“Yup,” I say to Ally. “We’re definitely broken up. It’s official.”
She’s looking at me strangely. “Kent.”
My heart flutters. “What?”
“It’s Kent.”
My brain taps out again. She knows. It’s obvious that I’ve been completely obsessing over him; maybe Lindsay said something after she found us together outside the cafeteria. “I—the Rob thing has nothing to do with—” Ally shakes her head, jabs a finger over my shoulder. “Kent. Behind you. Weren’t you looking for him earlier?”
Relief washes over me. She doesn’t know. Then a tiny twinge of disappointment too. She doesn’t know because there’s nothing to know. He doesn’t even know. I spin around and search the hall for him.
“In there.” Ally points to a door ten feet down the hall. From our angle it’s impossible to see more than a few feet into the room, which, from the huge desk blocking over half of the doorway, looks to be a storage space or a study. People are flowing in and out.
“Come on.” I haul Ally off again, but she breaks free.
“I’m going to go find Lindsay.” She’s clearly tired of whatever mission I’m on. I nod and she scoots off toward the back room, using the vodka bottle like a cattle prod, poking people out of her way. A hand clamps down on my arm and I jump.
I turn around: Bridget McGuire and Alex Liment.
“You have Mrs. Harbor for English, right?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before launching into her spiel. “Do you know if she handed out the essay assignments for Macbeth? Alex missed. Doctor’s appointment.”
Because I didn’t go with Lindsay for frozen yogurt after all—something was tugging at me, making me want to stay close to school, to the center of things—I’d almost forgotten about Bridget and Anna and Alex. And now the look on Alex’s face—the little, crooked smile that used to creep onto Rob’s face whenever he’d successfully gotten an extension from one of his teachers for some completely fabricated reason—makes me want to smack him. I think of Anna with her coal-black eye makeup and her improvised lunchroom on the floor of the abandoned bathroom. Even Bridget isn’t so bad. Annoying, yes, but pretty and nice and the type of person who probably spends her free time volunteering with sick children.
I can’t take it. I can’t let him get away with it.
Bridget’s still babbling about Alex’s mom being a health nut. I interrupt her. “Does anybody smell Chinese food?”
Bridget wrinkles her nose, clearly disappointed that I haven’t been listening. “Chinese food?”
I make a big show of sniffing. “Yeah. Like, like”—I stare directly at Alex—“like a big bowl of orange beef.”
His smile droops a little, but he shrugs and says, “I don’t smell anything.”
“Oh my God.” Bridget cups a hand in front of her mouth. “It’s not my breath, is it? I totally had Chinese food last night.”
I keep staring at Alex. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask, not even bothering to keep the edge out of my voice.
He blinks. “What?”
Bridget looks confused, and for a moment the three of us stand there, not saying anything. Alex and I have locked eyes, and Bridget is looking back and forth between us so rapidly I’m worried her neck’s going to snap off.
Then I smile. “You know, health-wise. Why did you have to go to the doctor?”
Alex relaxes visibly. “No big deal. My mom wanted me to get some weird shot. And you know, just a general checkup and stuff.”
“Mmm-hmmm. I hope they were thorough.” I shoot a pointed glance at his crotch. Fortunately Bridget is staring at him, watching him turn red, and doesn’t see.
“Um. Y-yeah. Pretty much.” He squints at me like he’s just noticed me for the first time.
“I’ve been looking for a doctor,” I breeze on. I feel bad for Bridget, but at the same time, she deserves to know what her lame excuse for a boyfriend is up to. “It’s so hard to find a good one, you know? Especially one that doubles as a restaurant with a $4.99 lunch special. That’s rare.”
“What are you talking about?” Bridget’s voice is a squeak. She whips back to Alex. “What is she talking about?”
A muscle is ticking in Alex’s jaw. I can tell he wants to curse me out but knows that would make it worse, so he just stands there glaring.
I put my hand on Bridget’s arm. “I’m sorry, Bridget. But your boyfriend is really a slimeball.”
“What is she talking about?”