Slow Burn (10 page)

“Hm, thanks, but you’re a high school football player—aren’t you pretty much required to make
an ass out of yourself on a daily basis?”

“Um…ow.  But,  yeah, you’re right, we all have a quota to fill.
”  Nick ruffles my hair in a playful way.  “Come on, I’ll walk you to your first class.”

I realize just how popular Nick is when prett
y much everyone we walk by acknowledges him in some way.  And he always greets them back—from the popular-looking kids to the…not-so-popular-looking ones.  He’s such a great guy.  No wonder Johnny’s friends with him. 

It’
s going to be awkward hanging out with his group.  I didn’t think about it.  Who gets the kids in the divorce?  I suppose they were his friends first.  I guess I could make new ones here, and gradually start distancing myself from the guys.

Or I could entice them over to the dark side with my Mexican lasagna and baked goods.  He can keep the girls.  And Ryan and Jason.  That’s fair, right?

I try to make Nick leave when I find out his first class is in a different building, but he insists on walking me to the door.  He pats me on the shoulder and tells me he’ll see me in Government before he takes off at a dead saunter.

For one brief humiliating moment, I feel like a child whose parent has just abandoned them on the first day of school.  I have a strong urge to run after Nick, and wrap my arms around his legs as he tries to walk away.  I can even see it in my head. 
Why are only little kids allowed to do things like that?  Am I not allowed to be needy, too?

Shut up, Juliet.  Time to face the music.

It’s actually not that bad.  My first two classes go off without a hitch.  Some people are nice, some stare and whisper.  No one goes out of their way to talk to me, which is fine by me.  I could go up to them and introduce myself, but I don’t.  I’m not exactly the friendly type, myself.

Note to self:  never ask a bitchy-looking cheerl
eader for directions.  They’re mean, and they lie.

Thankfully, I run into Aunt Jo before I can embarrass myself by bursting into frustrated tears.  I hate being late!

“Aunt” is more of an honorary title.  Joanne Liddell is a family friend, as well as head of Leclare Academy.  Her influence, along with my grandmother’s generosity, is the reason I was accepted after the admissions deadline.  She doesn’t have to tell me I’d better not screw it up.

“Well, Juliet,”
Aunt Jo says.  “What class are you about to be late for?”

I skid to a stop in front of her, my shoes sliding
a little on the slick floor.  “Hi, Aunt—Ms. Liddell.  Government, room 211.  Am I even close?”

Aunt Jo’s stern face relaxes into a slight smile.  “You aren’t even in the right building. 
Come on, then.  I’ll walk with you.”

I sigh in relief.  “Thanks.”

“So, what do you think of Leclare so far?” she asks, and there’s no mistaking the hint of pride and satisfaction in her voice.  Like there’s no doubt I’m suitably awed by her school’s utter perfection.

“It’s great,” I say quickly
, trying not to give in to my urge to yank her into a faster pace.  “It’s a big change from my old school.”

“I’ll bet,” Aunt Jo comments with a little smirk.  “I can’t tell you how pleased your grandmother was that you f
inally decided to attend the Academy.  She always said you were Leclare material.”

I swallow the sarcastic
comments I want to make right now.  “Yeah, she’s been wanting me to go here forever.  And I’m so grateful that she paid for my tuition.”

Aunt Jo raises her thick dark eyebrows.  “Yes, and it only took a boy to change your mind.”

“Huh?”  I don’t even know why I pretend to be so shocked, but my eyes widen and I put a hand to my chest dramatically.  “A boy?”

She just gives me a look.  “You’re dating Johnny Parker.
  I’ve got ears—I’ve heard the gossip.  You and Johnny are a hot topic around here.”

I
look down at my shoes as we cross the skywalk to the other building.  Her ears can’t be that good if she hasn’t heard about the breakup yet.  I know people are talking about it.  And what exactly did she hear?  Is she going to tell my grandmother?  Oh, god.  Think what you want, but that woman scares the shit out of me.  Her and her doll collection…judging me…with the glass eyes…

Oh, Aunt Jo is still talking.

“—always on the brink of disaster.”  Disaster?  She must be talking about Johnny.  She shakes her head.  “He thinks he’s untouchable, but he’s in for a rude awakening.  I don’t think your grandmother would approve of him,” she concludes warningly.

Oh, yeah, that’s right.  Remind me how I’m under Grandma’s thumb now thanks to her generous contribution toward my education.

“…date Dean Youngblood.  He’s an excellent student and athlete, as well as extremely good-looking.”

“Say what?” 
I turn to her, shocked.  “You know they’re stepbrothers, right?”

She raises an eyebrow.  “And?  All’s fair in love and war, right?  Do you know who said that, Juliet?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter.  “Some dead guy?”

“John Lyly, an English poet and playwright, among other things.  He also said
—to paraphrase a quote—‘there’s no smoke without a fire.’”

Huh?  “Okay,” I say hesitantly.  “I’m not…
sure how that applies to…”

But Aunt Jo is frowning, glaring fiercely down at her clenched fists.  I don’t know what’s going through her head right now.  Maybe she’s pissed about the fires.  Kind of non sequitur, but I can see why it’
d be on her mind, and pop up at random times in conversation.

Fortunately, we arrive at my class before it can get any weirder.
  Aunt Jo walks in and greets the teacher, an older Asian man, while I cower by the door.  To my horror, she waves me over and introduces me to Mr. Han and the rest of the class.  She keeps a hand on my shoulder while she proceeds to tell the class—basically, what a catch I am.  I’m not kidding.  And while it’s true that I do enjoy watching sunsets at the beach, I am absolutely certain that my new classmates do not need to know that.

I can only stand there with a casual smile on my face, and a vacant look in my eyes.  I can see Nick, sitting way in the back and snickering at me, but I
have no desire to acknowledge him during this time of humiliation.

Aunt Jo finally leaves, to the subtle relief of the students—and Mr. Han, who turns out to be pretty cool.  He tells me to have a seat anywhere that’s available, and I immediately head for the back.  I
plop down at the desk behind Nick, and the pretty brown-haired girl sitting next to him turns around to give me a curious look.  When I flash a smile at her, she smiles back.  I sigh in relief.  Good, they’re not all bitches.

Mr. Han has us get into small groups to discuss
current events.  I find myself sitting in a little circle with Nick and the brown-haired girl, whose name turns out to be Sara.  She seems okay, a little on the quiet side—which is nice.  I can tell by the way she sends Nick little sidelong glances that she likes him.  Nick seems clueless, joking and laughing with the both of us like we’re the best of friends. When he leans forward to brush a stray lock of hair over my shoulder, I notice the tiny grimace on Sara’s face, gone in a flash.  Not good.

He walks me
to Spanish, which I was counting on as being my easiest class of the day. 

So wrong.

I walk in, and the first person I see is Kara.  Her ice blue eyes lock with mine, sparkling with malicious glee.  Next to her is Arianna, and on the other side…

My stomach drops, and I gasp involuntarily.

Laundry Room Girl.

******

Chapter 8

I want to run, leave this school, and never look back.  I want to grab Laundry Girl by her long blonde hair and slam her into the wall
.  Both compulsions are equally as strong, but instead of giving in to either one, I find myself rooted to the spot.

The three girls are standing by the window, wearing their school uniforms like Victoria’s Secret models dressed as sexy school girls.
  They whisper to each other while smirking at me.

I can’t stop staring at Laundry Room Girl.  She’s really pretty, tall and lanky, with the kind of hair and skin you only see in commercials.  She’s the only one who refuses to meet my eyes.
  The other two openly laugh at me.

I have to remind myself I’ve done nothing wrong, and I have nothing to be ashamed of.  Taking a deep breath, I walk into the room, trying to force my movements to be casual.
  It doesn’t work—the best I can manage is a zombie-like strut.

The teacher must be late.  Students are milling around, or chatting in little groups.  Since most of them aren’t in their sea
ts, I’m not sure which desks are available.  I could stand by the window and pretend to be intrigued by the pretty scenery, but that would put me too close to the bitch group.  I have to pass by them, anyway, to get to the desks.

“Slut,” one of them
cough/says as I zombie shuffle past.

I freeze for a split second before whirling around.  I know if I say something, I’ll be starting a war that I’m
absolutely certain I don’t want to be involved in—but I can’t help myself.

“Excuse me,” I say incredulously.  “Did one of you just fake cough ‘slut’ at me?”

Kara’s wide innocent eyes are at odds with her smug smile.  “Wasn’t us.  Must be your imagination.  Or, perhaps, a guilty conscience.”  She snickers.

Guilty conscience?  What is she talking about?  She has a mole right under her left eye.  I never noticed it before—can she see it when she looks down?  It’s pretty big.

“Yeah,” Arianna jumps in while I stare at Kara with a puzzled look on my face.  “The whole school’s talking about how you cheated on Johnny.”

“
Are you serious?”

Distantly, I am aware of the sudden dead silence in the classroom as our little dram
a becomes the focus of attention.  I know I’m playing into their hands, but I’m just so pissed.

I glare up at Arianna.  “You
know I didn’t cheat on him.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and exchanges annoying looks with Kara.  “If you didn’t cheat on him, then why did he dump you?”

Walk away, Juliet.  Just walk away.

I don’t.  “I dumped him,” I say clearly, my fists clenched.  I spare a look at Laundry Room Girl.  She flushes and stares at the ground.  If
I had something big to throw, I would mow all three of them down like bimbo bowling pins.

It’s Kara’s turn to tear me apart.  She stands over me, trying to intimidate me with her height and boobs.  I’m shocked by the animosity in her beautiful face.
  What have I ever done to her?

“Like anyone would believe Johnny Parker got dumped by a little nobody like you,” she sneers, getting in my face.  “
Why don’t you just crawl back into whatever hole you came from?  We don’t need any cheap whores here.”

Oh, my god.  Her words are just so dramatic and over-the-top, I want to laugh in disbelief,
even as I cry because—because they’re so mean!

“Wow,” I say finally when I can find my voice.  “
You guys already filled the quota, huh?

They hiss at me like pissed off cats.

I turn to Laundry Room Girl.  I want to tell her exactly what I think of girls who go after guys that they know are in a relationship, girls who let themselves be groped on a washing machine by a drunk guy with a girlfriend.  I want to scream at her, and put all the blame on her for my misery.  I want to shave her bald for being so pretty and model-like.

But I don’t say a word to her.  Because if I do, I’ll cry.  The ugly kind of crying, with the snot and the hysteria.
  And I refuse to shed a tear in front of these sea harpies.

I abruptly walk away.  If they say anything,
it’s drowned out by the ocean waves in my ears.  I find an empty seat in the back of the classroom, and sit down.  My face is burning and my heart is racing from the encounter. 

I’m shell-shocked. 
I can’t believe that just happened to me.  I’ve never had problems with other girls before—well, not
that
bad, anyway.  That was mortifying.  How could Johnny be friends with them?  The room buzzes around me with gossip and laughter.  It’s not my imagination that I’m at the center of it.

The teacher finally comes in, and provides the toppings on my humiliation sundae by making me stand in front of the class, and introduce myself in Spanish.  I suck at Spanish. 

This is going to be a long day.

By lunch time, I am ready to climb a tall building and start screaming things like, “
Juliet SMASH!”
as I swat at passing airplanes.

It’s like that scene in the movies, where the pariah walks down the halls as people point and stare at her.  I’m the whore
that broke Johnny Parker’s heart.  I’ve been told this by two different girls.  I flinch every time I hear that word.  I want to scream at the unfairness of it.  I want to yell, “I’m not a whore, I’m a virgin!”  But that would start off a whole thing, so…yeah.