KALYN

“I LOVE YOUR blouse, Rose.” Seems like a genuine compliment. There’s no way Sarah can know it’s the sort of compliment that’s really a gut punch.

“Why, thank you! Isn’t it just divine?” Man, I’m hitting the shine too hard.

Sarah frowns. “Yeah.”

We’re sitting at a lunch table full of pretty people. I haven’t been in the cafeteria for weeks, but now I’m nestled between Eli and his basketball friends while their girlfriends have separate conversations right across from us. Seems my reward for letting Eli grope me yesterday is being squished against him now.

Back in junior high, a guy named Rusty shoved his hand up my skirt at the AMP bonfire and I went full Spence, stabbing him in the foot with my marshmallow poker. I wasted two beautifully browned marshmallows on that weasel.

How would Rose respond to this situation? I don’t know how to address problems without blowing up. Would Sarah tell Eli off? Or would she accept this as something boyfriends do?

How do straight and narrow people even function?

I’m staring at the door. I haven’t seen Gus. Usually we’d cross paths between classes, nod, and save our conversations for the kiln.

Earlier I made a beeline for his locker, pulling my dress into place because I swear it spends every minute hitching up to constrict around my throat. I leaned against it until a freckled girl came close and began twisting the dial of her combination lock.

“Hey, you seen Gus today?”

“You’re Rose Poplawski.”

“That’s right, gold star.” I added more butter to my voice. “And you are?”

“Ariel Mathers. Did you say yes to Eli Martin?”

“I’m talking about Gus, not Eli.”

“Who’s Gus?” She leaned in, ready to be doused in gossip.

I didn’t intend to slam my fist against her locker. If my failed intentions were pearls, I’d wear a thousand necklaces. “Gus. Gus Peake? He’s got the locker right next to yours. Seen him today?”

“No. Why?”

“He’s been tutoring me,” I lied, because why not. I told Gus I wasn’t embarrassed to know him and that’s the truth.

Ariel gawked. “He’s tutoring you? But isn’t he, like, retarded?”

This time I slammed my fist on purpose. “What the hell kind of word is that? What fucking year do you think this is?”

“Excuse me? I don’t even know you.”

I watched her go, wondering if Kalyn could get away with yanking her hair. Maybe even Rose could. Anyone who thinks the word “retard” is okay deserves worse.

Sitting here with Eli’s hand creeping up my back, I don’t regret cussing her out.

I can’t stop watching the damn cafeteria doors.

“You done getting tutored?” Jackson asks, tossing a fry into his mouth. He’s one of Eli’s basketball buddies, a gargantuan center Eli treats like a dumb sidekick.

“No. My tutor’s absent.”

“Guess I’ll get to teach you today,” Eli whispers.

“So you two have worked it out.” I can’t read Sarah’s expression. “Will you be sharing our limo on Saturday night?”

“I dunno,” Eli says, sliding his hand lower, “we might wanna drive separately.”

“Rose? What do you think?”

Too bad I can’t split myself in half so Rose can go to the dance and I can do literally anything else. Homecoming was always a stupid thing, but now it means even less than ever.

News that’s life changing for me and Gus is nothing to these guys. Nobody recognizes my dress. They don’t have memories of it being paraded around the papers, the woman who bought it being slandered and spat at and the daughter wearing it not knowing that as far as the whole world was concerned, her family didn’t deserve respect.

Eli’s hand goes too far, his fingers lifting the line of my tights away from me, and the spork in my hand is a weapon and I’m going to stab him—­

Phil lurches into the cafeteria, eyes locked on his screen. I cry out in relief, untangling myself from Eli’s greasy grip. “Hey, Phil! Hold up!”

I don’t know what I thought he’d do. The second that pill bug hears me yelling, he makes himself scarce, doing an about-face and lurching back the way he came.

“Someone needs to put that kid out of his misery,” Eli says.

Boom.

I punch the edge of Eli’s lunch tray, knocking its contents into the air and into his lap. Jackson’s girlfriend screeches as a slice of pizza smacks my white dress dab in the middle, but I don’t care. I don’t care that the cafeteria has just erupted in noise, that Rose is brutally murdered that quickly and publicly. I’m on my feet and out of there.

Eli yells at my back, “You’re a goddamn psycho, Rose!”

“I’m not Rose,” I tell him, “but you got the rest right.”

I’m scum to the people of Samsboro, but at least I’m not Eli fucking Martin.