Everything That Makes You(32)

She dragged Fiona outside of the coffee shop, to the battered back porch  by the parking lot. The night felt colder than when she'd left the  house-and she'd left her jacket in the car, out of spite.

"He doesn't know, does he?" Lucy asked.

Sinking down onto the stairs leading to the parking lot, Fiona dropped  her head in her hands. "The most awful thing is, I don't know which he  you mean."

"It'll be fine. Just tell him."

"Tell who what?"

"Well, I imagine you'll have to tell both whos." There was a pause.  "Just to clarify, we're talking about David and Jackson, right?"

Fiona nodded into her hands.

"Do you like him? Jackson?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" But the answer was noncommittal. She buried her face deeper into her hands. "I'm such a bitch."

"Why are you a bitch?"

"I don't want to be that girl. The something better comes along girl."

Lucy snorted. "That's life, Fiona-just a strung-together series of abandoning one thing for another."

"That's terrible! You'd just ditch me if someone better came along?"

"Best friends don't count," Lucy said, nudging her shoulder.

Fiona shook her head. "Everyone counts-well, everyone important. Loyalty matters."

"Does their loyalty matter more than you? Does what David wants-what he deserves or whatever-count more than what you want?"

Fiona looked away. The car directly across the parking lot had those  silly stick-figure bumper stickers, one per family member-a mom, dad,  girl, two boys, three dogs, and a cat. By stickers alone, Fiona knew the  family's school, soccer and cheer teams, and that they didn't like the  previous president. One sticker said Mean People Suck.

Fiona wondered why people felt the need to advertise their lives, their  politics, and causes. It was like what Jackson said that morning in the  cafeteria back in November-you shouldn't fall back on catchphrases. You  should speak your own philosophy.

Still, she couldn't look away from Mean People Suck. "David liked me  when I was a mess, Luce. Breaking up with him after, once I've been  fixed-how's it different from someone divorcing his wife when he gets  rich? Or famous or whatever?"

"First off, you're eighteen, so the marriage comparison is a stretch.  Second, what? You've got to stay with David the rest of your life  because he noticed you first? Don't get me wrong-good for David-but  seriously, Fiona. It doesn't give him lifetime possession rights."

"It sucks, feeling like this."

"Yeah, I know."

"You do?"

Lucy gazed across the parking lot, too. "On the flip side. A girl I like at school likes somebody else more than me."

"Why didn't you tell me?"                       
       
           



       

"It's weird talking about it." Lucy shrugged. "It's just not me, the  brokenhearted thing. Honestly, the whole fluttery-crush action isn't  much better. All that up and down-it's too much emotional turmoil. I  prefer to remain uniformly crotchety."

"Oh, Luce. I'm sorry."

"It was fair, though, her choice. Doesn't make her-or me-less. Decent people break up with other decent people all the time."

"You're a better woman than me."

"Agreed." Lucy shifted back, resting her hands behind her and leaning  into them. "So let me ask you this-what if David broke up with you? How  would you feel about it?"

Fiona frowned. "Annoyed-like, about why. Worried we couldn't be friends anymore."

"And Jackson? If nothing happened there?"

"Oh." The idea was worse than that rusty-nail feeling she got when Trent  McKinnon broke her heart. This felt like a chunk of her getting sawed  off by an old, dull knife.

She looked at her friend and whispered, "He smells like cantaloupe."





JANUARY


FI


Fi slogged to the sidelines, cold, wet, and irritated. For the past  three hours, the Milton women's club lacrosse team-go Badgers!-had put  forth the saddest display of skills and teamwork Fi had ever seen.

"Fi, got a sec?"

Fi looked up from her bag. Mandy Pittman, the coach who wouldn't let the  team call her "Coach" since she was, in fact, only two years older than  the seniors, stood a few feet in front of her. "Sure," Fi said.

Mandy sat beside her. "You doing okay?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"The growling made me suspicious."

"I wasn't growling," Fi muttered.

"I'll be sure to clarify that with Kristin. She's worried you're going to come after her in her sleep."

Fi scowled, thinking about Kristin, the sophomore attack who couldn't  catch a ball if someone handed it to her. By some miracle, the girl had  found herself in the perfect position for an assist from Fi-smack in  front of the goal with no defenders near her. Fi even tossed her the  ball at about a quarter strength, and Kristin missed it. How she managed  to bounce the ball off her toe, Fi couldn't guess.

Still, she didn't want anyone to be scared of her. "She's upset?"

Mandy waved her off. "She has a brother here, two years ahead. They have  disturbing wedgie battles in the cafeteria. I think she can handle a  little growling from a freshman."

Wow. Ryan might be annoying, but at least he'd never tried to wedgie  her-privately or publicly. A few years ago, she might have taken him,  but he was about six foot two now.

Mandy pointed across the field, where the rest of the team was heading  to the locker room. "They're doing their best, you know. Most of us are  just here for the fun of it."

Fi zipped her bag and sat up, looking past the gray, soggy field to the  campus beyond it. The buildings were pretty-stone, ivy-covered-and  flanked by cobblestoned paths and sweeping bright-green lawns. "Yeah. I  know."

Mandy turned to look at Fi. "Not to be nosy, but-why are you here?"

Fi's heart broke a little at the question. Did the "fun of it" part not apply to her? "Because I love it."

Mandy shook her head. "No, I mean why are you on our team? Why are you playing for Milton?"

"It's a good school," she said. "I wanted to be close to home."

"You didn't want to play, like, for a good team?"

"No, I did," she said, fiddling absently with the zipper on her bag. "I was talking to Northwestern, actually."

Mandy whistled. "Great school."

"But far."

"And that was bad because . . . ?"

Fi took a deep breath. She was partially tempted to reveal the whole  story-the dead boyfriend, the blown chance at Northwestern, her  multiple-personality emails to Candace Starnes, the head coach.  "Personal reasons," she said instead.

"Look, Fi. I'm sure everyone on the team would love to learn some tips  from you-but we are what we are. We're not trying to win the league.  We're playing some lacrosse and having a beer after, okay?"

Fi nodded.

"If you want to talk to other teams, I'll help however I can."

Nice. I'm getting pushed off a bottom tier club team. She stood up, flinging her bags over her shoulder. "Are we done?"

"Yes, we're done."

Without another look at Mandy, Fi walked across the muddy field, flung  her stuff-and then herself-into her car, and clenched the steering  wheel.                       
       
           



       

Her. Life. Sucked. Lacrosse at Milton. Pathetic grades. Her best friend was currently a stuffed bear.

She wanted to see Trent.

It was such an urgent, unexpected thought. But what was she going to do?  Just pop in? Vent? Cry on his shoulder? It wasn't like he would comfort  her, tell her everything would be all right. Trent might offer his  shoulder, but he couldn't stomach wallowing.

A muddy, sweaty mess, Fi cranked the engine and headed south anyway. A  little over an hour later, she was following Highway 6 into Oxford. She  took a right when the green University of Mississippi sign told her to.  At first, the road was all sprawl and chain stores, but eventually, Fi  was driving past big old trees and pretty buildings.

She'd been down here a few times before-some football games with Ryan  and her dad-but she didn't know the campus well. She rolled down a  window and yelled to a runner on the sidewalk. "Hey, is there a dorm  around here called Stockman? Strockman? Something like that?"

The guy pointed to two tall buildings peeking over the trees. "Stockard. Take a right on Rebel Drive. You'll be right there."

She pulled into the lot, but couldn't get into the dorm without a card,  and the desk appeared to be empty. Trent wasn't answering his phone, so  she did the only thing she could think of-buy some bad coffee at the  little mart across the street and wait on her hood until he came back.  There better not be a back entrance he could slip into without her  catching him.