francesca. It was Zane. Wait, let me rephrase that: IT WAS ZANE.

“Oh! Hi,” I sputtered. “How are you?”

“Not bad.” He squinted at the sun. “Man, it's hot. You know what that means?”

“Global warming?”

“No. Well, probably.” He did that head-jerk thing with his bangs. “I just meant the place will be mobbed.”

“What place?”

He made an are-you-kidding-me face. “My dad's? I Scream for Ice Cream?”

“Oh, right,” I said brilliantly. “But that's good, isn't it? I mean, for business.”

“Sure. But it also means I have to work this afternoon.” He blinked his almost-amber-colored eyes. “So will you be coming in for the usual?”

“The what?”

“What you always get. Single scoop of chocolate chip in a sugar cone.”

My heart skittered in my chest
. Omigod,
I yelled at myself.
Omigod.
He actually notices what I order!

Then again, I do it like twelve majillion times a week.

“I might,” I said vaguely. “I've actually got a ton of homework. For Espee.”

“What about your friends?”

Uh, wrong question right now
. “Actually, they've got the same homework as me.”

“Too bad,” he said, patting my shoulder exactly two times. “Well, good luck with all that. See ya, Evie.”

Then he stood and walked off to join the jersey-wearers.