“I will answer for it, he never cared three straws about her. Who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?”
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume II, Chapter Sixteen
I trudged along the sidewalk, heading home, scuffing the toes of my black Converse as I kicked every stone I found in my path. A car drove by and honked, but I didn’t look up.
Another car slowed and then stopped.
“Hey. Lydia?”
I glanced sideways at the orange VW Beetle, not recognizing it, not caring. And kept walking.
The Beetle inched along next to me, then zoomed ahead a few houses before stopping. The driver—tall and skinny with light-brown hair—got out and stood by his door, watching me.
Zach Lashinski. The bass player with the Cat in the Hat tattoo. Also known as a possible ride home.
I kept shuffling along the sidewalk, but headed slightly in his direction, and finally stopped when I drew parallel with his glow-in-the-dark orange car.
We’d never spoken, so I wasn’t sure how he knew my name, but maybe he made a point of finding out the names of all the girls who made out with random guys at his band practices.
I stepped onto the boulevard and looked at Zach over the top of the sea of bright orange.
“Hey. You’re Zach, huh? Nice job on bass.”
Not that I’d really noticed. When I hadn’t been fending off Drew, I’d been focused on Kirk and Heather. Yeah, part of me wanted to burn my guitar in a raging bonfire, but the rest of me wanted to know how they played so well.
“Thanks.” His mouth quirked, as if he somehow knew I hadn’t been paying a bit of attention to him, but it only meant he had a brain. “You need a ride?”
I didn’t know him, but he played in Kirk’s band and seemed safe. Not that anyone I knew would think Lydia Bennet would worry about pesky little things like safety.
Shrugging, I reached for the door handle. “If you don’t mind? I live—”
“I know.” He grinned, making me wonder if he’d been checking me out. Until he spoke again. “I’ve given your sister Mary a ride home a few times. How’s she doing?”
I rolled my eyes. “Probably studying. That’s all she does, last time I checked.”
He got into his Beetle, reached across the front seat, and unlocked my door, then waited for me to climb in, too. “Guess you haven’t checked in a while, huh? She spends a lot of time with her guitar. Probably why she’s so good.”
As he started the engine and pulled away from the curb, I sighed, calculating in my head the number of blocks until home, the number of minutes I had to listen to another person drone on about Mary. Had everything changed while I’d been gone? Even Mary?
I didn’t know Zach, so I decided not to share my opinion on Mary. It didn’t leave me with much to say. I almost asked if he used to have blond hair and why he changed it, but the light brown looked good. Soft, shiny, and just barely in his eyes. “So you like bright orange, huh?”
His car looked like something an eight-year-old kid would want. It might explain his Cat in the Hat tattoo.
He stared straight ahead at the road. “My mom bought it for my sixteenth birthday. She thought it looked perky. What can I say?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t say anything. Just save up for a new paint job.”
Frowning, he kept driving.
After a minute of silence, I started to get annoyed.
“Hey, no biggie. You like bright orange, and you’ve got wheels, which is more than I can say.”
He flicked a glance at me. “I hate bright orange.”
“So you’ve got wheels but can’t afford a paint job. Dude, I know the feeling.”
He sucked in a breath, almost as if something annoyed him, even though I was the only other person in the car.
“I can afford the paint. I just don’t want to hurt my mom’s feelings.”
Wasn’t that what teenagers did on a daily basis? Bug the crap out of their parents?
“That’s nice.” Not to mention lame and mildly pathetic. If his mom wasn’t driving the car, why would she care what color it was? Wouldn’t she want her kid to be happy? “Did you get the Cat in the Hat tattoo for her, too?”
The glance he shot me this time wasn’t nice. He just drove in silence, not bothering to speak or even turn on the radio. I turned it on for him, flinching when classical music started playing. When I reached out to change the station, he touched my wrist, stopping me.
“Don’t.” He didn’t look at me. “Please.”
A minute later, he pulled up in front of my house. When I thanked him for the ride, he just nodded and stared out through the windshield.
Without another word, I climbed out and walked up to my house, hearing the gravel crunch under his wheels as he slowly pulled out from the curb.
Weird guy. My life was filled with them.
When I walked into Speech class on Friday morning, I wasn’t surprised to see Drew and Chelsea sitting in the back of the room but at opposite corners. Even though the only people at the band practice yesterday were the guys in the band, Drew, and me, word tended to get around.
Was Drew the type to cheat—or at least make a valiant effort to cheat—and then confess? Or had Heather spilled the beans to Chelsea? She seemed too quiet, too sweet, to gossip. But Chelsea was sitting on Heather’s side of the room, two desks back, and I’d seen them talking together at lunch.
I glanced around, wondering where to sit. Not by Chelsea. I was allergic to jellyfish.
I headed to the back of the room and grabbed the empty desk next to Drew. I wasn’t hitting on him, and I didn’t want him to hit on me, but there was no reason to kill a friendship with a guy just because of a mistaken and aborted makeout session.
“Hey.” I set my books on my desk, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Chelsea had quit trying to pretend she wasn’t watching me. Turning my back on her, I smiled at Drew, who had a pained expression on his face. “How’s it going?”
He looked as if he were being tortured to death. “It’s been better.”
“At least you got your extemp speech done yesterday. You can sit back and relax.”
Following my own advice, I lined up my pens next to my books and notebook, then leaned back in my chair. Ms. Ciccarelli had made extemporaneous speeches sound so easy, but she made up for it in her tough comments afterward. I’d done mine, though, and life was too short to worry about Ms. Ciccarelli or whether Drew and I should’ve sucked face in Michael’s basement yesterday.
I had much bigger regrets in my life, and I didn’t even spend my time worrying about those.
I felt Drew leaning over toward me a moment before I heard his soft voice. “Are you okay? I mean, are you pissed? Or, I don’t know, interested?”
“Pissed? Interested?” I dropped my voice as I glanced at Drew, who for once in his life didn’t try to sneak a peek down my shirt. “Are there any choices in between?”
He glanced over my shoulder, probably at Chelsea, but I didn’t turn to confirm it. Too many girls, including Chelsea, had tried to yank out my hair, and it was short enough already.
Finally, Drew looked back at me. Okay, this time he glanced down my shirt. “Sorry. I thought you— Well, I thought it’d be cool.”
I waved a hand. “Everything’s cool between us, right? We’ve always been pals.”
It probably wasn’t the right moment to tell him I liked his best friend, not him. Never was probably the right moment for that.
Drew shrugged, and I thought I heard a little sigh. He was actually a decent guy, just too easily led—or maybe too easily distracted. Chelsea was right up his alley, but he’d been a fool to pick Chelsea over Cat.
At least, the Cat I used to know.
“You’re right.” Drew finally grinned and punched me in the arm, something guys did to my sister Liz but never me. I wasn’t sure what I thought of it, but I’d choose it over him kissing me again. I think. “We’ve always been pals.”
Whew. That’d been easy. Unlike the rest of my life lately.
“But, uh, Lydia?”
I looked at him, lifting my eyebrows, as Ms. Ciccarelli stepped into the room and the bell rang.
“You’re not going out with Kirk now, are you?”
“Not last time I checked.”
“Because he’s dating Amber, you know.”
I just rolled my eyes. Guys.
I grabbed a spot at my usual lunch table, a couple of seats down from Kirk. Close enough to show I wasn’t embarrassed about yesterday, far enough away so Kirk wouldn’t think I was begging for action.
I wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision, though, when Heather took the open seat between Kirk and me. She immediately turned her back on me and started chatting up Kirk.
I leaned forward to catch Kirk’s eye. “Hey, the band sounded good yesterday.”
“Did you even—” Heather bit off what she was going to say, but I had a good guess it wasn’t nice. Maybe she was hanging out with Chelsea. Her face flushed, though. “I mean, thanks again for letting me play with the guys.”
I waved a hand, feeling as I did my still-sore fingertips from getting up at dawn this morning to practice guitar. I had no idea why I was still trying—I mean, I’d escaped the noose of the band gig and wasn’t exactly a glutton for humiliation—unless it was to wake up Cat. “No biggie. Life’s a crunch right now, and it’s easier this way.”
Easier, less humiliating, you name it. Besides, it wasn’t as if Heather was some hot chick who’d make a play for Kirk. She might be sitting next to him right now, but only because I hadn’t. She also wasn’t hot. Girls with freckles were physically incapable of it.
She shrugged. “Well, I owe you.”
I blinked but didn’t say anything, even when Kirk caught my eye and his mouth quirked slightly.
His eyebrows went up. “You planning on coming to more practices? You’re always welcome, you know.”
“Thanks.” I just wasn’t sure what “welcome” meant when it came to Kirk. I’m guessing Amber didn’t completely know, either, based on the scorching look she zinged me as she dropped her tray with a clatter across the table from Kirk.
“Totally welcome. Especially when I’m not there.”
Ignoring her, I munched on the tip of a carrot. I’d brought my own lunch today so I wouldn’t die of food poisoning accidentally inflicted by Mom. Carrots, pea pods, an orange, a low-carb tortilla. In other words, not much. I didn’t have a clue if I’d actually try out for gymnastics, but I liked to keep my options open. If I kept eating the burgers and fries in the school cafeteria, the only thing I’d be able to leave open would be the top button on my jeans.
Finally, I glanced at Amber. “Sorry you couldn’t make it last night. Should I let you know when I’ll be there? I’d be happy to.”
“No doubt.” She glared at Kirk, looking so fierce I wondered why she’d even bothered sitting here today. Lack of options? “But I can always ask Kirk. Even though he doesn’t seem to go out of his way to warn me.”
“You can always ask me anything.” Kirk grinned at her, making me gag, but a moment later he turned back to Heather and started talking about guitar riffs or something equally beyond me, as if Amber and I weren’t even there.
I polished off my veggies and tortilla, grabbed my orange for the road, and stood up. Bright sunshine poured in through the cafeteria windows, and I heard a patch of grass in the courtyard calling my name.
Nothing else seemed to be calling my name these days, and I didn’t plan to beg.
I glanced up when a shadow crossed the grass in front of me. Lauren, goth chick, pain in the ass, and reputed druggie. Come to think of it, I had a sketchy reputation, too, according to the people in this school, and I knew how accurate that was.
“Mind if I join you?”
Yeah. But I shrugged anyway.
She dropped onto the grass, landing cross-legged, almost as athletic and graceful as Liz. Spying her lunch—an apple and a bag of Skittles—I grinned. Also like Liz.
People were hard to figure, and even harder to pigeonhole. At least accurately.
Lauren munched on her apple as she pulled open her Accounting textbook. I hoped she didn’t plan to turn this little get-together into an impromptu study session.
I peeled my orange. When the juice squirted all over my hands, I wished I’d packed a napkin. Or maybe a fire hose.
Glancing up from her book, Lauren tossed a paper towel in my direction without saying a word.
“Thanks. Guess I forgot what a mess these are.”
She nodded, absorbed again in her Accounting book, and I wondered why she’d bothered to sit here. Had everyone else turned her down?
“We’re not having a quiz today, are we?” I glanced at the chapter she was reading. “I don’t remember Ms. Frey saying anything about it.”
“She didn’t. But Zach told me she used to spring pop quizzes on his Accounting class on random Fridays last year.”
“Yeah?” Zach? The guy who gave me a ride home last night but brushed me off the whole way? “You know him pretty well, huh?”
One shoulder rose and fell a fraction of an inch, as if she’d expended as much effort on the subject as she planned to.
“He gave me a ride home last night.”
Why had I said such a stupid thing to a chick who’d basically told me she had the hots for Zach?
“Yeah?” Lauren’s gaze didn’t lift from the page, but I could’ve sworn she went a little tense. “How did that work out for you?”
I frowned. Lauren sounded so casual, almost disinterested, which actually made me feel even more stupid.
I popped an orange section into my mouth, savoring the tang. “It saved me from walking.”
“Oh?” Lauren finally looked up at me, her eyes studying me the way Jane’s often did. “Why didn’t you get a ride from Drew Mitchell? I heard—”
I held up a hand to cut her off. “It’s not true.”
“But Zach said—”
“Zach?” The latest orange section suddenly tasted sour in my mouth, and I swallowed hard against the bitterness. “When did you talk to him? How well do you know him?”
She grinned, startling me. “Pretty well. We used to hang out practically naked together.”
My jaw dropped.
“In a wading pool. When we were in pre-school. Zach and his mom live next door to us.” Lauren wrapped her half-eaten apple in another paper towel, then ripped open her bag of Skittles, scattering half of them. “So you’re interested? I told you he was hot.”
“He’s not—” I broke off, realizing I wasn’t sure what Zach was. Not hot, not exactly. Cute. Sure of himself. A mama’s boy, though, based on the orange VW. He also had a Cat in the Hat tattoo, loved classical music, and didn’t even try to hit on me. I mean, not that I wanted him to. Guys just did.
Except for Kirk. And apparently Zach.
“Maybe he’s not conventionally hot, but he’s hot, trust me. I’ve seen him practically naked.” She winked, and we both laughed. “At least, when he was four.”
The twenty minutes I spent in the courtyard at lunchtime and the afternoon sun pouring through the west-facing windows in sixth-period English class left me warm and sleepy, which wouldn’t be so bad if Mr. Skamser weren’t known for being unpredictable. Especially on Friday afternoons when half of the kids had droopy eyelids and the other half were focused on making weekend plans.
I’d read The Catcher in the Rye twice, for lack of better things to do, and decided that Holden Caulfield had to be the most fucked-up guy ever. It didn’t say much for J.D. Salinger, who must’ve identified so much with the loser that he never published another novel. Even a girl as stupid as Chelsea, or a guy as indecisive as Drew, wouldn’t have gotten into the messes that Holden slid into on a daily basis.
The only good thing about the book, really, was that Holden made me feel better about myself.
“Lydia? Are you following the discussion?”
My gaze shot to the front of the room. Mr. Skamser had caught me daydreaming, which stunned me. I mean, yeah, of course I’d been daydreaming. But he’d nailed me on it. I thought I’d long since perfected the art of looking engaged and alert while thinking about my next party or my next shopping spree with Mom and her credit cards. Apparently, getting up at six a.m. to practice guitar, after staying up past midnight to reread this stupid book, had taken its toll.
I nodded at Mr. Skamser. “I’m all over it.”
“She’s all over something.”
My head jerked to my left at the sound of Amber’s so-called whisper to the girl next to her, which was loud enough to carry to the whole class. Bitch.
Mr. Skamser, perched on the front edge of his desk with his skeleton-thin body twisted up in its usual pretzel form, looked in Amber’s direction, too. “Amber? Did you want to add something to the discussion? I think you passed on the opportunity yesterday, didn’t you? Have you found a chance to finish chapter ten yet?”
We were just supposed to read through chapter ten? And Amber hadn’t even managed that? No wonder she hung out with Chelsea. But how weird that a guy as smart as Kirk would hook up with a girl who was obviously brain dead.
She shot me a nasty look, as if I’d sicced Mr. Skamser on her, even though she’d done it to herself. I almost gave her a snotty little finger wave, just to taunt her, but I’d rather keep Mr. Skamser’s focus on her and not deflect back to me.
“I, uh—” Amber actually stuttered. Bonus. “I pretty much read it.”
“Pretty much?” Mr. Skamser gave a long-suffering sigh, something he bestowed on two-thirds of the class on a regular basis. But his standards were higher than some of the teachers here, who’d obviously conceded defeat years ago. “Since I’d like everyone to use precise language in this class, would you care to tell us whether ‘pretty much’ means that you’ve read the first ten chapters of the book?”
Amber’s face was crimson and heading toward purple. It wasn’t the first time Mr. Skamser had nailed her, and this was only the third week of class.
“It means—” Totally floundering, Amber looked frantically around the room, probably hoping someone would throw her a lifeline. Her gaze finally landed on me, and her lip curled. “It means I’ve read more than Lydia Bennet.”
Startled, I sucked in a breath as half of the class started chattering, the girl next to Amber gave her a high-five, and the guy behind me couldn’t stop laughing.
Mr. Skamser quelled the outburst with a single sweep of the room. “Amber, I don’t think Lydia is your concern. I asked whether you’d finished reading the first ten chapters. May I assume that you still haven’t?”
He reached for his grading book and red pen, the color he used when someone pissed him off. Craning my neck from my seat in the second row, I could see that the current page was filled with red ink.
“I, uh, I mean, I—” Amber started stuttering so badly, she finally erupted in a coughing fit.
Mr. Skamser uncapped his red pen and wrote something in the grading book. I was still grinning when he looked up from his book, his lips pursed. “While I’m at it, Lydia, I suppose I should ask you the same question.”
I answered right away. “Whether I’ve read the first ten chapters? Or how to define ‘pretty much’?”
Surprisingly, only a few kids laughed, even though I was at least as funny as Amber and not nearly as pathetic. Mr. Skamser smiled, which was even more of a surprise.
“For now, I’ll leave the definition of ‘pretty much’ to the dictionary.” Mr. Skamser’s red pen hovered over the grading book. “Have you read the first ten chapters?”
I paused a moment, hating to sound like a suck-up but wanting to crush Amber like a bug. Crushing her like a bug won. “I’ve actually read the whole book. Twice.”
As Amber coughed the word “bullshit” into her hand, most of the class turned in my direction. And stared.
“No way. She totally didn’t.”
I just smiled at Amber. Sweetly.
Even Mr. Skamser had a look of disbelief on his face, which was a little weird considering the brain trust I had for my three older sisters. Jane was majoring in English in college, and Liz and Mary were off the charts in every academic subject. What was so strange about me reading a stupid book? It’s what people did in my family.
“You read the whole book?”
I nodded at Mr. Skamser, daring him to call me a liar.
His head tilted as he studied me a moment, but he finally gave me a clipped nod.
“What’s your opinion of Holden Caulfield?”
I shrugged. “Not much.”
“See? I said she didn’t read it.”
Another loud whisper from Amber, who seemed to be cruising for detention. Knowing her parents and the kick they got out of grounding her, it was a bad move on a Friday afternoon. She wouldn’t be able to party this weekend.
Or, for instance, hang out with Kirk.
I raised my hand as I decided to do the unthinkable. At least, unthinkable for me. “Mr. Skamser?”
He lifted his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Close enough.
I knew the school policy manual inside and out, since it’d been used against me so often. Still, I’d never used it against anyone else, not even a snot like Amber. “I’m feeling a bit uncomfortable with the bullying situation that seems to be going on with—” I glanced in Amber’s direction, smothering a smile when realization hit her eyes. I looked back at Mr. Skamser. “Well, I think it’s obvious. And I don’t understand it.”
“Like hell she doesn’t.”
She really did try to whisper it this time, again to the girl next to her, but the room had gone deadly silent and everyone heard it. Including Mr. Skamser.
“Amber?” Mr. Skamser waited until she met his eye, then sighed. “Lydia is right. You’ve been trying to provoke her since the bell rang. I have to ask you to pay a visit to Mr. Paymar, although you can wait until the end of class to do so. I’m sure you don’t want to miss a moment of our discussion of Holden Caulfield.”
“But I can’t. I have to—” Amber’s hands were making wild circles in the air. She finally shot me another glare. “I mean, all I was saying is that Lydia obviously lied about reading the book, and you can’t seem to see it.”
Mr. Skamser held up a hand as he untangled himself from pretzel form, hopped off his desk onto the floor, and stretched to his full string-bean height. “The moment the bell rings, yes, you need to see Mr. Paymar. In fact, I’ll be happy to escort you to his office.” Turning back to me, he frowned. “Lydia, may I ask you to elaborate on your opinion of Holden Caulfield? In what sense is it not much? You don’t think much of him or don’t know much about him?”
I glanced at the beat-up paperback on my desk. “Oh, I know him, all right. I know his type. The guy keeps making one stupid decision after another, half the time because he’s too embarrassed to tell people to stick it. He calls everyone else a phony, but he’s totally one. No offense, but I’m guessing that women who teach English are a lot less likely to waste everyone’s time making the class read about a loser like Holden Caulfield. I mean, he totally fell apart for no good reason.”
I heard a little nervous laughter. Mr. Skamser’s face was blank, which didn’t tell me anything. Still, I could handle detention if it came right down to it. I didn’t have any plans this weekend anyway.
“Lydia, I have to ask.” Mr. Skamser paused, almost as if he hated the thought of giving me detention less than two minutes after he’d given it to Amber.
I shrugged, waiting for it.
“How is it possible for me to hear that particular opinion of poor Holden Caulfield only twice in my teaching career, and both times from a member of your family?”
He laughed, slapping his bony leg as he did, which stunned the crap out of me.
“Yeah?” I looked up at Mr. Skamser, who seemed to actually expect an answer. “Who was the other one?”
He tilted his head, studying my face, as if he still wondered whether I’d actually read the book or was just getting my opinions from one of my sisters. “Liz. Three years ago in this very room.”
I blinked, but it made sense. Liz didn’t take shit from anyone. Including, apparently, Holden Caulfield.
“Have you discussed the book with her?”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t even know she ever read it.”
I mean, except for the fact that Liz read everything, in every genre, you name it, when she wasn’t playing sports or listening to some rock band.
“It’s just that—” Mr. Skamser’s gaze swept the room as if he were deciding whether to pursue this in front of thirty kids. “You and Liz don’t seem, at first impression, to be particularly similar.” He tilted his head. “Perhaps it comes from being sisters.”
When he started to move on to another victim, I raised my hand.
“Yes, Lydia?”
“What’s weird is that Liz and I are the only two students who’ve said this to you. I bet most kids are afraid to tell you what a loser Holden is. I mean, you obviously think the book is important, because it’s the first one you asked us to read. They don’t want to piss you off this early in the term.”
Mr. Skamser gave me a quirky little smile that looked like it made his face hurt. “Actually, I used to assign this closer to the end of the term, but your theory is interesting. Class?” He glanced around the room. “Who else shares Lydia’s opinion on Holden Caulfield?” When no one’s hand went up, his eyebrows rose. “Perhaps I should ask only those of you who’ve actually read at least ten chapters.”
Dead silence. If I didn’t know already that I’d lost my power in this school, I’d know now. Amber, that sniveling little shit, seemed to have all the power in this room. Besides Mr. Skamser, of course.
She raised her hand now. “I think you had it right the first time. Lydia is just pretending she read the book by telling you the same crap her sister told you.”
“Really?” Mr. Skamser pursed his lips. “So you think Lydia’s—and Liz Bennet’s—opinion is crap, Amber? Even though you haven’t read the book yet?”
“Neither has Lydia.”
“She said she did, and I choose to accept that. What I’m more interested in learning is whether anyone else shares Lydia’s opinion of Holden Caulfield.”
Everyone seemed to be watching Amber, waiting for her reaction. When she shook her head, the girl next to her and a half dozen other kids shook theirs, too. Drew, in the back of the room, looked mildly terrified. I rolled my eyes.
“Fascinating.” Mr. Skamser nodded at Amber before turning back to me. “What may be even more fascinating is that I share Lydia’s opinion. Both as to Holden Caulfield and Lydia’s belief that students don’t want to piss me off, as Lydia would say.” He gave me another smile, actually looking amused. “It’s why I decided to assign it first.”
Amber’s jaw dropped so low, I could’ve shoved a large rock in her mouth. Believe me, I was tempted. The guy behind me laughed, but not at me this time, since he also slapped me hard on the back. Everyone else in class just stared at me.
Right this moment, that was good enough for me.