Standing for Weirdo

Chapter 9

When I collected myself and left the auditorium, I went straight for the school exit. The rest of the group was lounging in the corridors, waiting and looking smug and amused.

Had they thrown some extra jives Trevor's way when he left?

I didn't really want to know. I could do something extremely stupid if the answer was yes. I didn't want to see their high-and-mighty faces either, so I didn't stop when I passed them by. But I did throw my best icy, Bitch Princess look to Ashley, right over my shoulder.

Hah! Take my royal power.

When I was by the curve of the parking lot, hurried footsteps caught up with me.

"Alice!" Stella shouted, out of breath. "Wait up! What's gotten into you?"

I whirled on her. "How would you like it if Ashley had broken, I don't know, the windshield of your car instead?"

She gave me a look that said she didn't understand. Then she snorted a short, incredulous laugh. "I can't believe it. This is really about that?"

"Yes, it's about that. And I can't believe you're so cool with it."

"You're taking his side, even though he hit my head? Hello! I'm here, and we're supposed to be friends!"

"You said you were okay, and it happened almost a month ago!"

"So what? It's still my head, my clothing, and my stuff."

"Nothing got damaged, Stella. Nothing at all. Which, coincidentally, wasn't the case today."

"I could have been hurt!"

"Then, take it up with your beloved Josh because he flung you into Trevor!"

I breathed hard because of the discussion. Of both discussions. This was starting to be too much, too fast. What I needed was some quiet time to regroup, think straight and come up with something that said that no, my life was not in shambles. I didn't need to be fighting with my best friend in plain view of the school, defending the resident freak.

But the words were out and I could not call them back. Stella's eyes narrowed.

"Is that it? You're jealous because I have Josh?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I can barely stand him."

"You don't seem to complain when we go partying and he gives you a ride home."

"He did it once, Stella, because you told him to. And surprise, I don't mind because he's my best friend's boyfriend!"

"It takes guts to call yourself my best friend while taking the side of Dracula in Drag."

"Dracula in Drag?" For a moment, the nickname was so ridiculous that it sobered me up. The moment didn't last long enough. "Name calling is so kindergarten."

"Yeah? You sure you're not bothered because it's him?"

"Please, what could I possibly have with him?"

"You tell me. I know you used to know him, before high school." Her narrowed gaze became hard and she shot to kill. "Perhaps you miss playing doctor with him, and that's the reason you're freaking out because of a joke? Is that why you're putting Alex off?"

I wanted to be enraged, but I was ashamed and mortified. I hated Stella at that moment. She was the only one who knew, besides my parents, of course, and while we'd never talked about it and it had been a long time since she'd learned my obscure secret... She had good memory and knew how to hurt.

So I paid back in kind. Turning on my heels, I tried the most dignified exit I could pull off—and judging by the looks of the other kids in the parking lot, it worked.

Perhaps it was cowardly, beating a hasty retreat when my friend unburied the war drums, but I was a Bitch Princess, not a National Hero.

Besides, I needed to do damage control. How many people had learned that Trevor and I had shared a couple of years of elementary school? By itself, the admission wasn't too serious. And we'd not really been friends back then—when you're a kid, friendships are quite limited. But for a while, our parents had known each other and gotten along in a distant, nice kind of way and so had we.

Then Trevor had moved. I hadn't seen him at all during middle grade. When we met again, in high school, he was so changed that the only traits remaining were his eyes. And even those had gotten much older.

By that point, talking to him in public would have been social suicide. I had been curious, though, and had followed him to his place one day to ask how he was, why he'd moved and why his horrid taste forced him to dye his hair with silvery streaks. I never got answers, but I discovered his guitar. I had started taking detours and listening to him baring his soul while he thought he was alone.

And while the knowing him part wasn't compromising, the spying on him part was very much embarrassing.

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