Sweet Evil(96)

“As if I would have needed to drug you,” he said. The whole table was watching and listening now. “You were, like, desperate, hanging all over me.”

I tried not to let his ugliness seep into me. I had to keep my mind sharp. I angled myself away from the spectators, but it had gone silent around us as I responded.

“I thought you were being nice by inviting me to the party, and I did wonder what a guy like you was doing giving a girl like me any attention, but now I understand. You knew that if the truth came out about what you planned to do, all these people would take your word over mine. We both know what you did. Veronica and Kristin know it, too.”

Kristin gave a short laugh like I was crazy; her colors were a muddy orange of amusement at my expense. Veronica’s eyes widened and she looked away, wearing a blanket of dark shame about her. As for Scott, he was cloaked in a swirl of purple pride and gray fear, a dangerous combination. For a split second I thought about willing all three of them to tell the truth. It would have brought me satisfaction, but I refused to hamper their free will.

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “And I also know I’m not the first girl you’ve done this to.”

His eyes hardened. “You really expect anyone to believe that? You’re psycho.”

“Do you always ask psychos whether you can kiss them?”

Snickers rose from the table.

“Yeah, right,” Scott said. “You wish.”

“She’s not lying.” We all turned to Veronica, who’d spoken with bold confidence. But only I could see she was wrapped in the darkness of fear now.

“Shut up, you stupid lush,” Scott said to her. “You and your big nose can stay the hell out of this conversation.”

“You’re a liar!” She jumped to her feet and ran from the cafeteria.

Scott turned his sneer on me. “Everyone knows you’re just a band whore now.”

My palm itched, begging to slap him. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Scott.”

“Oooh!” He shook his hands in the air. “Good comeback.”

“You’re such a fake,” I whispered, “and it’s really sad. You live your life to impress a bunch of people who don’t accept you for who you are. But maybe that’s because you don’t even know who you are.”

A bubble of blackness rose up from his depths, hideous and raging around him. His nostrils flared and I dared to take a step forward, speaking low enough for only him to hear.

“You need to deal with that self-hatred, and stop taking it out on innocent people. It’s not too late to be the person you really want to be.” Surprise, guilt, and rusty hope lifted from the dark sludge of his aura. “Good luck, Scott.”

I pushed past him, hurrying toward the exit to the hall. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I found Veronica in the bathroom, brushing her hair with punishing strokes in front of the mirror. She stopped when she saw me.

“I should have called him out sooner,” she said.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s really not. I listened to him lie about you all summer and this whole month back at school. I kept hoping it would just blow over.” She shoved her brush back into her purse and sniffed.

“Thank you for sticking up for me.” I knew it wasn’t easy going against the crowd.

“I know everything was messed up at Gene’s party, but I had fun with you that night,” Veronica said.

“Me, too.”

Her feelings were only a light fog now.

“I heard about you and the drummer of that band. Is he kind of tall, with brown hair?”

I nodded and she grabbed my arm, suddenly animated again.

“Oh, my gawd, I totally think he was the guy checking you out in the hall at the party!”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.”

“Wanna come over and hang out sometime?” she asked. I opened myself to the pastels of her hope and gladness, letting them surge with my own.

“Sure. Maybe you can help me with my stupid hair.”

I pulled at the long bangs. As she lifted layers of my hair with her fingers, checking it out and complimenting the style, I marveled about the nature of humanity, and how something as lovely as friendship could stem from something so hideous.

There was a lot to be said for having a female friend. My toes looked better than they ever had. Veronica was insistent they be painted if I was going to wear flip-flops. We had some of our best conversations sitting on the floor of her bedroom as she leaned over my feet with a bottle of polish.

“Scott hasn’t talked to me at all since that day,” Veronica said one late October afternoon as she applied a coat of sparkly blue polish. “That’s fine by me, though.”