it. I murmur something that vaguely resembles a âthank you.â Itâs so awkward I can hardly meet his eyes, so I scramble to pack up my books and jam out of there. Halfway to my locker, I prick my finger on a thorn. I spend half the government test sucking on the finger so it wonât bleed all over my paper.
Chloe has perfected the art of parental manipulation. The girl should win an award. She has a whole strategy.
Step OneâSecure parental sympathy (slink around in room groaning about PMS, Iâm so depressed, and no one understands me).
Step TwoâSpring the big question (which may vary based on situation).
One time her strategy backfired and they made her see a shrink. Today, however, sheâs having a sleepover. The living room has been taken hostage by sophomores, with their pillows and blankets, nail polish, cell phones, and magazines strewn all over. I smell burnt popcorn kernels and nail-polish remover. Ice-cold sodas decorate the coffee table, and I have this irresistible urge to slide coasters underneath them so that they donât leave rings.
Beth and I are standing in the doorway with our mouths open. Weâve got three tests next week, so we thought weâd get a head start on prepping.
Chloe waves me in, all enthusiastic. âHey Gabi! Come kick it with us.â
I try not to groan. âUh, no thanks. Weâve got to study.â
âItâs Friday nightâlive a little. Weâll give you a makeover!â She says this like itâs a good thing, then rips off a piece of red licorice with her teeth.
âYouâre not touching my hair.â I tell her, sinking down onto a mound of blankets and sleeping bags. âMy toes maybe, but not my hair.â Beth sits stiffly on the very edge of the couch.
âDeal,â Chloe agrees. âDoes Beth know everybody?â
I look around. âI think so,â I tell her, but I introduce Beth anyway. Theyâre all girls Chloe has been friends with since middle school. Theyâre like a funky mismatch of lost socks, each without a mate, but hanging out together makes them one of a group. That girl Mel sits with a sour face in the corner, painting her toenails black. She seems like even more of an outcast than the others.
Beth watches half of Scream 4 and then takes off, mumbling about due dates for essays and upcoming quizzes. I hate to see her go, but Iâm not in the mental space for studying anyway. I allow my toenails to be painted silver by a girl who is bouncing off the walls.
âGod, youâre such an idiot, Chloe. When Mom sees this room, sheâs gonna be hella pissed.â
âYep.â Chloe grins. âThatâs pretty much the point.â
Mel surprises me by joining our conversation. She drops down onto the couch. âWhy do you want to piss her off?â
âHave you seen her get worked up? Itâs hilarious. True entertainment.â
âYouâre lucky she gets worked up,â Mel says. âOne time I went on a silent shower strike. I didnât shower or talk for a week, but no one noticed. Iâd planned to wait until someone said something, but no one ever did.â
âWhat finally happened?â Chloe asks.
Mel shrugs. âI got so tired of my own stink that I gave up and showered.â
Chloe and I laugh at this, but not for long because Mel isnât laughing. Dad walks in just then. I can tell by the way his gait falters and then speeds up that he is as surprised as I was to have our living room taken hostage. He covers it up, though, with a curt, âHi there, girls,â followed by a brisk walk to the stairs.
âHe even walks like a cop,â Chloe says.
âHow exactly does a cop walk?â I ask.
âThe way he does. Like with his whole body.â
âDoes your dad have a gun?â Mel asks, all curious. Her fingernails are nonexistent. Either she bites them or she files them down really low. It looks
John R. Little and Mark Allan Gunnells