“First of all, who matches their makeup to their outfit anymore?” Emily asked, wrinkling her nose and brushing nonexistent crumbs off her blouse. “And second, you’re saying what exactly? Some people live charmed lives, and nothing tragic can happen to them?”
“I guess so.”
“That’s really stupid.”
I put another chip in my mouth and crunched loudly, knowing how much it bugged her. “It’s true though. Some people are just lucky.”
“Let me guess. You think you’re one of the unlucky ones?” A smile pulled at the corner of Emily’s mouth, which I instantly resented.
“No. That’s not what I’m saying. This isn’t about me.”
Emily raised her eyebrows.
“It’s not,” I insisted.
Emily shrugged. “If you say so.”
We ate in silence for a moment. Rather, I ate while Emily pulled strands of her hair in front of her eyes and examined the ends. As if she’d ever had a split end in her entire life.
Eventually, I had to ask. “What do you think happened to her?”
“I thought you didn’t care where Lizzie was.”
I didn’t. Mostly. I smiled sheepishly at Emily. “Well, pretend for a minute I do.”
“Maybe she got in a fight with her boyfriend and left. That’s what most people think.”
“Poor guy,” I said.
“Can we stop talking about Lizzie for a minute?”
I put down my bag of chips. I could tell when Emily had something important to say. “Yeah, of course.”
“I got a letter about that music composition program. I’m a finalist.”
I’m not one of those girls who squeals and hugs her friends all the time, but in certain cases, I make exceptions. Emily laughed and hugged me back.
“This is so exciting! Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
“It’s not for sure yet. I’m only a finalist.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re going to get accepted. I know it.”
“We’ll see. This is really big. It could help me get a jump start on the rest of my life.”
I was glad one of us was thinking about the future.
“This is awesome, Em. I’m really proud of you.”
Emily smiled, and I could tell she was proud of herself too, even if she’d never in a million years admit it.
“Do you want to come over after school?” I asked. “We can celebrate.”
“There’s nothing to celebrate yet.”
“Then we can watch the news reports about Lizzie and make up elaborate theories.”
If Lizzie was even still missing by then.
“I can’t. Piano lesson.”
“Oh, right.” I was disappointed, even if the news probably wouldn’t have new information, and Emily wasn’t good at making up theories anyway.
“You should come to the library with me after school tomorrow though. We have that report due on Friday.”
The report on the Mills. I’d forgotten. “Yeah, I guess I should.”
Then the bell rang, and lunch was over, and Emily and I gathered up our things. I wanted to say more, maybe something about how I was super happy about her music program but a little sad that we might not have one last summer together. And how maybe I was a little jealous of Lizzie Lovett and that I appreciated Emily not judging me because of it. And probably something about how she was a really good friend. Instead, I told Emily I’d see her in fifth period and went to my English composition class.
• • •
The first day Lizzie was missing, everyone talked about the disappearance without actually knowing the facts. By the time the final bell rang, I’d heard more about Lizzie Lovett than I had since we were in school together. Which I guess worked out, because no one talked to me about the dance.
I walked home from school, because I hadn’t been able to find my car keys that morning. Also because my Volkswagen Rabbit was making huffing noises again. Someday, it’ll explode while I’m driving, and my mom will tell people, “I told Hawthorn not to get that old car. I told her we’d buy her something nicer like we did for her brother, but she just never listens,” and then the last thing people will ever think about me is that I’m stubborn and made stupid mistakes.
I could have taken the school bus home, but I consider that a last resort. Being in a cramped space with lots of people who all have something to talk about with each other while you’re sitting there alone is totally awkward. Also, there are no seat belts on the bus, which has never made sense to me.
Luckily, I don’t live far from Griffin Mills High School. In a place as small as the Mills, nothing is very far from anything else. Really, the town is just a bigger version of high school, which is just a bigger version of the bus. Lots of people packed together for their entire lives, all having things to do and people to talk to, and if you’re not a part of it, you feel totally broken.
My family should have lived in Pittsburgh. My dad drives forty-five minutes to get there five days a week. Wouldn’t it be better to live closer to the place he worked? My parents were pretty opposed to the idea though. My mom had all this stuff to say about a “better quality of life” and whatnot. A better quality of life for her, I guess. Not for me. If I’d grown up in a big city, everything could have been different.
Cities let you blend in. There are so many people that it doesn’t matter if you’re weird or if no one likes you, because there’s probably someone even worse off. And if you’re really lucky, you might even meet people who are weird in the exact same way you are and feel like you’ve finally found a place where you fit in.