At school, everyone’s talking about Kiara’s confession. I’m running late from the clinic, so I don’t make it in time to see her escorted from first period English to the principal’s office. But as it turns out, I’ve only missed the coming attractions.
Wes intercepts me on my way to homeroom and leads me toward the admin office, where we loiter at the far end of an unusually crowded hallway. While some of the kids legitimately have to be there because their lockers are located in what’s suddenly become prime real estate, most of our fellow gawkers are like us: desperate for a ticket to the circus.
A miserable-looking Kiara sits on a bench just outside the office as Principal Hatch ushers her parents inside. Though she surveys the crowd with a fierce evil eye and, at one point, even puffs out her chest and snarls an intimidating, “What’re you looking at,” no one backs away.
While everyone is fixated on what’s about to emerge from the office though, a tornado strikes from the opposite direction. Amy Lawrence, valedictorian and author of many of Kiara’s forged essays, comes stomping down the hall.
Her cheeks are flushed, and her ponytail’s coming loose. She stops beside Kiara, her legs shaking so violently, it’s a wonder she can stand. The whole crowd inches forward.
“Why would you do this?” Amy hisses. “Why would you go public?”
“Are you stupid?” Kiara snaps. “Obviously, someone found my stuff and uploaded it. Was it you?”
“What?” Amy cries in disbelief. “If they find out about me, I’m in as much trouble as you are!”
“You’re right,” Kiara says flatly. “You are.”
Though I can see Kiara’s threat for the impotent, last ditch power play it is, to the already tightly wound, type-A Amy, it’s the final straw that doesn’t just break the camel’s back but eviscerates and desecrates it.
“You can’t,” she shrieks. “You can’t do this to me. I could get suspended! I’ve done everything you’ve ever told me to. You can’t take my future away from me. I won’t let you. I won’t—”
“Shut up,” Kiara says, getting to her feet. She towers over the girl, who flinches, but it turns out there’s no need. Kiara’s shoulders are hunched, her hands clasped tightly at her chest, as if in prayer. Her lips are dry, her eyes pleading. For once, Kiara Taylor isn’t scary but scared. “No one’s going to suspend you. I destroyed all the evidence, okay? I’m not going to say anything. No one is. There’s no proof, so if we all deny it, it’ll be like this never happened, and everything will go back to the way it was in time for midterms.”
I stop breathing. Is it possible? Will Kiara walk free?
As if answering my silent query, Amy shakes her head. “Back to the way it was for midterms?” she asks. “No. I’m not going back.” She turns to address the crowd. “The first time Kiara copied my homework was in fifth grade. After I told my parents, she broke my glasses on the school bus for being a snitch.” She looks back at Kiara. “You told me to tell them I tripped or the next time you’d break my wrist. So I did, and after that, you owned me. I’ve done everything you’ve told me to every day since. For almost eight years. Eight years! Well, now it’s over.”
We all stare, stunned, trying to process what Amy’s saying. Could she actually be threatening Kiara? Could it be that, by simply articulating the truth of the way things work around here, the meanest of mean girls has unwittingly pushed Amy over the edge of hysteria and into the valley of blind courage? As the valedictorian moves toward the door of the office, Kiara grabs her arm. I take a step toward them, but Wes holds me back.
“Please,” Kiara pleads. “Please help me.” Her voice is shaking. She begins to cry. “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know my parents. The pressure I’m under. What they’ll do if they find out. I’m begging you, Amy. Please.”
Kiara isn’t a good enough actress to be faking this. And even I feel a pang of empathy tug at my breast.
But Amy has endured too much abuse to be moved. She yanks her arm free and says, “Tough. You’re right. I probably won’t get suspended. But even if I do? It’ll be worth it if it gets rid of you. Besides, I’m guessing that once I tell them about the years of psychological torture and physical intimidation I’ve suffered at your hands, I won’t even get a slap on the wrist. Who knows?” she says with sudden, surprising sass. “Maybe if I throw in a nervous breakdown, I’ll get an extra free period.”
Amy straightens. “I can’t believe I forgot that I’m the smart one. And you, Kiara,” she says as she smooths her ponytail. “You’re done.”
With that, Amy throws open the office door and marches inside.
Kiara stares at the spot where Amy stood in disbelief. I wonder if I should feel bad that Amy’s going to be implicated in Kiara’s takedown. But as I watch the smartest girl I know stand taller than ever before, I am convinced she’s going to be more than all right. Amy Lawrence has blossomed into a badass in front of my very eyes.
Kiara doesn’t move. She stares at the office, catatonic.
And we can’t have that.
I catcall from the far end of the hall, and she snaps her head in my direction. Raising my phone, I take a picture. I wave good-bye as Wes slips his arm around my waist, and we strut off to homeroom.
“One down, one to go,” he growls into my ear once we’re out of sight.
“This totally turns you on, doesn’t it?” I tease.
“Mean girls getting schooled? I can take it or leave it. What turns me on,” he says as we round a corner and he pulls me to a row of deserted lockers, “is seeing you on a power trip.” He gently pushes me against a locker and brings his lips to my neck but doesn’t touch. They hover less than an inch away from my skin, and my toes curl in that blissful agony of anticipation. “No qualms, no regrets, all Dark Phoenix.” He exhales hotly, and my skin is on fire. “Guys who can’t get behind a powerful woman have no idea what they’re missing.”
I close my eyes as his mouth lands on my skin and the tips of his teeth nip at my neck.
“Tonight,” he whispers between nibbles. “Let’s do four pills. Really get in there. Do some damage.”
“I think we’re doing plenty of damage,” I purr. “Three was pretty intense.”
“Pfft,” his breath dismisses. “What’s a little nightmare in exchange for making your real-life dreams come true? The low may be sub-basement, but the high is a mile above the Empire State Building. Let’s see what we’re really capable of.” Suddenly, his nuzzling stops cold. He pulls his mouth away and looks at me, perplexed eyes through thick lashes. “Unless you’re afraid you can’t handle it?”
I know instantly that he’s calling me chicken. That he’s using the oldest trick in the book to get me to do what he wants. I know I am smarter than this, and so my first instinct is to dig in my heels and be the living embodiment of the reverse psychology fail. But the truth is, I am kind of curious about what more Dexid might feel like. The extra surge of control that just a couple more pills gave me turned out to be the difference between an awkward bump and grind in Grady’s body and the graceful choreography of Gigi and Kiara’s sleepwalking ballets. And now that I know how to get myself out of the dreamer’s body, why not give it a try? Why not find out what I can do with more of this wonder drug in my system? So I say, “Four it is.” And I pull Wes’s mouth to mine and choke down any reservations.
It only takes a moment of making out until I am once again losing track of our environment. Then a throat clears beside me. Mrs. French stands in the doorway of my homeroom, looking about as interested in teenaged lust as I am with her insistence that taupe is a legitimate color.
Wes takes his time pulling away from me and says, “See you in my dreams.”
When I finally, reluctantly, let his hand go, I stride into the classroom, past Mrs. French as if she isn’t even there.
Parking myself at my regular seat for the remaining five minutes of homeroom, I pull out my cell phone and bring up the photo of Kiara, playing with different filters in an effort to best highlight her fall from grace. I’m laughing at a particularly comedic manga version of the scene when someone says, “Oh good. I need a laugh. What’ve you got?”
Jamie leans over me, planting his hands on the back of my chair, and I look up into his eagerly smiling face.
“I call it Mean Girls: They’re Just Like Us!” I say, laughing.
He cringes.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he replies. “It’s just, I didn’t think you’d get such a kick out of seeing someone publically flogged, given recent events.”
“Uh, it’s Kiara,” I snarl. “I think I can make an exception in her case.”
Jamie doesn’t say anything.
“Look, if anyone has it coming, it’s her,” I continue. “Did you know she’s been shaking down Amy Lawrence since middle school? Poor girl’s a wreck. I just saw her go into Hatch’s office to confess everything.”
“Whoa,” he says. “That’s awful. Middle school? That’s years. I can’t believe how many people are going to be hurt by this.”
“You mean by Kiara,” I correct, my tone acidic. “Hurt by Kiara.”
“Well, yeah,” he says, shrugging. “Including Kiara. She’s pretty much screwed up her own life too.”
I do not bother to stifle my guffaw. “Spare me, Jamie,” I say dismissively. “She’s the villain. Seriously, why are you so concerned about her? I feel like every time I see you lately, you’re defending everyone I hate and telling me I should feel sorry for them.”
“And I feel like every time we talk, you’re using words like hate and displaying a stunning lack of sympathy for people you used to call friends.”
I spit an incredulous puff of air but can find no words to accompany it. Jamie and I have had disagreements before, but I’ve never felt judged by him. He shakes his head at me and says, “I’m sorry for all the crap you’ve had to eat lately, but I’d have thought you’d develop empathy from it, not rage.”
Just then, the bell rings, and he walks away from me.
I feel a slight tug to run after him and hash this out, but it’s nothing compared to the righteous anger I feel at being so misunderstood. How did this become about me and my shortcomings? Kiara’s the monster here. I shake my head and embrace a disappointment in Jamie that I’m entirely unused to. It’s easy to sing “Kumbaya” when your life has only ever known harmony, but when yours is a song of dissonance, what’s wrong with occasionally indulging in a good old minor second?
I grab my stuff and head off to my next class. Ahead of me, I spot Amber walking alone into chem lab. Wes’s words echo in my mind.
One down, one to go.
I follow her into the classroom. She notices me staring and throws me her best scowl, but I don’t look away. Silently, I wish her sweet dreams tonight. And I smile, knowing that it won’t make a difference once I’m done with her.