––––––––
Ariel and Jasmine weren’t there when I arrived at the front steps of our apartment. Funny, I thought that we would be even closer once we lived in the same building. Of course, that was before I had ruined everything with my lies.
I rode the subway alone, then picked my way through the crowds that herded in to school.
Jake could wait today. In fact, he could wait forever. I’d made up my mind. I would no longer be his puppet. It was time for me to remember who I was. I was Bella French. I was strong, I was honest, and I was no one’s fake girlfriend.
With my new lease on life firmly wrapped around me, I walked up to my locker, only half surprised to see it graffitied with the word Tramp.
Such an old school word, and with not nearly enough punch. Maybe Jezebel would have been better, or harlot. Something with some pizazz.
I pulled down the papers, gathered them into a neat pile, and walked them to the garbage can.
Along the way, Dana passed me.
“Dana,” I called.
She turned and looked at me like I was an annoying mosquito she wanted to swat away.
She wasn’t with her usual troop of friends. I’d never seen her alone before, but I was too pissed about my locker to think about that now.
“The next time you write on my locker, try using a thesaurus. Tramp is played.”
She squinted at me, her annoyance growing.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t write on your locker.”
I shook my head.
“I know you did. Just fess up and let’s call it even, okay?”
“If I wrote on your locker, it would be to call you out on you stealing my outfits or your stupid hair cut or your loser of a boyfriend. I would never call you a tramp. A prude, maybe. Weirdo. Freak. Spazz. Faker. Poser. And especially a liar. But I’m not ninety-seven years old. Therefore, I would never call anyone a tramp. Maybe try looking for someone who cares that you exist.”
She flipped her hair and walked away, leaving me speechless.
It didn’t make sense. If Dana wasn’t writing mean things on my locker, then who was?