Ronni had been back at school for a week, but Hannah had yet to run into her. Phoebe Winslow, who was a Christian, so she was really nice to everyone, had been supporting Ronni and updated Hannah on her revised schedule. According to Phoebe, Ronni only came to school for half days and spent most of them talking with Mrs. Pittwell, the counselor, about her feelings. She spent the rest of her limited time going over the lessons she missed with a resource teacher. Phoebe said that Ronni was having a hard time and had already missed a couple of days. It was wrong to be relieved, but Hannah was. The less chance there was of running into Ronni, the better. Hannah spent every school day on edge, waiting to round a corner and find her old friend, disfigured, depressed, and probably ready to stab Hannah in the neck with a pencil. It didn’t help that this morning Hannah’s parents had gone to their lawyer’s office to face off against Ronni’s mom. There was no way that had gone well.
So Hannah nearly jumped out of her skin when she closed her locker to find a female face mere inches from hers. But this face had two eyes with crow’s-feet, and an unflattering haircut. “Mrs. Pittwell,” Hannah said, trying to compose herself, “you scared me.”
“Can we talk, Hannah?”
“I have English.”
“I’ll talk to Mr. Morrel. . . .”
Hannah obediently followed the older woman through the crowded halls to her office. As she trailed behind Mrs. Pittwell, she passed Noah and Ryan, another kid from his circle. Their expressions said it all: Shit. Hannah gave them a casual nod: Don’t worry. I got this. But she didn’t have it. She was terrified. The counselor had no reason to talk to her except about Ronni. And she knew it wouldn’t be good.
When they were enclosed in Mrs. Pittwell’s windowless office, she got to the point. “Ronni’s not doing well.”
“There’s a lawsuit,” Hannah said, her eyes spontaneously filling with tears. “Her mom is suing us.” Her voice cracked, and she silently berated her lack of control. Why couldn’t she be more like Lauren and tell this “do-gooder bitch” to leave her out of it? She wasn’t even Ronni’s best friend! Why was Mrs. Pittwell singling her out? But she couldn’t say any of that. If she spoke, she’d dissolve into sobs.
“I know about the lawsuit, hon. . . . But I think there’s an opportunity for you to be the most mature person in this whole situation. What do you think?”
Hannah shrugged. She didn’t know what being the most mature person entailed, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t up for the job.
“I know your parents are upset. And Ronni’s mom is, too. But Ronni just wants things to go back to normal. She needs her friends, Hannah.”
Hannah stared through her tears at a framed photo on the desk: two boys, around eight and ten, with haircuts much like Mrs. Pittwell’s. Her sons, obviously . . . poor kids. “It’s just really awkward,” Hannah croaked.
“But you can be the bigger person here. You can reach out to Ronni and be there for her. You can rise above the anger and blame, and you can show your parents and Ronni’s mom what true friendship looks like.”
“Ronni’s not mad at me?”
“She’s not mad at you. . . .” Mrs. Pittwell leaned forward in her chair. “She misses you.”
That’s when Hannah broke down. “But . . . Lauren said . . .” She was sobbing so hard she could barely get the words out. She was relieved when the counselor cut her off.
“Lauren is dealing with her own issues. She’s not supporting Ronni because she doesn’t have the strength of character. But you do, Hannah. You can stand up to these other kids. You can stand up to your parents.”
But Hannah didn’t want to be the girl with strength of character. She wanted to be the cool girl, the popular girl, the girl with the hot boyfriend. The counselor was asking her to throw all that away just so Ronni wouldn’t be lonely. How could Mrs. Pittwell be trained to work with teenagers and be so clueless?
Mrs. Pittwell slid a box of tissues across her desk. Hannah took one and blew her nose loudly. “I can’t go to English,” Hannah said, “I’m too upset.”
“Go home early. I’ll explain it all to Mr. Morrel.”
Hannah jumped up, eager to get out of there, but the counselor wasn’t quite finished. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“That you’ll think about being a friend to Ronni. If you turn away from her, you’ll look back on this one day and be filled with regret.”
“Fine,” Hannah snapped. She’d had enough of this guilt trip. And she wanted to get her coat from her locker and leave the school before classes let out and the hallways filled again. She looked terrible when she cried. “I’ll think about it.”
THE HOUSE WAS eerily quiet when Hannah entered. She checked her watch and realized it was only 2:40; school didn’t end until three. Her brother wouldn’t be home yet, which was a relief, but her mom would be there. Her mom was always there after school: to ask how their days had been and how much homework they had; to make sure they ate a nutritious snack before she drove them to soccer or basketball or piano. Except no one answered when Hannah called “Mom?” into the cavernous house. Hannah peered into her mom’s office: empty. The small space was usually orderly, but papers were strewn across the floor from a manila folder that now rested against the far wall, and pens and paper clips were scattered across the floor. The mess looked like the result of some temper tantrum, but Hannah knew that couldn’t be the case. Her mom didn’t lose her temper, although a lot had changed since the party. She headed to the kitchen breathing a small sigh of relief. She was alone.
Hannah grabbed a cup and filled it with chocolate chips. “They’re for baking. Besides, you need protein at the end of the day.” That’s what her mom would have said, but her mom wasn’t there. Hannah moved to her room, closed the door, and opened her laptop. Some mindless comedic YouTube viewing was in order, the sillier the better. She needed a distraction from the meeting with Mrs. Pittwell. She was searching through various cat videos, when Skype alerted her to a call. It was Noah. She clicked to accept and his handsome face filled her computer screen. “Hey. Watcha doing?”
“Chilling. Snacking.” Hannah was getting a lot more comfortable with her boyfriend since she was grounded and hence, never allowed to spend time alone with him. “Are you home already?”
“Got out of gym early. What did Mrs. Pittwell want?”
“She wanted to talk about Ronni.”
“What about Ronni?”
“She wants me to be there for her. Give me a break.” Even as the words came out of her mouth, Hannah felt guilty for saying them. She sounded so heartless. . . . She sounded like Lauren.
Noah said, “I don’t know why Ronni came back. She should have changed schools.”
“I guess. . . .”
“If she says anything about that night, we’re all fucked.”
“She won’t,” Hannah assured him. “Ronni doesn’t remember anything.”
Noah was drinking a Coke and he took a swig from the can. “Memories can come back,” he said. “It would be better for everyone if Ronni was gone.”
“Gone where?”
“A different school. A different town. Who cares?”
He was right. It would have been easier if Ronni had never returned. But she had, and they would have to accept it. “Yeah . . . but there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“I think there is. . . .” He was smirking.
Hannah’s stomach churned, but she kept her cool. “What are you up to?” Her tone was teasing and conspiratorial, concealing the anxiety she was feeling.
“Adam’s got some ideas. He’s a sick fuck.”
“He has no mercy.” She laughed and ate a handful of chocolate chips. She was getting so good at playing the role of the popular girl: cool, narcissistic, callous. . . . The only problem was, her insides were twisting into knots of wrong.
There was a noise from downstairs. “I just heard my mom come in,” she said. “Gotta go.” Before Noah could answer, she clicked and he disappeared.
Hannah wiped any trace of chocolate from her lips in case her mom came upstairs, but she didn’t. After a few minutes, Hannah headed to the kitchen, where she found her mom pouring a glass of wine.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Kim took a drink of wine.
“I don’t want to go to piano today.”
“Fine.”
“Nothing’s wrong. Why?”
“You never let me miss piano. And you’re drinking wine and it’s not even three.”
“We had our examination for discovery today,” Kim said. “It was tense.” She took a big drink of wine: a gulp. Then she looked at her watch. “Why are you home so early?”
“Mrs. Pittwell, the counselor, said I could go early. I was upset after she talked to me.”
Kim set down her wine. “What did she talk to you about?”
Hannah felt the emotion rise in her chest. “About Ronni . . . She’s not doing very well. She’s depressed and sad and she feels like everyone has deserted her.”
Her mom drank more wine. “I’m sorry to hear that.” But she didn’t sound sorry. She sounded distracted.
Hannah moved closer, until she was across from her mom. She rested her hands on the smooth wooden countertop. “Mrs. Pittwell knows that there’s stuff going on between you and Lisa, but she said that I should rise above it. She said that I should be there for Ronni.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. . . .” Hannah felt emotion clog her throat again. “I feel bad for her.”
Kim sighed and looked at her daughter. Her mom usually looked pretty and put together and younger than her age. Today, she looked worn-out and Hannah saw the wrinkles on her forehead and around her mouth. Had the wrinkles appeared in the last weeks, or had Hannah just never noticed them before?
“It’s a real mess right now, Hannah. I’m sorry Ronni is struggling, but I think you should keep your distance.”
Hannah bit her bottom lip and nodded. She had always considered her mom a good person. She was a little superficial, a little snobby, but deep down her mom had a good heart. Kim had taught her children to be grateful for all they had, and to give back to those less fortunate. Every Thanksgiving, the family volunteered at a soup kitchen. At Christmas, they filled shoe boxes with gifts for kids in Africa. But this was different. Lisa was attacking them, threatening their luxurious home, their expensive cars, their affluent existence. . . . Apparently, Ronni didn’t deserve their charity.
“Got it,” Hannah said, and headed back to her room. It was what she had wanted: the all clear to disown Ronni, not risking her tenuous social status with a pity friendship. But the irritating buzz of her conscience kept the events at the party replaying in her mind. She had said she couldn’t remember, but she did. Despite all the alcohol she’d imbibed, Hannah remembered it all. And she couldn’t stop feeling like shit.