Page 85 of The Way I Used to Be
“You think you’re such a mystery? You’re completely transparent—I see right through you.”
“Leave!” I demand.
“You’re toxic. You know, you just spread around your bullshit everywhere you go. It’s so pathetic, I almost feel sorry for you—almost.”
I had no idea Cameron could be so mean. Somewhere, a small part of me almost admires him—almost.
“You—you don’t even know me. How can you—”
“Oh, yeah I do,” he interrupts. “I know all about you.”
I shake my head. No. I can’t speak.
“I’ll go now”—he backs away—“so you can cry. Alone.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah.” He raises his arm and waves. “Sure.”
“Fuck you!” I scream at his back. “Fuck you!” I pick up the ceramic coaster sitting on the end table, the closest thing to my hand, and chuck it at the door as it closes.
Back in my room, I pull my sleeping bag out from under the bed, toss and turn a few times. Then I’m up on my feet again. Rolling the sleeping bag into a ball, I throw open my closet door and shove it in. It flops out. I kick it, kick and kick and kick at it. I throw myself on the floor and push it back in, over and over, but it just keeps stumbling out again. Next, the avalanche of papers, boxes, a toppling-in-slow-motion stack of old clothes that no longer fit, a fleet of stuffed animals, a fucking stupid, useless clarinet. I lie down on the pile and try as hard as I can to stop crying.
I stay in my room all day. All night. I skip dinner.
Steve texts me at eleven:please don’t do this.
He calls and leaves another voice mail at 11:44. And again at midnight.
I turn my phone off.
I GET THERE FIRST, before the bell. I’ve been dreading it all day. Study hall. Then the three of them walk in together like a gang, against me. Next, it’s Amanda.
Mara marches up to our table. “You’re not sitting here—no way.”
“It’s okay,” Steve says, setting his stuff down.
“No, it’s not, Steve—I’ve had it with her shit!” Mara yells at him. Then to me: “Move.”
“Fine.” I stand and scan the room.
Amanda nudges the empty chair next to her toward me with her foot. I think she even tries to smile, but it looks more like a facial tic.
“If everyone will take their seats, come on, Edith, take your seat please.” Mr. Mosner smiles at me impatiently. I don’t even have the will to correct him.Edith—I could just die.
I sit next to Amanda, pretending that it’s a free world and I can sit wherever I damn well please. I glance sideways at her. Then I look at her friends: there’s Snarky Girl, of course, and the boy who always looks completely baked, and the girl who looks like a bleached-out, negative version of Amanda—blond to her black, pasty to her tan, blue eyes to her brown. They all look at me like I’m some kind of alien.
I can’t take my eyes off the clock. Only twenty-four more minutes until this period is over and I can get away from Steve and all the hurt feelings he’s throwing my way. Away from Cameron and his words that still ricochet around in my head. And from Mara and this bitterness that lodges itself between us ever deeper.
“Can we talk?”
I turn. It’s Steve.
“What, right now?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, glancing uncomfortably at Amanda and her friends, who are all staring. He starts walking away, toward the door. He glances at Mr. Mosner’s back, then motions with his hand for me to follow. I don’t know why I do.
“So, you’re just not talking to me now, huh?” he asks once we’re in the hall.
