Half In Love With Death by Emily Ross

together. Was Tweety right?” She glanced my way to make sure I heard.
    May said, “We are.”
    I noticed she and Billy were holding hands. She had big hands for a girl, and long, fat fingers. They weren’t delicate like mine. I tried not to look at him, but I couldn’t help it. He’d kissed me. I’d thought he liked me.
    â€¢ • •
    In English, May asked to borrow a pencil and I gave her one, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a smile. Then she asked to see the poem I’d written for the assignment due that day. I handed her “Death and the Buttercup” and watched as she bent over hers, scribbling furiously with my pencil.
    â€œLast-minute inspiration,” she said with a weak smile.
    When Mr. Raymond said, “Who wants to read first?” there was a collective groan. He eyed May. “How about you, Miss Beckham?”
    She dropped my pencil and made her way forward, one foot in front of the other in her charm school way. Her hands shook as she held up the sheet of paper, but before she could open her mouth he said, “One thing first. Can you answer a question?” She looked up.
    Mr. Raymond smiled. “Is May short for anything? I find myself craving another syllable. Maybell. Maybelline?”
    â€œNo.” She frowned, and he told her to go on.
    â€œThinner.” Her lips sort of twitched as she read about wanting to be thin as a pin, as a grin, as the scar on the skin of a wrist that is slit, as a buttercup. I gasped as she added, “Before Death picks it.” She’d not only stolen Billy. She’d stolen my poem. She stared at the class grimly, and hurried back to her seat.
    Mr. Raymond stroked his chin. “Thank you, May. Any comments?” When no one replied, he turned to her. “What we have here is another poem in the fine tradition of poets who are half in love with easeful Death. Would that be correct, Miss Beckham?”
    She sighed. “I guess.”
    I was relieved that the class ended before I had to read my poem. Mr. Raymond would probably have thought I’d copied her.
    â€¢ • •
    Lockers banged shut all around me as I grabbed my books. I was a fool for even trying this. I wasn’t like Jess, meeting people at every turn, not caring if they didn’t like her. I was too quiet. Kids rushed by without noticing me. They weren’t going to talk to me. Billy wasn’t going to be waiting at his locker for me, either. I slammed mine shut.
    May came up behind me as I was heading outside. “I can’t believe Mr. Raymond made me go first,” she said breathlessly.
    â€œWell, I can’t believe you practically stole my poem,” I said.
    â€œThat’s not fair, Caroline. I just used it for inspiration.”
    I turned to her. “You know what’s really unfair?” She raised an eyebrow. “That you didn’t cover for me about Tony.”
    â€œIt was your idea to go with him.” She stepped back. “And you never told me to cover for you.”
    I sighed. “I suppose I never told you not to steal my poem, either.”
    She hunched her shoulders and looked down at the ground. “I don’t even belong in that class.”
    Poor May, too tall, not thin enough.
    â€œMy brain is a like a dead frog,” she said.
    â€œWhy don’t you write a poem about that? It’s a brilliant metaphor.”
    â€œVery funny, Caroline. You’re so smart. You think of all these cool things so easily.”
    If I didn’t know better I’d think she was jealous of me, but everything except poetry came easily to her. Girls like May always got what they wanted. And no one ever told her “no.”
    â€œWant to walk over to Billy’s practice together?” She gave me her sweet smile.
    I shrugged. “I’m not going today.”
    She frowned. “It’s not good for you to sit in your room and write about