There’s a funny feeling you get when you know people have been talking about you but they don’t want you to know. It’s almost an itch, and try as you might to ignore it, it only gets worse until you have no choice but to scratch it.
The itch first crept up on me during Theatre Arts. At first it was easy to ignore. I was still too wrapped up in Darcy to pay attention to anything else. She hadn’t said a single word to me in English and I hadn’t had much chance to start a conversation. I was vaguely aware that Ms. Wright was at the front of the theater outlining the differences between acting for the camera and acting for the stage. Jake was sitting beside me, taking copious notes even though everything Ms. Wright was saying was in the book. Darcy was behind me, to my left, doing an annoyingly fantastic job of not noticing me at all.
But then I realized what was different. Liam was nowhere to be found, while Kyle, who normally had something to say even when he didn’t, was stone silent, staring at the back of the chair in front of him instead of a girl.
“Where’s your brother?” I asked him.
He looked up, startled, and just shrugged. I frowned and glanced at Jake, who mouthed, “Weird.” When class let out Kyle jumped out of his seat, shoved his book into his bag and raced out the door.
“What’s eating him?” I asked Jake.
“No clue.”
Whatever. I had more pressing matters to concern myself with, the most urgent of which was just now leaving the room. I wanted to chase her, and say something to get over this sudden cold shoulder she was giving me. But I didn’t. Better give her space, I figured, and if she wanted to talk to me again, she would. Maybe.
“Darcy’s acting strange,” I said to Jake once we were out in the hallway.
“Strange?”
“Yeah, like, standoff-ish.”
“Isn’t she always standoff-ish?”
“Well, yeah, but she’s been even more so than usual lately.”
“Hm.”
I figured Jake would notice the difference. He’d probably spent more time around Darcy than I had. Besides, if I was to be honest with myself, I wasn’t exactly an unbiased observer.
“Maybe she’s sick?” he offered.
“Could be.” I hadn’t considered that. She didn’t look sick. She looked as . . . normal as ever.
“What’s it matter to you, anyways?” Jake asked. “Wait.” He suddenly stopped and thrust a long arm out, halting me in my tracks. A sly grin spread across his face. “You don’t like her, do you?”
“What? No! She’s just . . . she’s like a Rubik’s Cube, you know? A mean, snobby Rubik’s Cube. I’m just trying to figure her out.”
Jake didn’t seem the slightest bit convinced. “People don’t drool over Rubik’s Cubes, Elliott.”
“I don’t drool.”
“You do, actually. There’s nothing wrong with having a crush on her, or thinking she’s cute, or whatever. Half the people in this school think that.”
“Yeah, well I’m not half the people in this school.” I was different. I wasn’t taken in by her good looks—her flawless skin, or her big, pretty eyes and long lashes, or that wispy grin of hers, or the way her nostrils flared and her nose wrinkled up when she was annoyed. “I just think that underneath her prickly exterior she’s sort of cool.”
“What about the high horse you say she’s always on?”
“Maybe it isn’t as high as I thought.”
Jake just sighed and started walking. “Whatever you say . . .”
I still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone somewhere was talking about me, and by lunch that feeling had blossomed into full blown paranoia. Something was going on, something I wasn’t aware of. As I approached our table though, I saw Jake, Lucas, and Kyle were all hunched together, speaking in hushed voices.
“What’s up, guys?” I said as I slid onto the bench, slamming my tray down with added emphasis. At once they all straightened, none of them looking me in the eye. “Is there something on my face?” I asked. “Do I smell?”
“What do you mean?” asked Kyle in a careful voice, staring intently at the macaroni and cheese on his tray.
“Yeah, what are you talking about?” added Lucas.
“You’re both are terrible liars,” I said. “Now, if this is something to do with me, then—”
“Gabby’s dating Liam,” blurted Jake.
All at once the noise seemed to have been sucked from the entire cafeteria. If we were in some sitcom, there would have been a vinyl scratch.
“Wait, what?”
“Found out last night,” said Kyle. “I’m sorry dude, I just didn’t know how to break it to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake said quietly. “I just found out, by the way,” he added quickly.
I braced myself, waiting for the anger and the shock to hit me. Only it never did. Nothing happened.
True friends stab you in the front. Oscar Wilde said that.
All I said was, “Huh.”
“He’s not here today,” said Kyle. “So if you want to beat him up it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to beat him up.” My voice sounded hollow, but it was true. I didn’t want to beat him up. I didn’t want anything.
“Maybe he makes her laugh,” said Lucas. “Girls like guys who make them laugh, trust me.”
“Liam’s not that funny,” said Kyle.
“He could be a really good kisser.”
“Have either of you ever considered that maybe they just like each other?” Jake asked. “Just because it doesn’t make sense to us that they’re dating, it doesn’t mean their relationship is any less valid. And besides,” he pointed at me, “it’s not like Gabby’s the girl he’s into anyways, right, Elliott?”
All eyes shifted to me. Mark and Kyle looked confused, while Lucas had that I-knew-it face on.
No way I was about to admit how I felt about Darcy to them now. Not that there was anything to admit.
“I did like Gabby,” I lied, trying to sound as indignant as possible.
Lucas didn’t seem to buy it. Judging by the look on his face, neither did Jake.
“And Liam’s a jerk,” I threw in with a scowl, “and I’m pissed at both of them.” I hopped to my feet, swiped up my tray and stalked away, hoping my performance was convincing enough.
I spent the rest of the day with a fake scowl on my face. Seven people—including two of my teachers—stopped to ask me what my problem was. I grunted and told them it wasn’t anything I wanted to talk about. I sat through all my classes hunkered over my desk, brows pulled together, hands curled into fists like I wanted to punch someone right then and there.
None of the guys said much to me. Jake was the only one who tried.
“Are you alright?” he asked while we were headed out to catch the bus after school.
“I’m fine,” I lied. At least it felt like a lie.
“No, you’re not,” he answered. “Maybe you ought to talk to Liam. Tell him how you feel, get it off your chest.”
I thought it over. What would I say to him? I couldn’t think of anything at the moment, and I doubted I would later on either. Because I wasn’t all that sure I cared.
* * *
Liam was in class the next day, looking like a twitchy rat caught in a trap. I didn’t see him until Theater Arts, and even then, he showed up after the bell rang and Ms. Wright had begun her lecture on mannerisms verses nervous habits. He made sure to sit behind me. When the dismissal bell went off, he scurried out like someone was chasing him. For a moment I thought about doing exactly that.
I didn’t go out of my way to make Liam squirm. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the guys. They treated him like he had the plague. Even Mark sneered at him when he sat down at our table during lunch. He ate in silence, staring at his tray the entire time while Kyle glared at him and the rest of us pretended he didn’t exist. Every so often he would risk a glance my way. When he did, I tried to make myself frown, but somehow, my face wouldn’t move the right way, so I sort of squinted instead.
I kept up my charade for the rest of the week. By Friday, I had come to the conclusion that pretending to be angry was far more exhausting than actually being angry. Because I wasn’t. Not really. Bummed out, maybe. But not angry. All Gabby and I had been was friends. Why did it matter that she was dating someone else now? For the second time.
I was so busy trying to be angry that I didn’t recall saying a single thing to anyone; I couldn’t remember seeing individual faces. Except for one.
“Did you hear me?”
Hearing that voice was like being suddenly doused with cold water. I was sitting at my desk in English, with Darcy staring me in the face with her huge eyes trained angrily on mine.
“What?”
“I said,” she enunciated slowly, her voice tinged with irritation. “Do. You. Have. A. Pencil?”
“Oh.” I reached into my bag and withdrew a brand new mechanical pencil. “Is this alright?”
“It’s a pencil, is it not?” she asked, taking it from my hand. “I broke mine.”
I looked at her desk to see two fragments of what had been a number two pencil. “Why did you do that?”
“It was an accident,” she huffed. “I do that when I’m concentrating.”
“What are you concentrating on?” Despite my faux anger, I was still fishing for another piece of the Darcy puzzle. At least she was talking to me.
“None of your concern,” she said.
I felt the echo of annoyance, but I relished it. It was just what I needed—a feeling—to tether me back to the land of the living.
“I might need that back when you’re done with it,” I said.
“It’s not like I’m going to steal it,” she said with a hint of aggravation. I felt myself smile, and she groaned. “Sorry, that was rude.”
I laughed. “Was it?”
“I’m trying—with limited success—to be . . . nice.”
“Is it a blanket niceness or is it only for certain people?”
“A light coating of niceness. A dusting, actually. And some people get more of it than others.”
I laughed, wondering how much of Darcy’s niceness I was getting.
“Are you alright?” She scrutinized me with those eyes of hers, and I felt like I was waking up from a fitful dream. “Did you get into another fight? Hit your head? Do you have a concussion?”
“I’m fine,” I told her, and, for that brief instance at least, I was.
“No you’re not,” she said. “Something’s bothering you. I can tell. Do you . . . want to talk about it?”
Talk about my problems with Darcy. That’d be the day.
“I’m just irritated about . . . things.”
Darcy clasped her hands together on her desk and inclined her body toward mine. “What kind of things?”
Her eyes were bright and attentive and focused entirely on me. I felt myself blush, and I couldn’t remember what it was I was supposed to be upset about.
“Problems with friends,” I told her.
She nodded as if she understood. “My favorite. Did somebody stab you in the back?”
“Front.”
She gave me a look of sympathetic concern that made me blush. Then she smiled and leaned toward me. My heart froze along with the rest of my body. She reached for my chest and pretended to wrap her fingers around something. Then she slowly pulled whatever the imaginary thing was out of me and tossed it away.
“There. No more knife.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “You never told me you could mime.”
“I have Ms. Wright to thank for that. And I’m normally not the type to say ‘I told you so,’ but with the whole having friends thing, I kind of told you so.”
“That you did,” I admitted.
When she laughed, a funny feeling started in my stomach and blossomed through my chest. I liked hearing Darcy laugh. The sound of it was beautiful, and it made me want to do something, anything, to get her to laugh again.
“What?” she asked.
“What, what?”
“You’re looking at me funny.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, I just had a moment.”
She raised a brow at me, but the smile didn’t fade completely from her face. “You’re weird. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Yes . . . actually, I get that a lot.”
I certainly felt weird. Talking to Darcy, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, made me feel like I was floating. I thought about what Jake had asked me earlier. Did I like her? I tried to tell myself that I didn’t, but the thought just wouldn’t come.
And that was most definitely weird.