Mean Girls. Louise Rozett
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where is she, Johnny? She’s not here.”
“That makes it okay? You’re just doing whatever you want, and you don’t care anymore about her feelings? She loved you, Max!” I could hear the ire rising in Johnny’s voice.
“That’s bullshit and you know it!”
“It’s because of you she’s gone, you know. Because of you!”
Max, who’d had his back turned to Johnny, turned toward him and pushed him again. This time with enough force to knock him to the sand. Johnny recovered quickly.
“Don’t mess with me, Max, I got a lot of shit to take out on someone, it doesn’t matter to me if it’s you or not.”
Max gave a laugh and shook his head. “Yeah? You got shit to take out on me? Do it.”
They looked at each other, rain still coming down. It started to pour harder, but neither of them seemed to notice. Johnny balled his fists and hesitated. He didn’t want to hit Max. I could tell.
But Max was done hesitating. With a solid punch to the jaw he hit Johnny, who stumbled backward but caught himself. He swung at Max and made loud contact. Max didn’t miss a beat, grabbing at Johnny and throwing him onto the ground. Johnny pulled on Max’s shirt, ripping it so it hung wet and loose. Max yanked it off, revealing a sweating, tight body. His muscles rippled as he held Johnny down and punched him hard in the face.
Cam ran forward and pulled Max off Johnny, shouting at them to stop. The rain got heavier. Max spit blood onto the sand. Dana, who had been crouched on the ground over Johnny, ran to Max.
She slapped him across the face. He didn’t move.
“You,” she said, “are so messed up. And this?” She pulled out the necklace. “This is proof that she’s coming back. And you know what that means.”
“I think that’s a bit optimistic.”
Fury seemed to run down her spine as she said, “When you say things like that, Max—” she took a deep breath “—you really make me think you know more than you pretend to.”
He smiled, and I saw his teeth were covered in blood. “Yeah, Dana? You want to talk about that?”
She breathed quickly and then went back to Johnny, who was now standing and looking furiously at Max.
Max looked at me and then walked up the stairs without saying another word.
I felt like my world had fallen in. I’d been a fool to think that any part of this place was mine.
Things got worse over the next month. Not only were the days some of the shortest I’d seen, but the cold was getting colder by every minute. It hadn’t snowed. It had only rained icy, gray droplets. The building was cold everywhere. I was constantly in a sweatshirt, and if I’d had my way, I’d be in gloves, boots and a hat 24/7. But that’s just simply not the way to look attractive or to live down your reputation as a pariah.
Susan, who had been polite enough to ignore me at the last party I went to, was now glaring at me and laughing every time she saw me in the hallways or in class. Like she knew something I didn’t. Which I was sure she did.
Every time I heard whispers of “she,” I was sure they were either talking about Becca or about me. Sometimes I was so sure, I felt like I should say something. But what could I say?
I didn’t know what everyone’s problem with me was. I had merely gotten accepted to the school. It wasn’t my fault that I was replacing—or not replacing—the girl who had vacated my spot. Plus, so many people seemed so sure she’d be back. And if so, then what was the big deal?
Ever since the party, rumors and whispers had begun swarming through the hallways like locusts.
Becca is pregnant.
Becca will be back soon.
That new girl is a psycho and is trying to take Becca’s place.
Becca’s dead. And maybe Max killed her.
I couldn’t even wrap my mind around any of the suggestions. If Max loved her, he wouldn’t have killed her. And of course he didn’t, because that’s just … crazy.
But then … he didn’t seem to be having that much trouble moving on. He didn’t seem overly troubled. He wasn’t pouting or weeping in dark corners. Then again, he really didn’t seem the type who would, even if his heart was broken. Also … it’s not like he wanted to be with me like he’d been with her.
What surprised me was where my mind spent most of its time. I didn’t spend all of my time feeling embarrassed or put upon because everyone talked about me. I didn’t wonder so much about where Becca was or when and if she’d return. All I could do was think of Max, and our seven minutes.
The rumors about us had begun to circulate, too. Questions of whether or not we were together and what we had done in that supply closet were on everyone’s minds. Meanwhile, they still bandied around the idea that Johnny and I were hooking up on the side. It was a complicated web of rumors, and I couldn’t figure out why anyone cared.
Max and I didn’t discuss what had happened, or what everyone thought of us. We talked in class and acknowledged each other in the hallways. But that was about it, until early December. I was in the painting studio, finishing up a still life that I hated, when Max walked in.
I paused my computer at a Zero 7 chorus and said, “Hey.”
“Hey. You doing the still life, too?”
“Yeah, this one’s pretty hard. I thought it’d be easier, but it’s just not.”
We had to paint a still life lit by candles instead of by angled lighting. It made the contrasts stronger, but the tones had to be just right.
Max looked at my painting. “Pfft.”
“What?”
He pointed at it. “I don’t think you have any room to say that this is hard for you.”
I laughed, not knowing what to say.
“Sorry that everyone is talking about—” he pointed vaguely between himself and me “—you know.”
“Oh, it’s fine. Are you—is it bothering you?”
He shook his head. “No.”
A shiver went down my body, and suddenly I wasn’t as tired as I had been.
“So, really, you’re doing all right? Everyone talking isn’t driving you crazy?”
“It’s okay, really. It’s only another six months, anyway, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah, it’s not that long. I don’t know why … I don’t know why I’m so worried about you.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I want you to be okay. And it … really pisses me off whenever I hear anyone talking about you or comparing you to her.”
That feeling snuck up my spine again. The one that made me feel inferior to Her.
He went on. “I don’t think it’s fair that they do that. There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing wrong with you being here or … or anything.”
I took a breath. “Thank you.”
“I don’t think she’s coming back.”
I wanted to ask him if it was because he thought she was dead. But instead I just asked, “Why not?”
“I just don’t. I don’t want anything to have happened to her. We got into a fight that night, so everyone thinks I—” He had been staring at a place on the floor, but now he looked at me. “You know … I didn’t do anything to