Season of the Witch (6 page)

But it probably is. I tell myself I don’t care.

That afternoon, Nina coos, “
Sure
you don’t want to dish about the summer?”

“I was in Maine all summer,” I tell her. “I got bitten by a tick, went into a coma, and woke up the day school started.”

Nina grins. “Well, you better check in with your coma self. She got pretty wild while you were out.”

The next day, I find a condom taped to my locker, with a note:

“Thought you could use this.”

Cute, I think. Very cute.

In the cafeteria, giggles from a table of girls as I pass. Charming grunting noises from a table of guys. I decide to eat lunch out for a while.

The next day at lunchtime, I tell Ella I have a mad craving for pizza and want to go out. She says quickly, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

She’s quiet on the walk over to Ray’s. It occurs to me that Ella is the one person who isn’t asking me about the summer. Ella, who lives for gossip.

The gossip must be pretty bad.

I get two slices. Thinking of the diet she’s supposed to be on, Ella hesitates, then says, “I’ll join you,” and gets two as well. I wonder if she wants to keep her mouth full so she won’t have to tell me the truth.

As we squeeze into a tiny booth, I say, “Okay. Tell me.”

Ella frowns, takes a bite of pizza. “What?”

“What are people saying?” She hesitates. “Ella, I can handle it.”

“I know.”

“So, tell me.”

And she does. She doesn’t want to, so the stories come slowly. The flashing on the Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge story is going around, also how I threw up at Megan’s party—that was the week after Katherine’s visit. The story of the Columbia guy at Ping Pong Rocks has gotten quite spiced up, and a few of his friends have been thrown in.

I listen, nod, say things like, Hm, interesting. I tell myself, This is some other girl they are talking about. Not you.

Which is sort of true. And sort of not.

Ella says, “Then I heard—”

She bites her lip. I say, “God, Ella, don’t stop now. I haven’t gotten pregnant by aliens yet.”

She laughs a little. Then tells me how the other day, Ramona Digby—“who, like, still hates you for some reason”—came up to her after history class and asked if what she’d heard was true.

What Ramona had heard was a story about me and David Potterich and his girlfriend, Amy, who goes to another school. And what we supposedly did at David’s party over the summer.

“We were
joking
,” I say. “It was a dare. Barely anything even happened.”

“I know,” says Ella unhappily. “That’s what I told her. I was like, David’s apartment is tiny. How would that even happen without the whole world seeing?”

“And?”

“She said someone told her they did see. Like, you and David and his girlfriend all kissing.”

My face feels like it’s in flames. “Yes, everybody got a kiss, that was it. David kissed me and Amy, I kissed David and Amy. Amy kissed us. Big whoop.”

“Someone said it was making out.”

“Well, that’s a lie.”

“I know, that’s what I told her.”

I tell myself, I don’t care. I have nothing to be ashamed of. People can say what they want. I do not care.

After a moment, I remember to say, “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“God, sure.”

“I can’t believe people believe that.”

“Well, you know who’s telling them,” says Ella.

Chloe, along with Isabelle and Zeena. Three little birds chirping their lies. Because, hey, the truth is so boring. Not to mention the truth doesn’t make Chloe look so hot.
Yeah, I told my boyfriend I wanted to take a break—and can you believe it? He actually looked at another girl, oh, my God!

“Just out of curiosity,” I say, “what does Chloe have to say about me and Oliver?”

“Uh—that you hit on Oliver while she was in Europe. He was a little drunk and feeling lonely. You like, overwhelmed him or something.”

“Uh-huh. So, they never had a fight, weren’t taking a break.”

“Chloe says they had made up.” I can tell Ella is not enjoying repeating Chloe’s version of events.

“And Oliver says …”

“Kind of … nothing.”

That afternoon, I find a picture on my locker. A naked woman splayed out on a bed like a worn-out piece of meat.

Written across her, the word “SLUT.”

There are two kids talking by the school news board. I look at them, but they just keep talking. They must have seen who did this. But they’re pretending not to notice me.

Just then, Kevin Richmond comes through the door, laughing with his friend Andy Horowitz. Kevin and Andy are too dumb to pretend anything. They stop short at the sight of my locker. A huge grin comes over Kevin’s face.

“Whoa,” he says.

Andy jeers, “Somebody pissed somebody off.”

I know for a fact Andy is not friends with Oliver or Chloe. Yet he’s on their side. Why? Because I was dumb enough to make Chloe mad and now I can’t handle the consequences. They are strong and I am weak. Nobody sides with the weak.

I rip down the picture, crush it in my fist, and throw it in the garbage. The two other kids look up from their talk. Kevin jokes, “Wait, I wanted that.”

“Shut up!” I yell.

“Hey, don’t piss off sluts, dude,” says Andy. “Never know when you might need them.”

“True,” says Kevin. “Sorry, Tone. Hey, can I call you sometime? Like, do I have to come to you or do you make house calls?”

If I were smart, if I were strong, if I were the person I was before all this started, I would have an answer for Kevin. I would
say, “Yeah, sure, but bring your credit card. I’m expensive.” Or: “In your dreams.” Or … something.

Instead, I burst into tears and run down the stairs.

Later, I realize my mistake. I shouldn’t have thrown the poster away. I should have kept it as evidence. Gone to the administration.

But what are they going to do? Really? There’s no proof Chloe did it. I can’t see the school brushing for fingerprints. And the fact is, the school can’t do anything. Maybe they could make sure I was okay while I was actually in school. But what about after?

And it’s not just Chloe, it’s everyone. That’s what it feels like, anyway. It’s like she’s cast some spell over the whole school, turning them into zombies who go,
Attack, attack!
whenever they see me.

After school, Jackson Kinroth, Zeena’s boyfriend, pulls at his pants and lifts his shirt up when I walk by. Licking his lips, he says, “I got five minutes before practice.”

Over the weekend, the phone calls come.

“Is this the Hump Hotel?”

“… the Freefux Motel?”

“… the Eyelet Anyguy Inn?”

I stop answering.

“The thing to do,” says Ella as we walk to school on Monday, “is not freak out. That’ll just keep all this crap going.”

That’s
why they’re doing this? I think irritably. Because I’m freaking out? Why is everything about this my fault and none of it theirs? I stomp on the pavement. It’s pissing rain this morning, big fat drops that explode on the sidewalk, splashing your legs
with muck. I’m fighting to hold on to my umbrella, but I’m getting drenched anyway.

“Maybe you can talk to Chloe directly?” Ella raises her voice to be heard over the drum of the rain. “Without Isabelle and Zeena.”

“Tried that,” I yell. “Didn’t work.”

“What about Oliver? Make him be the prince who slays the fire-breathing Chloe and rescues you.”

I shake my head; water drips from the edge of my umbrella into my eyes. “I think he wants to forget he ever knew me. Besides, I don’t want to get Chloe more mad at me by going anywhere near him.”

“Oh.”

I sigh. The subject requires changing. I try to think beyond my own drama; what else is happening?

The only thing I can come up with is Cassandra. I ask, “How’s your cousin doing?”

Ella pulls her umbrella closer. “I have no idea. Cassie and her parents came to brunch yesterday, and all anybody talked about was movies and the news. Oh—and my new diet and how it was going.” She rolls her eyes. “ ‘Keep away from the bagels, dear.’ ”

“Yuck.”

“Later, I found my mom and my aunt in the kitchen and it was obvious my aunt had been crying. The moment they saw me, they were like, It’s fine, everything’s fine, go away.”

“Oh, man.”

“Before they left, I said to Cassie, ‘I’m really sorry, you must feel so sad.’ She just looked at me like … Who are you? I wanted to scream at her, I know I’m not the brightest bulb in this family, but I am actually worried about you.”

“She seems pretty tough,” I say.

“You think so, yeah. But she takes things really hard. I mean, last spring break? She tried to kill herself.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yah.” Ella nods her head vigorously. “She fell madly in love with some college junior who was studying with her mom. And I think they had some kind of something, which is kinda cool, kinda mega-eww. But then he got the guilts about how young she was and broke it off. After which she slit her wrists. But, like, not the serious way.”

“The serious way,” I echo, disbelieving.

Ella holds out her wrist to show me. Drawing her finger down her arm, she explains, “If you cut with the vein, you’re serious. Cut against it, you bleed a lot, but the slit isn’t big enough for actual death.”

“Aha.”

“That’s basically why I think she didn’t really mean to do the deed. She just needed some drama for herself.”

I glance over at Ella. I’ve never heard her be bitchy before. “What do you mean?”

“No, just in that family, it was all about Eamonn. It had to be. So I just wondered if she did it to get—” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

Maybe, I think, Cassandra really loved the guy. Maybe she wasn’t okay with being played with and tossed away.

Maybe I do need to talk to Oliver.

Tuesday morning, I place Mimi in the calm, warm center of the windowsill. I move all the other figurines away from her. This is something she has to do on her own.

I take Dallas and place him near Mimi. To keep it real, I put him with his back to her.

Dallas the rabbit. Super shy, but somehow has his fun. That’s good for Oliver.

In school land, Oliver is very into peace. Conflict resolution. Solving the world’s problems. What I don’t know is how good he is at these things in real life.

People believe Chloe’s story of Oliver being drunk and confused when we hooked up because Chloe wants them to and people do what Chloe wants. But also because Oliver’s an innocent. He doesn’t quite get real life; it freaks him out.

They also believe it because Oliver isn’t telling them anything different. Who knows, maybe he’s even talked himself into believing that I’m some man-hungry beast who took advantage of him.

So I have to remind him otherwise—and get him to understand that you are not a nice guy if you let one person take the rap for something you both did.

At registration, I overheard Oliver setting up a special history tutorial with Mr. Greenaway for Monday lunchtime. So I have a pretty good idea of how to find him.

As I wait for Oliver to come out of Mr. Greenaway’s office, I lean against the wall, rocking back and forth on my feet. I take deep breath after deep breath. When he appears, I want to be completely in control. I am not here because I like him. I am here because his girlfriend is being a bitch lunatic and it has to stop.

The door opens. I can see Oliver inside.

He says, “Okay, I’ll work on that,” to Mr. Greenaway, then shuts the door behind him. He keeps his gaze away from me.

He starts walking down the hall. I say, “Oliver.”

Big exaggerated double take. “Oh, hey,” he says, lifting a bony hand.

I try to see the boy who walked me home. The boy I liked.

I see Chloe Nachmias’s scared, guilty boyfriend.

“How was registration?” he asks, keeping it safe. “Did you get the classes you wanted?”

“It went fine. Um—are you set for your Amnesty interview?” I hate myself for playing his game.

He nods anxiously. “It’s next week. I was actually just talking to Mr. Greenaway about it. I really freeze up if I have to talk under pressure. Like I get all”—he makes
eee, eee
sounds. “So he gave me some vocal exercises.”